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Dear Tara,
Tell me if you remember everything about that night in your parents’ house like I do. I need to know.
Love,
Tom
His finger has never been so powerful. It presses the send button, and he knows it’s going to be a waiting game now. But the new Tom is patient. It’s what boredom has taught him to be. He’ll wait and if she doesn’t respond, he might just have to plan himself a holiday. Step out of that grid.
The place is full to the brim and he can see Stani behind the bar, where Justine and Francesca are serving with Pitts, the new guy. Georgie and his father and Sam are here and so are Francesca’s parents and Luca, back from overseas, and Justine’s brothers. And so is every other drop-kick band in town who thinks they’re performing tonight. He pushes his way through the crowd and jumps the counter.
“He’s here,” Justine shouts to him above the noise.
“Who?”
“Ben the Violinist. Near the door, wearing the Ramones T-shirt.”
The violin guy is as nondescript as any other guy Justine’s been interested in. He stands between two somber-looking guys who share a feral alikeness and some Asian dude. All four are either holding guitars, violins, or a saxophone.
“Don’t like him.”
“Tom!” She laughs. “You don’t even know him.”
“Don’t like who he hangs out with. Look at them. Pissed-off looks on their faces. He’s too short for you, anyway.”
“Don’t listen to him,” Francesca says, squeezing between them to hand back someone’s change.
“We’re the same height,” Justine says, her voice weakening.
“Justine!” Francesca says, irritated. “You are not going to lose interest in him just because Tom doesn’t approve. Stop pushing in!” she snaps at the guy who’s just shoved to the front. She points to one of the regulars over his head and serves him next and when the shoving guy gives her lip, she sends him to the back of the line. Tom doesn’t know if the guy’s pissed off or turned on.
“I can’t believe you convinced Stani to do this,” he says to her.
“I kind of lied a tiny bit,” she says, grabbing a bottle of wine out of the fridge and pouring it. “I told him it would just be our band. Five covers. Five originals. Do you think he’s okay about it?”
He looks over at Stani, who’s staring at all the musical equipment being dragged in. The moment Stani sees an amplifier, he sends a scathing look toward Francesca.
“I probably would keep away from him for the rest of the . . . year,” Tom says.
Later, the three of them join Ned in the kitchen while there’s a quiet moment.
“He hasn’t come near me,” Justine says. “He’s only here to play. He’s not interested. I think you’re right, Tom. I think he’s gay.” She heads straight to the toilet.
Francesca punches him hard in the shoulder. And it hurts.
“It’s exactly what you told me about Will when we were at school.”
“No, I didn’t. It was Siobhan telling you he was going to join the priesthood.”
They watch most of the action from the doorway and when the first band goes up, there’s silence, which is a pity because they’re crap and he’d like noise to drown them out.
“I reckon Ned should go out there and accidentally hand the T-bone to the violinist, and if he has a vibe, then we’ll know Justine’s guy is gay,” Tom says.
Ned utters a sound of disbelief. “There’s no such thing as gaydar, dickhead.”
Francesca is looking at Tom and nodding for a change. “Go on, Ned. Even if there’s not gaydar, there’s this . . . I don’t know . . . thing.”
Ned is still looking horrified. “What am I to you people?”
“For Justine,” Francesca pleads. “She’s in the toilet, Ned. Let’s lay this violinist thing to rest tonight.”
Tom massages Ned’s shoulders and then chops at them like he’s about to meet an opponent in a boxing ring. Ned shrugs him off aggressively, grabbing the two plates of T-bones and walking out into the crowd while Stani’s barking out Francesca’s name to get back to the front and serve.
Minutes later Ned comes back all red-faced and a sinking feeling comes over Tom.
“You had a moment with him, didn’t you?” he asks flatly.
Ned is focused on the order as if it’s the most perfect piece of writing he’s ever seen.
“No,” he mumbles.
Ned begins chopping up the vegetables.
Tom’s confused. “No moment with the violinist?”
“No.”
“Yessss,” he says, punching Ned’s arm. “Then what’s wrong?”
Ned is agitated and he walks to the doorway and peers out. “There was a bit of a . . . moment . . . with one of the retard lookalikes.”
“Which one?” Tom asks, looking over Ned’s shoulder.
“God, I don’t know. The one who looks like the other one. Is he looking this way?”
Francesca races in with plates and plonks them in Tom’s hands.
“The violinist is all clear,” Tom explains to her, “but Ned had a moment with one of the guitarists.”
“Ned, don’t make this all about you,” she says before walking out again.
When half the bands have played, Justine introduces them to the violinist.
“Tom and Frankie,” she says politely, her face reddening instantly.
The violinist has a cocksure way about him and introduces his band.
“And who are you?” Tom asks.
He receives an evil unseen pinch from Francesca.
“Ben.”
“Are we on next?” one of the brothers asks rudely. Tom can’t tell the difference between him and the other brother. They have the same sour look on their faces. “We have a seven-hour drive in front of us and we have to get the car back first thing in the morning.”
“Why? Is it stolen?” Tom asks.
The brothers stare at him.
“Who told you that?”
Justine looks at Ben, slightly alarmed.
“It belongs to a friend,” he explains.
They’re called Deluge and their original piece is pretty impressive. Violin, sax, acoustic guitar, and bass guitar. It’s a bit of a wild number, mostly a show-off instrumental piece, but the crowd loves it and Justine’s violinist is one of the many musicians in Tom’s life who make him feel inadequate in the talent department.
But then it’s time for the cover and things go downhill.
Francesca and Justine gasp. Actually, Tom does as well, but he hopes his gasp gets lost with the girls’. Ned’s there too. “What?” Ned asks.
“Car thieves and song thieves. They stole our cover.”
But it sounds near perfect with just one vocal, two guitars, and the violin, and he hears Francesca and Justine sigh. Actually Tom does as well, but hopes that his gets lost just as much.
“It’s our song. Will’s and mine,” Francesca says.
“Yeah and everyone else’s in this room,” Tom says. “The violin player just looked at you, Justine, during the line about not being able to take his eyes off you.”
“And the guitarist looked at Ned.”
“He’s the one with the bass guitar. Remember that, Ned. The one you had a moment with is holding a bass guitar,” Tom says as if he’s speaking to a moron.
Ned mutters something and walks away.
“We need a cover,” Justine says. “You guys choose.”
“Tom?” Francesca says.
He chooses Paul Kelly’s “How to Make Gravy” and looks out to where his family is sitting, knowing the choice won’t be lost on them. The harmonica in his hand quavers from everything he’s putting into it, and Tom plays it for Joe. For introducing him to his first note, his first strum, his first understanding of the solace a song or instrument can bring. For placing a pick in his hand, because he knows he would never have met these two alongside him if it wasn’t for music. When they finish, it’s Stani who calls encore, and who are they not to take advantage of another five minutes onstage when the boss orders it? Francesca beckons her brother up to play drums and then she belts out “Union City Blues” as if her life depends on it. The crowd goes wild, her voice is so perfect in its ability to hold a note forever, making it hers and mixing it with every one of their emotions. He catches Justine’s eyes and she’s shaking her head in awe. Tom realizes that the universe must have changed in some way because he’s not just wishing Tara was there but that Will was too.