‘I’ll talk him round,’ promised Richenda.
‘No offence, ma’am,’ said Rory, ‘but I think that even you will not be able to move him.’
‘Afraid so,’ said Bertram.
‘But when he’s calmed down,’ I said. ‘He has had the most terrible fright.’
‘Would you leave your child with a nursery maid who’d let your child get onto the roof?’ asked Rory gruffly in a quiet aside to me.
I sighed. ‘No, I would not,’ I whispered back, ‘but surely Sir Richard will not be dictated to.’
‘Business,’ said Bertram darkly. ‘He won’t want to upset Muller. City business.’
The door opened again and we all jumped. ‘’Cuse me, ma’ams, sirs,’ said Merrit, ‘I was looking for Merry.’
Bertram stepped aside allowing him to see Merry. Merrit went forward, crouched down and embraced his girlfriend. ‘Ah, pet, no one thinks you did it deliberate,’ he said. ‘The little one is fine. There’s no need to cry.’
‘But I don’t have a position,’ sobbed Merry. ‘I’m homeless.’
Merrit turned his head to look at Bertram. ‘Could I tell her tonight, sir? I know you wanted me to do it on Christmas Day …’
‘Yes, dammit, man,’ said Bertram. ‘I’d been wondering when you would show up.’
Ignoring the rest of us, Merrit placed a finger under her chin and turned Merry’s face up to his. ‘Sweetheart,’ he said, ‘Mr Bertram has been so kind as to give me a cottage seeing as I’m his chauffeur. A cottage for life.’
‘That’s nice,’ said Merry in a wobbling voice.
‘It’s even got a patch of garden for growing veggies. It’s not a cottage for one,’ spelled out Merrit, ‘it’s a family house.’
Merry looked at him blankly.
‘My dearest Merry, will you do me the honour of becoming my wife and living with me in my cottage?’
Merry threw a look at Bertram. ‘That was the point of giving him the cottage,’ said Bertram.
Merry looked puzzled for a moment, as if she could not believe what she was hearing, then she broke into a huge smile. ‘Yes, oh yes, Merrit,’ she said. ‘Of course I’ll marry you.’
‘This is certainly turning out to be one memorable Christmas,’ said Bertram in my ear. ‘If I promise to behave, Euphemia, do you think we could get through the rest of the festive season without any more adventures?’
‘Oh, heavens, I do hope so,’ I said.
‘Merry Christmas,’ said Rory to the newly engaged pair. ‘And congratulations.’
Richenda clapped her hands. ‘Merry Christmas, everyone!’ she said. ‘Now, who wants some celebratory cake?’
[1] I do not understand how small children are always sticky. Even when there appears to be no sticky substance in sight that they could have smeared themselves with.
[2] The beard’s biggest drawback was that it would not grow evenly.
[3] Though there had been nothing delicate about the nature of the lady in question, who had ruled the children with alternate disinterest and a rod of iron.
[4] I was referring to the time we searched the attics for Hans’ late wife. A most disturbing occurrence.
Merry Christmas Everybody
Jane Risdon
The track faded and no-one spoke; the only sound came from the creak of the recording engineer’s chair as it thudded upright from its reclined position where he had been leaning back, eyes closed, listening hard to the rough mix from the night before.
The others in the room jumped at the sudden noise but their eyes never left the huge monitors above the desk. At last Jonty, band leader and lead guitarist said, ‘So you’re saying you haven’t been messing around with the track and you’re not having us on; right, Buff?’ He walked to the mixing desk and turned, resting against the leather padding, unlit cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth. He crossed his long thin legs. ‘So, like, what’s the deal then?’
Buff swivelled his chair to face the rest of Twister, who were seated along the back of the studio wall, mugs of tea untouched. He glared at them, finally focusing on Gary. ‘I told you, I don’t know. I can’t explain it. I haven’t touched the mix since we finished last night and as far as I know, no-one else has been in here. Unless one of you is responsible – playing silly buggers – sodding time-wasting wind-up merchant.’
Gary, the bass player, who didn’t want Buff working on the tracks in the first place, shook his head angrily and pointed at Buff. ‘Look mate, there’s keyboards all over that track and none of us put ‘em there so it’s bleedin’ obvious who did. I fuckin’ knew you’d turn us into fuckin’ Night Ranger given half the chance.’
