The Hush Society Presents...

by Izzy Matias

  "I understand," she says and squeezes my arm. "You take care of yourself and prove Dad wrong so at least something good comes out of this. Maybe when he sees he’s been proven wrong, he’ll have to let you back home."

  "What do you think I’ll be doing out there?" I ask to cross her.

  She rolls her eyes, but then smiles.

  "It’s scary knowing that if I make a right mess of things, I won’t have a home to go back to." I look at my guitar case, wondering if it’ll ever come to that. This is my last shot. I can’t blow it up.

  "You have us, Cameron. Dad’s being Dad. He’ll have to let you back home eventually." Tamara gives me a soft smile. "Don’t forget your big sis when you’re selling out at the O2. I expect nothing less than an all-access pass."

  I laugh. At least she’s teasing about it already. I’ll be gutted if I leave and we’re on bad terms.

  She pulls me in a quick, tight hug and whispers, "It’ll be quiet without you in the house causing a ruckus." And then she dashes out of my room.

  A bolt of sadness overwhelms me as I realise what I’m leaving behind, even if only for a couple of months. Things are already different and I haven’t even left for tour yet. As if to further drive this point, I catch Timmy’s big eyes peeping in.

  "Come on, Tim-tam." I signal with my head for him to enter.

  He hesitates. "Can’t you study and play music at the same time?" There’s conflict in his eyes. "You used to do it all the time. Dad will have to let you come home."

  "Sorry, Tim-Tam. I have to do this, but I’ll be back in three months." Even though I smile, I know I’ll carry the weigh of his statement with me when I leave this place.

  Three months away from my family. Apart from the three weeks I’ve been staying at Eric’s, the longest I’ve been away from them is a few days, for a music festival or out-of-town trips with mates.

  It’s exciting to think about. Complete freedom.

  "You’ll do anything it takes to get into the University of Oxford, wouldn’t ya?" I ask Timmy.

  He nods, his eyes registering understanding.

  "It’s the same for me with music. I’ll do whatever it takes to make it work. And If I don’t, at least I did my best." But I try not to think about what will happen if I don’t make it. Or not being able to come back home.

  Timmy doesn’t say anything, but runs to me and hugs my legs. I bend down to meet with him on eye-level and return his bone-crushing hug.

  "You take care of Tamara and Mum, ya hear?" I say as I pat his head. He hates it when I do that, but I can’t help it. He’s my little bro. My hand is still on his head as he nods then finally walks out of my room.

  Once I finish packing the duffel bag Mum lent me, I crash into my bed. I stare at the fading stonewashed walls, the ones covered in accumulated photographs, band posters, concert tickets and gig flyers. I close my eyes for a few minutes, taking the moment in with my other senses.

  The smell of burnt toast and bacon wafts toward me as the Mumford and Sons record plays on. I tug at my pale knit jumper, playing with the loose pieces of thread. Mum calls out to Tamara. With my other free hand, I stroke the strings of the acoustic guitar on my bed.

  #

  We arrive in Manchester before noon and exit the train into a bustling station where people walk with purpose. As we lug our bags and instruments, we search for the nearest taxi rank. Eric hauls a guitar in place of his drum kit. We’ve been informed that each Hush Society hub has a drum kit of their own, so Eric need only bring his percussion accessories and a Cajon.

  Once it’s our turn, we board the cabbie.

  "Where ya lads off to?" His accent is thick.

  Benji hands him a small napkin with the address scribbled on it. He grunts in reply and presses on the pedal. We pass brick buildings, terraced homes, Victorian-style structures, and—one of the things they don’t have in Beverley—skyscrapers. The sun’s rays highlight the structures around me. My mouth forms a circle, and the driver chuckles.

  He glances at me from the rearview mirror. "Where are you from?" I ask, curious.

  "Am from Yorkshire. What’s it to ye?"

  "Us, too!" Eric lights up. "From Beverley."

  "How long have you been in Manchester?" I ask.

  "Couple o’ years. Moved here with mah family. Ye lads are here on holiday?"

  "We’re here for work," Benji replies.

  "Musicians?" our driver asks, turning to a side street. It’s almost been half an hour since we caught our cab. Cassie’s flat isn’t too far from the station. Twenty minutes, tops, she had said on mobile.

