I lean my guitar against the wall. On any other day, I’d just be coming home from busking. The early morning is the best part of the day when it comes to this gig. It's not just a way to earn some extra cash, there's real science involved. Take your average punter, for instance. If you catch them first thing, they haven’t had time for anything to fuck up their day. Add to the mix the warmest summer on record, which is always a celebration in England, and you become part of their good start. It’s why I’m never out there during rush hour. Catching a punter on his way home, when it’s pouring with rain or just cold and windy, is a no-no. They could have had a shit day at work or a row with the boss. They might have to make a trip to the food market to grab dinner. Whichever it is, ultimately, you've got yourself a punter who wants to get home as quickly as possible. You're a distraction they choose to ignore. I take my side job seriously, believe me, I know how my punters work.
I’m craving toast, but when I enter the kitchen, something is wrong. The pots from yesterday are no longer in the sink where I left them. It’s doubtful Tommy cleared them away. If he washed up, the draining board would be covered with stuff. We’re not good at putting things in cupboards. Then I notice the empty beer bottles stacked at the back door, the washing machine is on, and a half-eaten can of baked beans—which I planned to eat for dinner later—is gone from the counter of our 1970s kitchen. The antiseptic smell in the air only confirms my suspicions.
The landlord could be on his way around. We're already on a warning for the state of the place, but I’m sure Tommy would have called if we had a planned inspection today.
As soon as it's ready, I butter my toast, leaving the dirty knife in the sink. For only a second, I contemplate grabbing a clean plate from the shiny, sparkly stack in the cupboard, butthen decide not to create more washing-up. Whoever did this, went to a lot of trouble, although, this is just weird. The more I think about it, the more I'm convinced my housemate wouldn't be this thorough.
I grab my guitar by the neck, then taking the stairs two at a time, I bound to the top with one piece of toast in my mouth. When I open the door to my room, I’m floored at the sight of my made bed and content free carpet. It must mean my clothes are in the washing machine as well. Confirmation of my suspicions appears when—a very pleased with herself—Mum turns with open arms after putting my newly laundered underwear in the draw.
“My boy.” With open arms, she hugs my middle, while I hold up my guitar in one hand and toast with the other. She’s pleased to see me one minute, then having a go the next. “Jesus Ashton, do you never clean this place? It's a pigsty!” Her predictable telling off makes my chest ache because her cleaning binge usually means one thing. She needs some space.
My parents live just a few roads from here, which in my world, is a necessity. Initially, I wanted to go to university up north, but the dream was short-lived when I realised being so far away was a wrong move. Luckily, my hometown of Braebeach offered the business course I wanted, so I decided to stay right here. The compromise was, I moved out of our family home because I just don’t get on with my dad, although I'm close enough if Mum needs to escape.
My parents don't exactly live in harmony nowadays—something which has become more evident as I've got older. When things are bad, she turns up at the house in search of peace. It usually results in a mad cleaning frenzy, which worries me but pleases my housemate no end.
I carefully place the guitar—my pride and joy—againstthe wall at the end of the bed, finish my last mouthful of toast, then gather Mum up for a proper hug.
“Thanks for helping out,” I tell her. How could I answer back when she's obviously upset? I'd prefer if she didn't re-organise my stuff as I won't find half of it for days now, but who am I to complain when she's getting enough negativity at home. “It looks great in here. Thanks, Mum.”
I feel her rigid body relax, confirming she must have been in a state when she arrived.
“You’re welcome, Ash, I was happy to do it, even if it was a challenge.”
I get why she feels the need for space. My dad can be a difficult, unemotional man who is set in his ways—something I found out for myself. I'm just a constant disappointment to him, no matter what I do. There's no rhyme or reason to his opinions, but I'm seldom ever right in his eyes. My dad is a fucking island when it comes to family.
“Can I get you a tea?” I ask, still hugging her close.
“That would be nice, Son.” Giving her a final squeeze, I let go of my tiny mum, who only just reaches my shoulders. It's probably why I feel protective towards her and so angry towards Dad. He's no bigger than me at six foot two, but considering Mum is only five foot three at best, it's obvious he uses his broad shoulders and stature to intimidate her. He only does it when they're alone, but I am aware of it. I saw him in action once, when he didn't realise I was watching.
I head downstairs to the kitchen, put the kettle on and make her a strong cup of sweet tea. I really don’t want to leave her too long on her own, but just as I finish, there’s a knock at the front door.
“Who the fuck is that?” I think I've muttered to myself, but Mum shouts down the stairs, “Watch your language,Ashton Chambers! You were brought up, not dragged up.” She always did have radar hearing.
I laugh to myself while opening the door, tea in hand. The last person I expect to see is Dani Hill leaning against the frame, picking her nails and waiting for answers. Shit.
A few weeks ago, Dani saw our band play at The Gig House—one of our town’s best-known spots for new talent. We didn’t know who she was at the time, but we knew her dad. Bernie Hill is a local legend and owns Election Records. Dani is her father’s PA and also works in the A&R department. She was so impressed with the band; she requested we made a demo of our music for her dad to listen to, which led to a meeting, then a contract offer. She’s been on our tail ever since.
Initially, we were stoked, I mean, who wouldn’t be, but the decision isn’t so straightforward. There are complications and a lot to consider. The biggest being all four of us still have another year at university. I was meant to be at a one-to-one meeting with Dani to talk things through, but I chose to help Calla instead. I guessed my phone would blow up once Dani realised, I wouldn’t be there, so I had turned it off when we got to the hospital. Perhaps the worst thing is, I didn’t regret it.
Like a dog with a bone, she’s here to chase us up. I’ve never met anyone so driven.
“Hey handsome,” she teases. “What the hell happened to you yesterday?”
“There was an emergency I had to help with.” I might as well be speaking another language, Dani isn't listening. Barging her way past before I've finished my explanation, she takes the tea from my hand and heads to the kitchen. I slam the door, following behind. She's pushy as fuck, but I suppose she has to be in her business.
Dani takes a sip of the tea. “Shit, this tastes like syrup. Have you got any coffee?”
“Sit down, I’ll get you one.”
Over the past few weeks, we've developed this love-hate relationship. She loves having a go at me, and I hate the way she’s so familiar. Okay, so hate is a bit strong, but she annoys the crap out of me, especially when she turns up unannounced. I don’t know how many times I’ve told her I’m not at her beck and call, but it doesn’t put her off.
There's a creak to the upstairs floorboard while I put the kettle on. “Shit, have you got a girl up there?” She whispers, her mouth screwed up to a snarky pout.
“Not exactly,”and it’s none of your fucking business if I do,I think while getting a mug from the cupboard.
“You dirty dog,” she laughs, then her voice takes a more serious tone. “But now is not a good time for shagging around. If you want this contract, you have to work hard, which means limited distractions, you got it?”
“There’s no one, right now.” It doesn’t mean I’m becoming a vestal virgin for the next few years and I hope Dani understands that.