Buff gave him the finger.
‘Shut the fuck up, all of you.’ Twister’s manager, Tristram Guinness, held up his hands. The bad feeling between Buff and Gary was beginning to really piss him off and try his patience. ‘No-one is accusing anyone. But the fact is there are keyboards on the track which shouldn’t, and couldn’t, be there unless someone played them and recorded them. Time’s money and whoever it was better get the message; this crap stops now!’
He walked out slamming the studio door, causing the Christmas decorations in the corner of the room to flutter and shimmy.
‘Time’s bloody money,’ mimicked Jet. ‘So, who did it then? He’s gone, so cough up.’ Never without his sticks in his hands he tapped a rhythm on his knees. The last few days recording had turned into a nightmare, he hated atmospheres and this one was getting more toxic by the day.
The band looked from one to the other, Buff shook his head exasperated. ‘I’m gonna say this once only – next fucker messes with my desk and my mix is dead! Get it?’
He turned back to the desk hitting the replay button, listened for a while, and then pressed a few more buttons, wiping the phantom keyboard track from the recording.
‘OK, here we go, listen up.’ Buff put the track back up on the desk and hit play again. This time the original recording from the night before, minus the phantom keyboard parts, belted out from the monitors on the wall and on the desk. The band gathered round to listen and comment on their own parts, and the track in general, which was what they had been doing when the offending keyboards suddenly appeared on the recording. There was no way they’d ever allow keyboards on their material; not ever.
‘I’m going to re-do my lead on this track,’ said Jonty. ‘I came up with a much better lead break when I was in in bed last night; got to try it, Buff.’ He picked up his guitar and played the piece he wanted to re-record. When everyone agreed it was better Buff brought the track back up on the desk with the drums and bass, but minus Jonty’s former contribution. Jonty plugged his guitar into the desk and began to play.
After several takes and some over-dubbing with guitar effects, everyone was pleased with the new guitar parts and Kris, the rhythm guitarist, re-did some of his parts to fit with Jonty’s. The track sounded full and gutsy; once the vocals had been recorded, Buff would decide if the track needed anything else added to fatten it up. But it was beginning to seriously rock already.
‘Where’s Alex, by the way?’ The lead singer was never around when the tracks were being laid, but always first to complain if something wasn’t to his liking. ‘Still in bed?’ Buff looked up from the desk.
‘Yeah something like that,’ laughed Gary, who’d seen a leggy blonde going into Alex’s room the night before. The band exchanged knowing looks behind Buff’s back. Girls were strictly off-limits during recording. Tristram would go mental if he knew what Alex was up to. ‘Do you need him yet?’
‘Nope, it’s cool. Just make sure he’s wide awake and sober later this afternoon in case I’m ready.’ Buff bent over the desk, pressed play and began to clean up the track.
The band left Buff to tidy the track and add some effects and more over-dubs while they headed down the local pub. ‘Good riddance,’ he muttered as the last one left the studio, ‘little shits enjoy a little too much Christmas spirit for their own good,
’ Buff said to Geoff, his second engineer. Geoff nodded and carried on prepping the live room.
When Tristram asked Buff to record and produce Twister, he’d agreed reluctantly – Buff wasn’t a huge fan of the band. Pressure from his own manager and the band’s record company, plus the fact that royalties were slow coming in from his last project which had taken almost a year to produce, eventually swayed him; he needed the money. ‘Yeah, they write cool lyrics, it’s not that, Tristram, it’s just the whole vibe they put out and their music doesn’t do it for me,’ he told Tristram for the umpteenth time. ‘I like Jonty, he’s cool, but the rest of them do my head in. No-one wants to touch them, Tristram, you know that. They’re bloody toxic.’
‘I know, mate, but they’re creative beings, you know what that’s like.’ Tristram knew just how Buff felt, he’d almost jacked it in with the band many times but things were lean for his management company as well and having spent a bucket load of his own money, still un-recouped, getting the band off the ground during the last five years he couldn’t afford to walk. Not yet at any rate. ‘I can make it worth your while, an extra percent on producer royalties – how about it?