  Benji confirms the cabbie’s guess and Eric tells him we’re going our first nationwide tour.

  "The music’s thrivin’ ere. Lots o’ young ‘uns like ye move ere for it. Reckon ye lads should do the same. It’s half the price of livin’ in London."

  I’ve been to London a couple of times. Manchester reminds me of it: the size, the people, the style of some of the buildings are similar, but the vibe is different. It’s not as hectic as the city life in London.

  Eric and Benji are in deep conversation with our driver, Bates—probing him about his life.

  "Excuse me, Bates," I interrupt, "are we almost there? We were told the flat was near the station." The place looks nothing like what Cassie described. It’s like we’ve gone to the other side of Manchester already.

  "I ‘ave no clue!" Bates chuckles, throwing his hands up. "I’ve been ere fer years and I keep discoverin’ new places."

  Benji whips out his mobile. "Don’t worry. I’m looking for it on Waze right now."

  "Ways?" I ask.

  "How are you living in the twenty-first century, mate, and not know Waze?" Eric asks, rolling his eyes. "It’s an app that gives directions."

  I peek at this mysterious new app with small whale icons that swim on roads. Benji instructs Bates that we should take a left in the next junction.

  "Before ye know it, they’ll be driver-less autos."

  "Actually…" Benji begins.

  After two more mishaps with Bates misunderstanding Benji’s directions, we pull up to a modern structure with brick pillars. There’s a Pret A Manger right beside the building, which Benji points out as we unload our gear. Eric dashes inside with some of our items after settling the bill with Bates, who gave us his mobile in case we needed a cabbie anytime soon.

  "Cameron!" Ella rushes towards me from the glass door of the building. She acts like we haven’t seen each other in ages.

  Dan follows behind her. "Welcome back to the society, mate. We’re glad you’ll be with us on tour. It’s going to be mad."

  "Absolutely," I say, grinning as Ella crushes me in a bear hug.

  My eyes trail behind Dan and spot Cassie. She walks towards us, greets my mates first because they are inside the building unloading their gear. My gaze follows her until she’s inches from me.

  "Cameron," she greets me, pulling me in a hug.

  "Hi," I say as I give her a squeeze before she breaks off. There’s a waft of lavender in the air.

  After weeks of messaging each other non-stop, it’s good to finally be able to interact with her face-to-face, and not through a pocket-sized screen.

  "—completely zonked off," Dan says.

  "Who’s zonked off?" I ask, confused, and look around.

  "You!" Ella points out, giggling, and interlaces her arm with Cassie’s.

  "As soon as she"—Dan cocks his head to Cassie—"showed her face…" he trails off. His hands mimic an explosion.

  We burst out laughing.

  "I appreciate the presence of a beautiful lady," I say with a cheeky grin whilst looking at Cassie.

  "The lad’s not at all bashful, is he?" Dan pats my back and we head in with me carrying my duffel bag and two guitars. "Just your luck, too. She’s single!"

  Yes! I grin and wink at her. Maybe I’ve a chance since we have been messaging each other non-stop these last couple of weeks.

  Cassie smacks my arm as we pass her.
Her cheeks look like they’ve been pinched. I chuckle and walk into the lobby.

  Ella whispers as she goes beside me. "You’ve just got to get through the ice because she doesn’t date musicians."

  Wait, what?

  I give Ella a questioning look.

  Is that why Cassie rejected those two lads at The Verve? They were both musicians.

  Shite. I’m a musician, too. Maybe I can be the exception. But first I’ll have to find out why she doesn’t date musicians. I’ll show her that whatever her reason, I’m hoping to be the exception.

  "Or at least, she hasn’t dated a musician in a while," Ella says, but this only adds to the mystery. Cassie enters the lobby and heads towards us, so the matter is closed.

  "Nice of you to join us." Eric taps his invisible watch.

  "You lot share a flat?" Benji asks as we climb the flight of stairs to the fifth floor. It’s a question addressed to the three tenants.

  "It was a headache organizing gigs when we lived away from each other," Ella answers. "We’re all from different cities, but decided to move to Manchester for Uni."

  "It’s easier to plan and manage gigs if we’re all under one roof," Dan says. "Especially when we start Uni in the fall. We’re all going to Uni in the same place anyway, so might as well."

