‘It’s all bullshit,’ her Dad had said, pointing out the fortune teller.
‘You said something naughty,’ she replied. Holding on to his hand, Sally had liked that her Dad swore. He didn’t swear much. It was like he was letting her in on a secret, an adult conversation. She peered at the fortune teller, interested in finding out what made her Dad so angry about them.
‘Don’t repeat that word, Sally.’
‘Bullshit?’ she asked.
‘Yes, that’s not a good word to say. But you listen to me,’ he said. Behind him, Sally watched the fortune teller lay out their cards. They were dressed as a cliche fortune teller, all yellow stars and crescent moons. Her Dad placed his hand on her shoulder as if to restrain her. ‘Don’t waste your time with any of that religious or spiritual stuff.’
‘So what happens when we die? Do we go to heaven?’ she asked him.
Her Dad grimaced. ‘You shouldn’t be thinking about that kind of stuff your age. Who’s told you about heaven?’
‘At school,’ she replied. ‘My teacher said that when we die we go up there and there are angels, and we live forever.’
Her Dad paused and tightened his grip on her shoulder. It hurt a bit, but she didn’t mind. ‘You don’t have to listen to them either. I’m going to tell you a very important and scary thing, something your teachers won’t like. When you die, you die, and there’s no use waiting around for something afterwards. People can get so tied up about things like their past or their future. They forget about the present moment. Focus on what’s happening now. Live your life. You understand me?’
Even though she didn’t understand him, Sally nodded.
She didn’t believe in any god, but she believed in her Dad. He was so full of wisdom. She could listen to him talk all day about anything. He was more real to her than any kind of God.
And now he was gone. Forget about him.
An old globe in the antique shop, balancing on a shelf, interested Sally. She picked it up and examined it. The globe was the size of her hand. It creaked when she span it. Touching the little spot of paint that was her home, she traced her finger around it to where she was now, all the way around the globe. She paused, absorbing how far away from her home she was. She didn’t miss it. She was glad to be away. Sally was happy she’d left all the pain of the last few weeks. All the people who wanted to get in touch. She was out of her Dad’s dark lonely house, where all the memories hung around like ghosts. She couldn’t face going back home anytime soon. Sally lifted her finger away from the globe and shook her head.
She had to stop thinking about what happened.
‘Excuse me,’ the woman by the till said. She waggled one of her thin fingers at Sally. ‘Don’t touch anything.’
‘Sorry.’
‘You’ll have to pay for whatever you break.’
‘I won’t touch anything else.’
‘Don’t,’ the woman said. ‘I’m watching. You’ll have to pay.’
Sally grimaced and faced her back to the woman. She walked away out of sight from the till.
A long case in the corner caught her attention. Inside were an assortment of accessories. Carved bracelets and wooden wristbands were laid out in the case. Their prices were on little cards next to them. They were cheap.
The corner of the case drew Sally's interest. A necklace. She undid the bow that wrapped it. The necklace was a metal figure of an arrow linked on a silver chain, about the length and breadth of her middle finger. She picked it up and balanced it in the palm of her hand. The metal was cool to her touch. To Sally it was beautiful.
Even though she’d vowed to stop thinking about the past, this necklace had re-woken a memory in her. Something she’d forgotten. A memory with her Dad. She decided to buy it.
The woman, engrossed by her newspaper and her disdain of Sally, took her time tapping out the necklace’s price on the till. The pause made Sally reconsider her purchase, and her foot tapped nervously on the store’s panelled flooring. She shouldn’t be spending money. Not on herself, not when she had a phone to buy. But, hang on, this trip was about her, about what she wanted to do. She didn’t have to be scared of Ashley. She was an adult. The necklace was Sally’s treat to herself. It wasn’t expensive, and it reminded her of her Dad. Screw Ashley.
Necklace paid for, Sally slipped it into the pocket of her denim shorts.
‘Thanks,’ she murmured as she ducked out the antique store.
