“I’m hung-over, man. I don’t think I can get through a four-hour session without knowing I’ve got a wingman to keep me in coffee and smokes.”
Ollie treated Jumbo to his best dead-eyed stare. “I have never, and will never be, your wingman, you fucking goon.”
“Worth a try, though, eh?”
It really wasn’t, and Ollie was bemused by Jumbo’s claim to be hung-over when Corina had herded the band onto the bus the minute their gear had been packed away, but Jumbo was apparently unaffected by Ollie’s acerbic tongue. He flashed a lazy wink and meandered off the bus.
Restlessness built in Ollie as he watched Jumbo zigzag the car park before he seemed to figure what direction he was supposed to be headed. So far, Ollie had steered clear of rehearsals and soundchecks, only seeing Smuggler’s Beat play during their shows or the spontaneous jam sessions they fell into at random moments on any given day. And he happened to know that rehearsing was among Shay’s least favourite things to do. Add in the fact that Ollie was likely irritating the fuck out of him right now, showing up seemed like a dick move.
But staying away was impossible. Ollie was shit at verbalising how Shay consumed him, but his brain had no problem interpreting the live wires of emotion that zapped through him in conflicting directions. Ollie packed his laptop away and fished his camera out of his kit bag. Focusing on film, he’d taken no still photographs for weeks—unheard of when he was in London. He attached the flash and his favourite lens to his camera and looped the strap over his head. The weight of the camera around his neck grounded him a little, and he left the bus before the ever-present devil on his shoulder got the better of him.
The Southampton venue was smaller than Bristol and Cardiff—the seats and standing areas packed enough to feel intimate when it was full the brim later. Which it would be; every show since Glasgow had sold out.
Ollie stood at the back and observed the band while he considered various shots. As ever, there seemed to be no coherence in whatever it was the band were trying to do. Ben was on his phone, while Jumbo appeared to be asleep. Mara sat at the piano, and Larry was tapping out a beat completely unrelated to the Rachmaninov she was playing. Ollie wished he’d brought his video gear after all. Then his gaze landed on Shay, who was clearly in a world of his own, lost in a song only he could hear.
God, he was beautiful.
Ollie moved silently through the rows of seats, watching through the lens of his camera as Shay played his penny whistle in a haunting tune that seemed almost to be carried in the wind to Ollie’s ears. It was ethereal, butso Shayat the same time, and déjà vu hit Ollie in waves. Had he heard this song before or simply been enraptured by Shay so often he couldn’t tell reality from dreams?
Either way, Ollie was again enchanted. He slipped into the shadows of the standing area and snapped shots of Shay as he picked up the melody. In a wider shot, Ollie caught Larry observing Shay, too, and tracked him as he brought a small drum across the stage to sit by Shay. Ben soon followed, and then Mara brought an instrument Ollie didn’t recognise. The song built in tempo and intensity until it bore all the hallmarks of a Smuggler’s Beat classic, but with the lyrics coming from Shay’s penny whistle.
It was… something else, and Ollie realised with a start that itwasa scene he’d seen play out before, but it seemed different this time—for him and for Shay.
He snatched a dozen shots before he finally lowered the camera to find Shay staring at him, head tilted sideways.
“How long have you been there?” Shay called.
Ollie ventured closer to the stage. “Long enough. I like that song. Is it new?”
Shay shrugged. “We just made it up, so I guess so, but it didn’t feel that way.”
“It reminded me of the Lithuanian folk stuff I gave you.”
Comprehension coloured Shay’s features. “That’swhere it came from. It’s been bugging me for days.”
“Really?”
“Yes… don’t look at me like I’m crazy. I can’t help it.”
“I don’t think you’re crazy, mate. Even if I did, I’d be a hypocrite.”
That earned Ollie a crinkled frown, but it was fleeting. Shay had other things on his mind, and he played another series of notes on his whistle that sounded Lithuanian in origin but brighter and faster than the last song.
The rest of the band picked it up immediately, and Ollie tapped his foot too. Larry offered him a drum, but Ollie shook his head and backed away. It had been alongtime since he’d picked up an instrument of any kind, and he wasn’t about to embarrass himself in front of a group of people who already seemed to know him better than he sometimes knew himself.
He retreated to the back of the standing area and sat down on the cold floor. His camera provided a buffer between him and Shay, but only until he started clicking through the photos he’d taken.Jesus. Why have I waited so long to shoot him?On film, Shay had a presence that drew the eye and sucked up space, but in a still photograph he was so much more—even in the shots that hadn’t captured his face. Ollie studied an image of Shay’s fingertips dancing on the penny whistle. Without the music it told a story of its own, and Ollie would’ve known the hands were Shay’s if someone had shown it to him.
The band moved on to playing crowd-pleasers and album tracks. Ollie listened for a while longer, but the Lithuanian vibe Shay had brought to the table earlier stuck with him. Though the songs Ollie had heard were cracking, he’d sensed Shay’s frustration with them. They were part of him, but not the whole of him, and the mirror of what they were doing on film wouldn’t leave Ollie alone.
He snuck out of the venue and went back to the bus. Online, he found the roots of something that might help, and he spent the rest of the day chasing the storm.
Chapter Eighteen
Shay heldthe strange wooden instrument up to the light. “What is it?”
From his position on the floor below the stage, Ollie shook his head. “I’m not going to tell you, and I don’t want you to look it up, okay? Just keep it around for a while. See if it speaks to you.”
“You’re such a weirdo.”