  "Better than sharing a house with other Uni students who party every night," Cassie interrupts. Eric comments that it mustn’t be that difficult; might even be fun. "Not if you’ve got revisions to do," she quips.

  "Art majors have to revise?" he says in disbelief.

  "We’re a tad far from Uni and the rent’s higher than a student house," Ella says turning to another hallway. "But it’s worth it ‘cause we have access to potential gig venues around us."

  Dan halts in front of the door to what I presume is their flat. He grabs his keys, unlocks it and ushers us inside.

  "Don’t you feel like a third wheel, living in with a couple?" Eric asks.

  "Not at all," Cassie says. "Then, again, I’ve only lived with them for about a month."

  We enter a polished wooden floor that squeaks when we step on it.

  "It’s so neat," Eric raves. "I love it!"

  The walls are white and amplify the light from the small windows. The place is compact, but looks like it could be a showroom—everything in its proper place. Even the art supplies that are scattered around the room look as if they’re decor. We set our things in the open space beside the grey, L-shaped couch.

  "Thanks!" Dan beams. "The gals can be such slobs sometimes."

  My eyes ping pong to Dan, Ella and Cassie before I burst into laughter.

  "Thanks for sharing our secrets of living together the minute they enter our flat!" Cassie snaps at Dan, but he waves her comment away.

  "We’ve got a spare room," he offers. "You lads can build your fort there before tour starts. We’ll introduce you to the rest of the crew."

  "Where in Manchester do The Psychedelic Glitch and Amber Skye stay?" Eric asks, springing to her.

  Ella describes where, but I’m not paying attention anymore. Instead, I help Cassie move our bags into the spare room. The space is small and has one big window overlooking the Manchester skyline. Skyscrapers block the rest of the view, but it’s beautiful.

  The room’s white walls are covered in plastic with blotches of paint all over them. There’s a cabinet full of art materials I can’t name, a couple of easels, canvases I’m tempted to rummage and a small foldable couch. On one corner of the room, there’s a keyboard and a guitar case.

  I turn to Cassie with a cheeky grin.

  "What?" she asks, smiling. There’s lavender even in this room.

  "If you’re still up for that guitar lesson, we’ll have time to pursue it." My eyebrows go up and down.

  She responds with a mischievous grin. "We’ll see," she teases.

  Maybe I can get through her no-musician rule. I take her ‘we’ll see’ as a positive sign. She hasn’t said anything to me about her no-dating-musicians rule, so maybe she’s changed her mind? I don’t ask her just yet about said rule.

  "Kai! ‘Bout time you showed up," Dan’s voice echoes from outside.

  Cassie turns towards the door and I follow. If I had asked about her no-musicians rule, she’d have had a convenient out because of Kai’s arrival—whoever he is.

  "Benji and Eric, right?" An unfamiliar voice greet my mates. Kai’s sat at the far end of the couch beside Ella and Dan.

  Eric pushes Benji playfully out of where he’s seated to claim ownership of the bigger beanbag. Benji feigns annoyance but takes the remaining beanbag beside Eric. I sit beside Cassie.

  "Where are the rest of The Psychedelic Glitch?" Benji asks.

  Ah, so Kai’s part of that band. I never got a chance to meet them that night at The Hush Society because they had to leave to play another show. We exchange nods and trade names, though I already know his.

  "Ed’s arm still isn’t fully healed," Kai tells Benji.

  So it was The Psychedelic Glitch’s spot we were taking. Were we really ready for this? We’ve been practicing hours a day—every day—for weeks, but to stand in for a band as good as The Psychedelic Glitch…

  "I’m here as Bristol’s hub manager," Kai explains, "and I’ll be holding down the fort here to help plan the music festival whilst you lot are on tour."

  "How’d it happen?" Benji asks, referring to Ed’s injury.

  "He was on a skating deck, but had this brilliant idea of rolling belly-flat on it, down a steep slope. On his descent down, a bunch of sheep crossed the road and on instinct, he used both hands to halt."

  "Ouch!" I cringe at the pain of imagining the friction of the hot asphalt road against the palms of my hands and bloody skin. "Bloody sheep!"