Sally walked quickly down the street. She didn’t know where she was heading as long as it wasn’t back to the antique shop or to the hostel.
She rounded another corner and there she was, back at the beach.
She might as well touch the sand again. Feel the wind. Clear her head. Sally passed the old beach pavilion, the spot where she’d been arguing with Ashley the night before. The place was so different in the daytime. There were fewer party-goers on the streets and more families. The nightclubs and bars were empty, and children spilled out from the ice cream shops. Dads carried takeaway bags from busy restaurants.
Sally spotted the bar across the road, the bar where Charlie had said he was going to perform. She remembered it from when he’d pointed it out to her from the cliff.
She hesitated, debating whether to go back to the hostel or head to the bar. She really should forget about Charlie, but maybe she should check it out. She should see his band and get her money, screw Ashley and what she’d think. Sally took in a deep breath and decided she was going to do it, go and see Charlie. She walked over the road and into the bar.
23
Plastered on the wall outside the bar were posters advertising various bands. Sally browsed through them, searching for Charlie’s name. His band must be one of them scheduled. This was definitely the place he’d pointed out on the cliff the night before. She hoped he was performing. She needed to see him. She needed the money for the phone.
Sally went inside the bar and sat at a table. The place was empty for the afternoon. Three old men stood by the bar, the local regulars, Sally guessed. They nursed their beers and spoke to each other in raspy voices.
She ordered a bowl of hot chips from the bar. She wasn’t hungry, but she hadn’t had food for nearly a full day, she’d been too stressed. Was it too early to start drinking?
Sally observed the pub get busier and busier as the afternoon progressed. People were gathering after work. She’d forgotten what day it was. Friday? It must’ve been Friday. Everyone was happy to be out of work, their weekend beginning. As the bar filled, Sally realised she was getting in the way of a group of men edging towards the bar. Their chatter was getting louder as they slowly encroached on her table, surrounding her. Screw it. She moved to a corner table, away from all the noise.
Being on her own in social situations was something Sally was used to. She was always either with Ashley or by herself. She didn’t feel out of place in the busy bar. She was happier to watch everyone else and not be the centre of attention, like she was at a party with Ashley.
How would she collect the money from Charlie? What would she say to him? She wanted to get out of her seat and leave the bar. A drink would help. It wasn’t too early for alcohol now. Be like Dad, she told herself. He wouldn’t run away.
A loud screech emanated from the back room, like a guitar suffering feedback. The old regulars around the bar grumbled and covered their ears. Sally guessed a sound system was being set up. It must be time for the music. She ducked through the crowd and queued at the bar.
After getting a double vodka and lemonade, she snooped around to the stage in the backroom, holding the glass in her hand. The room was empty except for a band warming up and checking their guitars and drum kit, nodding encouragingly at each other. Sally strained to see if Charlie was among them. He wasn’t. She frowned. This had been the bar he’d pointed out. She moved to the back wall of the room where it’d be easier and better to see him, away from the bar patrons that were sure to arrive.
She kept looking for Charl
ie and his smile as the room slowly got more crowded. The band warming up started to play. Sally didn’t like them. Their music was unrelenting, the singer couldn’t hold a note, and the drummer made too much noise. He couldn’t keep a beat. Sally sipped at her drink and gazed over the heads of the crowd, searching for Charlie’s messy black hair.
Her drink was empty after a few songs. Only the melting ice cubes were left jiggling around at the bottom of the glass. She had to drink to ignore the music. Sally slid out of the room and queued again at the bar. Another drink would help her if she had to speak to Charlie. She found drinking helped her talk to people. She’d never been on a date sober.
By the time she got back to the side room, there was a new band. Upfront was Charlie. His guitar, the same from the other day at the harbour, slung over his back. His hair ruffled and his clothes the same as in the night before, it was like he hadn’t slept. But his dishevelled appearance didn’t affect the audience, he flashed his smile, and they roared in approval. His band must be popular in this pub. Or maybe the inebriated crowd would cheer at anything. The band behind him began to play.