‘Well, all right then, but you’d better have a serious word with those wankers and make sure they get their heads in gear. First fuck-up and I walk. I mean it.’ Buff heard the band were a nightmare in the studio; the producer on their last two albums had refused to work with them again, that was serious. ‘I don’t have Buddy’s patience, any shit goes on and that’s it. How he stuck it for two records I don’t know.’
Later that night the band gathered in the studio ready to listen to Alex lay his vocal parts on the now almost complete track. ‘Only another nine more to record,’ thought Buff as he watched Geoff prepare the mic for Alex. ‘Deep bloody joy.’
Once everyone was settled and Alex was behind the mic in the vocal booth, the lights dimmed. He put his cans on and gave the thumbs up that he could hear Buff. ‘Gonna run the track through once, just to give you the feel. I’ve made some changes since last night as you know, and I wanna be sure you’re familiar. Don’t sing yet. Ready.’ Buff pressed play and the guitar intro started. Alex nodded his approval of the changes Jonty had made, and closed his eyes, concentrating.
‘What the fuck?’ he shouted into the mic as a keyboard started playing on the chorus and middle eight. ‘I thought we told you to cut that shit out.’ He stormed out of the booth and into the control room, his face puce with rage. ‘I oughta smack your fuckin’ face in, you tosser,’ punching a stunned Buff on the shoulder.
Jonty jumped up and pulled Alex off the producer, whose chair had smashed into the bank of keyboards and effects modules on the other side of the room. ‘I’ll fuckin’ kill you if you lay another fuckin’ finger on me; you better believe it.’ Buff shouted, inspecting the gear for damage. ‘Any damage and you pay for it, get me?’
‘Knew this was a bleedin’ mistake, he couldn’t produce a fuckin’ turd,’ yelled Gary.
‘No? Well I sure as hell am trying my best to produce one from you bastards,’ Buff yelled back, spittle dripping down his chin.
Tristram, who had gone outside to make a phone call, came in just as Alex was about to go for Buff again and shouted, ‘What the hell’s going on now? It’s worse that a kindergarten full of bloody toddlers; can’t leave you alone for one minute.’
‘Trust you to be missing when the shit hits the fan,’ Buff shouted. ‘You keep that arsehole out of my face or I’ll re-arrange his for him.’ He pointed at Alex.
‘Let’s calm down, for fuck’s sake,’ shouted Kris, ‘This ain’t helping.’ His eyes pleaded with Jet to do something. Jet jumped up and hit the tambourine which he’d been messing around with. Everyone froze. ‘Right, let’s all sit down and shut the fuck up.’
‘OK, now what’s going on here?’ Tristram sat on the arm of the longest sofa and waited. No-one said anything for a few moments as Buff and Alex continued to glare at each other and Gary eventually lowered his fist. Buff had no idea how close he’d been to having his face smashed in, Gary fumed silently to himself; he was going to get that bastard as soon as the album was finished.
‘Some bugger’s been messin’ with the tracks again. More fuckin’ keyboards all over them. I can’t understand it. I haven’t left the studio all day except for the loo and Geoff has been in here all that time as well, though he did go for coffee and Chinese for us both, but dunno what time that was.’ He pointed to his long-time second engineer-cum-studio tech, who was looping yards of electric cable, then hanging the loops on the pegs in the store room just off the main live room. They could see him through the glass which separated the control room from the three live rooms.
‘Are you sayin’ no-one’s been in here all day or evening except you two?’ Jonty pursed his full lips and shook his head. ‘How the hell did the keys get on the track? Are you re-using old tape that’s not been wiped?’
Buff gave him a look of contempt and said, ’I never re-use tape and few people ever do, so you can wipe that idea outta your head now.’ Buff scratched his head and bent over the desk. He pressed play again and sat back in his chair, headphones covering one ear. ‘Listen to this and tell me how it got there.’
The men stood behind him as Buff moved the faders on the desk and the track started from the beginning. He turned the volume up and sent the track through the monitors. Geoff came back into the studio having witnessed the aggression as he worked the other side of the glass. ‘What’s going on?’ he asked Kris and everyone hissed, ‘Shush!’
Just as the chorus started, a keyboard cut in over the top of Jonty’s lead and almost drowned it out. It was louder and more aggressive than before and as the band listened they realised it was playing a completely different melody to that of the lead guitar.