  Cassie stands up and enters one of the rooms down the hall.

  "Sports and a professional career in music do not blend well," Eric says. I bet he recollects the time he played Polo, fell off his steed, and sprained his leg. He was so frustrated he couldn’t do a double bass for weeks.

  "He’s normally on the cautious side, but he was pissed."

  "He’s always pissed," Ella says.

  "More than his usual," Kai admits.

  Cassie approaches us with a handful of papers, plops down on the wooden floor, and spreads them out.

  "Gather round the campfire," Eric says and huddles us around Cassie.

  She unrolls one of the bigger papers, unveils a map with lots of red circles, which, she points out, are the cities we’re playing; the route; which cities she, Dan, and Ella are in charge of; as well as the other bands who are on tour with Dan and Ella. She lists down the hub heads of The Hush Society in each respective city and describes the logistics. My head swirls at the names. As exciting as it all seems, there’s too much information to take in.

  My fingers go to autopilot and drum.

  I strain my neck to glance at our tour route. There are red circles in the cities Amber, Benji, Cassie, Eric, and I are to visit this summer. I get a glimpse of a few of them: Liverpool, Bristol, Brighton, London, and Manchester.

  Touring is like trying to solve a maths problem.

  My foot taps random beats and my fingers continue drumming.

  I want to go out and explore. Bring my guitar with me and scout the area for parks—or better yet, discover a musical gem in this lofty city.

  As much as I know how important this meeting is, my eyes can’t help but meet the skyline out the window.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  The Northern Quarter is a restaurant and bar in a neighborhood with the same name. Its façade is a mint-green colour with the name in capital letters. My denim jacket is perched on the backrest of the chair. The air is sticky, but I don’t mind. It’s like being in the mosh pit, except it’s ten times stickier in the pit.

  Eric, Benji, and Kai have drifted off to another area of Manchester whilst Dan and Ella stayed at their flat to sort out their leg of their tour. Cassie offered to show me around when Amber Skye ra
ng to ask us to meet up. She insisted they take me here, to one of their regular hangout spots.

  "This is a must visit for virgins of Manchester!" Amber announced as we entered the place earlier, only to settle at the table outside.

  Amber’s been telling us about her childhood mate for the past ten minutes. "Girl, I bumped into him at the supermarket. He kept asking how I was doing, even about my progress. And you know what he said?"

  "What?" Cassie leans in.

  "Never ever compare yourself to other artists!" Amber mimics in a higher tone, grabs Cassie’s arm, and gives her this wide-eyed look. "Ever!"

  "Some people can be so nosy, can’t they?" Cassie says, shaking her head.

  "It’s so ironic that the very person who compares himself to others is lecturing me about it," Amber says with annoyance as she takes a sip from her tea.

  "Maybe it’s too hard for him to bite that habit off," Cassie says, "so he’s passing his wisdom to you, in hopes of avoiding a fate like his."

  "Yeah, yeah." Amber rolls her eyes.

  "You said you’d try harder. You have to." Cassie turns Amber’s arms to her and clasps them with her fingers.

  "I am." There’s a slight quiver in her voice.

  I raise a suspicious brow to Amber, but stay silent. I can tell it’s a personal issue.

  "This lady is a life-saver." Amber nudges her elbow on Cassie’s arm. There’s a faint blush in the latter’s face.

  "You don’t owe me or anyone an explanation," I interrupt and hold my hands up. "It’s okay."

  "No, I want to share this."

  "Okay." I glance at Cassie. Her full attention is on Amber.

  Amber’s eyes flicker from the table. Her hands run through her pink hair. "I struggled with anorexia for a long time." Cassie pats Amber’s arm, and the latter half-smiles before continuing. "But throughout it all there was one thing constant and that was my song-writing. I’d constantly compare myself to every girl out there and it took me a while to debut at a gig."

  The Amber that’s in front of me, the one I’d walked in on at the basement of Tokyo Drift performing solo on stage with nothing but her ukulele, is an assured gal. How did she become this confident?

  "The night I debuted as a singer, I overheard someone commenting I’d never break out into a scene if I looked like a skeleton. You’d think that being thin is what a lot of celebrities are into these days, so I never expected to hear that sort of comment. And that’s what woke me up."