Charlie's singing voice was softer and higher than Sally expected. She was surprised. She’d assumed his singing would be lower, like his confident speaking drawl. The music from his band was in direct contrast with the previous band’s loud histrionics. Charlie's band played a kind of blues rock, something more suited to a Motown record from decades ago to anything popular now. The music style, like Charlie's voice, surprised Sally, but she was impressed. She leaned against the wall, surveying Charlie, and sipped her new drink. He strummed his guitar, beat his boot against the ground, and sang into the microphone. She enjoyed it. They were good, very good.
She finished her drink as the band finished another song. She placed the glass on a table.
Charlie leaned in close to the microphone between songs, the band nodding along behind him. ‘Thanks for having us here tonight,’ he said into the microphone. ‘We’ll finish up now with one last song. It’s a new one.’
The crowd cheered, and Charlie's eyes locked contact with Sally’s.
He winked at her, and Sally’s heart stopped.
24
Charlie saw her. He grinned at Sally, broke eye contact, scanned the rest of the audience, and launched into a new song. It was loud.
Sally dashed out the nearest door, needing fresh air. She’d felt something when Charlie looked at her, a fluttering of emotions she never had for a guy. She couldn’t name them. She regained her breath in the smoking area outside the bar. The sun was setting over the horizon, illuminating the buildings around the bar in a dull pink. A round of applause burst from the room behind her. They were clapping for Charlie, and her heart started to beat faster. She’d only seen him the day before, but she sensed a connection between them, one she’d never really had with anyone before, especially not a boy.
He’d seen her, and her heart had stopped.
Against her better instinct, she knew she was falling for him. Why did she go into the bar? Why did she watch his gig? But she knew she was meant to be there. She was meant to see him again.
Sally courted her breaths, trying to ease the rising tension in her chest, listening in on the chattering smokers around her. Slowly, her breathing returning to normal, and Sally relaxed. She was okay. She eavesdropped on the conversations around her in the smoking area and calmed down.
She remembered the necklace she'd bought at the antique shop. She removed it from her pocket and tied it around her neck. Tracing her fingers around the necklace, she felt the arrow, the sharpness of it, the strength of the metal. She was surprised at how large it was. Touching the necklace, she remembered when her Dad had taught her how to nock an arrow and shoot a bow. It reminded her of when her Dad had shown her his love of archery.
‘So, you turned up. This is unexpected. I thought you were busy.’ It was him. Charlie was in the doorway leading to the smokers’ area. ‘I saw you staring from the back. Why did you leave during the last song?’
‘I like to get out before everyone else does,’ she replied as her heart rate quickening.
‘You were staring at me, like you did yesterday at the harbour,’ he said. He must’ve left the stage as soon as he finished playing, heading outside to see her. Sally didn’t know whether to feel appreciated or worried.
Sally shrugged. ‘I had nothing better to do tonight, so I thought I’d give you a watch. See what the fuss is about,’ she said.
‘So, your scary friend actually allowed you out today? No threats of violence?’ he asked, eyebrow raised.
‘I escaped,’ Sally replied. ‘Like a princess from an ivory tower.’
‘How magical.’
‘Where’s your band?’ Sally asked, looking around for the other musicians. Charlie was on his own.
He nodded back towards the door. ‘They’re packing away some of the stuff and chatting to everyone.’
‘So you’re neglecting your fans? Why aren’t you there?’
‘I’m not one for crowds after a gig. I can’t handle all the remarks.’
‘You usually get criticisms?’
Charlie pointed at Sally. ‘Don’t you start,’ he said.
Sally secretly savoured the attention Charlie was paying her, it made her feel like she was more than a random groupie. He’d seen her in the crowd and had decided to track her down outside. ‘Surely you don’t get praise,’ she teased.
‘I do sometimes,’ he said.
‘No. I don’t believe it.’
Charlie smiled, and Sally had to smile with him. His goddamn cheeky smile. ‘Well, did you like it? My performance?’ he asked.