‘Why would anyone put keys on which aren’t even playing the same bloody tune?’ Tristram asked Buff. ‘I mean it sounds like something else, I can’t put my finger on it, but don’t you think it sounds sort of familiar?’
Everyone got closer to the desk and Buff pressed rewind and played the track again. ‘Yes, there!’ said Tristram. ‘That part coming next. I’ve heard that somewhere before. Anyone know it?’ No-one seemed to recognise it, though Jet looked thoughtful, but he kept his mouth shut. What he was thinking was just too ‘out there.’
‘I don’t fuckin’ care what it does or doesn’t sound like,’ shouted Buff. ‘It shouldn’t be on the bloody track. It’s NOT an old tape and no-one has touched this desk except me, all day.’
‘Drop everything out and leave the keys,’ said Tristram. ‘Let’s hear it on its own.’
‘Am I doin’ my fuckin’ vocals tonight or what?’ Alex moaned. Alex and his girl had plans for later and if he didn’t get back before the housekeeper at the manor house attached to the studio knocked off they wouldn’t be getting anything to eat ‘I mean, if you guys don’t need me I might as well …’
Before he could finish, Tristram said, without turning to look at him, ’You stay as long as we stay and you can forget the girl. I sent her packing just after you decided to show your face.’ Alex looked shocked and he wondered if Buff or Gary had seen the girl and shopped him, but Tristram said, ‘Don’t go looking to blame someone else, I saw you sneaking her in last night. I’ll deal with you later.’
Kris and Jet laughed out loud and did the thumbs down sign to Alex, pulling faces at him behind Tristram’s back. ‘Grow the fuck up, you two,’ Tristram said, sensing them pantomiming behind him. ‘Time’s money and this is wasting a ton of it.’ The band rolled their eyes at hearing their manager’s mantra yet again.
‘We’ve got A&R here next week to hear what we’ve come up with so far,’ said Tristram. ‘Guys, we need this done so the label can see how we’re spending their dosh.’
The track played again and everyone listened hard. Jet looked across at Jonty, wondering if he was thinking the same as he was; the unthinkable. The keyboard seemed to play a melody of its own which Jet
knew he’d heard before, a long time ago, but he tried put the thought out of his head. ‘Got to go for a slash,’ he said and left the room before anyone could reply.
Jet could hear the blood rushing in his ears as he went to the crate of beers in the corner of the kitchen. He picked out a can and opened it, almost throwing the warm liquid down his throat. He opened the door to the kitchen garden, lit a cigarette, and leaned against the wall smoking, drinking, and trying not to think.
‘You all right, mate?’ Jet turned as Jonty joined him for a smoke; beer in hand, they gazed up at the star-filled sky. Jet didn’t answer, watching as a satellite passed overhead. They both watched it in silence for a while and then Jonty said, ‘You coming back inside? Tristram thinks we should all get on and forget the keys. He thinks one of us is prating around and when he finds out who, he said he is seriously thinking of kicking them out of the band.’
‘It’s no-one in the band, Jonty, at least not now,’ said Jet, stubbing his smoke out on the ground. He looked at Jonty who just shook his head, he avoided looking at Jet.
‘Mate, don’t even think it; it’s nuts. Stuff like that’ll do your head in.’ He downed the rest of his can and threw his cigarette end on the lawn. ‘Let’s go back in before our lord and master throws a wobbly.’ Jonty patted his old schoolmate on the shoulder and headed back to the studio. Jet came in on his heels.
‘Meeting of the bloody Girl Guides out there, was it?’ asked Tristram as they came back into the control room. ‘Going to the loo in pairs now, are we?’ The rest of the band roared with laughter. Geoff and Buff rolled their eyes and waited.
‘Right, so what do you make of it?’ Buff asked his fellow listeners. ‘Sounds like a Fender Rhodes to me, and the person playing it certainly knows his stuff. The piece is good, it’s just not right for this track. Anyone here play keys, apart from me that is?’
‘Buff, they’re all multi-instrumentalists, of course they play keys, but look at their faces, mate, they’re as baffled as I am – and if you didn’t put the keys on and they didn’t, then who did?’ said Tristram, lighting a cigarette and blowing the smoke out in circles.
Wishing on a Star Page 10