‘Hey,’ someone shouted, and Charlie and Sally turned. It was a man, part of a group, passing by the smoking area. He was drunk, shouting at Charlie from across the smoking area. ‘You were on stage just then?’
‘Yeah,’ Charlie answered.
The man staggered towards Charlie and Sally. He climbed over the rope separating the smoking area from the street, reaching towards them. Sally could already smell the alcohol on his breath. ‘You guys suck,’ he said, directed at Charlie.
Charlie raised his chin in defiance. ‘What the fuck did you say?’ he asked, his voice quivering in anger.
The man leaned on the rope. ‘You heard me,’ he spat.
Charlie took a step forward.
‘Come over here and say that,’ he dared. The smokers were gawping, expecting a confrontation. The anticipation of a fight hung heavily over the smoking area.
The drunk man laughed, flipped over the rope and rejoined his friends. Despite his inebriation, he knew there’d be a fight if he didn’t back off. With his fists clenched and his body tense, Charlie was ready for one. The man’s group laughed with their friend as they continued past the bar and out of sight. The smokers, disappointed by the lack of blood, resumed their conversations as if nothing had happened.
Sally turned back to Charlie. He was shaking his head, and his hands were trembling.
‘You okay?’ she asked.
‘I should follow him,’ he whispered with a quiet rage. ‘I should fuck him up.’
His sudden anger surprised Sally, and she felt useless. How could she help him? There was an urge for her to say something, to break the pressure she saw building in Charlie. ‘You don't have to fight him. You can ignore him,’ she said softly.
‘Fuck him.’
‘He’s drunk, they all were. He isn’t worth your time.’
Charlie swore again, and pushed his hands against the bar’s wall, taking his anger out on the bricks. His knuckles whitened, and she was suddenly scared of him, of his potential for violence. He could unleash that same anger on her, and she couldn’t do anything to stop it. She could tame him, though. Make him better. Soothe him.
‘I want to do something, I need to do something,’ he said, his unshaven jawline clenched.
‘You don’t have to. He's a prick. It’ll be a waste of your time.’
&
nbsp; Charlie ignored her. He went quiet and shut his eyes, and Sally stood beside him, still not knowing what to do or how to help him. She debated whether to touch him, rub his shoulder, but she decided against it. She didn’t even know him. How would he react?
Charlie sighed, opened his eyes, and stood away from the wall. ‘Yeah, you’re probably right,’ he said slowly. ‘Fuck him.’
There was a long pause. Seeing his anger subsiding, Sally edged closer to him. ‘Well, if it’s any consolation, I thought you were good,’ she said.
Charlie shook his head. ‘You don’t have to say that.’
‘I’m being serious.’
‘Really?’
‘I was impressed,’ Sally said. ‘By your performance. You and your band are actually pretty good.’
‘Really? Wow. That’s high praise coming from you. I should put it on a poster or something,’ Charlie said, his mood changing.
‘Don’t let it all go to your head,’ Sally laughed, and his cheeks flared. Was this flirting? Was she flirting with him?
‘Yeah.’ Charlie replied. He faced away from the wall and leaned over the rope outlining the smoking area, looking up the street.
‘You’re still pissed off about that stupid drunk guy?’ Sally asked.
‘You want to know what I would’ve done if I’d got to him?’ Charlie asked. It wasn’t a question. He leaned in close to Sally so that they were inches away, and he wrapped his hand around his neck like he was choking himself. ‘I would’ve done him like this.’
Sally took a step back. She didn’t like what he was doing, and what he was showing her. His fingers gripped his neck, and he mimed being choked. Something was menacing about his display, something deeply violent. ‘Stop it,’ she said.
‘It doesn’t take much to kill someone like this,’ Charlie continued. ‘It would be so easy, and you could look into their eyes while you do it.’
’That’s scary, you’re freaking me out,’ Sally said weakly.
The Busker: A gripping psychological thriller Page 13