Chapter 2
The clatter of metal chairs shuffling across the tiled floor and the clinking of cutlery against porcelain punctuates the air as I step back inside the café after signing off on the delivery of beverages.
I follow the symphony of sounds that stirs the café to life as the morning light begins to spill through the windows. The rhythmic hum of espresso machines signals the brewing of the day”s first cups, harmonizing with the distant clatter of kitchen utensils and the low murmur of chefs discussing the day”s specials. The subtle rustle of crisp white tablecloths being unfurled resonates alongside the occasional hiss of a steam wand as it dances with frothy milk.
Soon, the place will fill with the morning rush of punters coming off the tube and eager to start their morning with a fresh cup of coffee in their hand as they walk into work.
I walk down the corridor to the management office to drop off the invoice and find my sister already sitting behind the desk we both share.
Her belly grows by the day, she’s ready to burst at the seams, and I’m prepared to become an uncle for the second time.
“Alright?” I ask, dropping the invoice on the pile of paperwork I aim to file later this morning.
“This came for you yesterday afternoon,” she holds out a white envelope. “It arrived by courier. We were so swamped last night that it completely slipped my mind to give it to you.”
Unless it’s bills, I rarely get mail delivered directly for me, and the courier service signifies precisely what this is. Every now and then, I’ll receive a royalty check, although as the years pass, the time between checks becomes much longer, and fewer noughts at the end of the numbers.
I look at the sender and know what it is and what it’s for.
“Are you going to open it?” Abby looks up at me with eager steel-blue eyes, the same color I have.
“I don’t need reminding of my past,” I say with a bittersweet aftertaste lingering on my tongue. The memories could have been better.
“But aren’t you even curious? Your song is gracing all the international charts.” I know my sister means well, but she isn’t helping.
That bloody song is all I fucking hear everywhere I go. Even the damn post office had it playing somewhere in the background, and occasionally, someone would point at me, recognizing me as that teenage kid who once was.
But it’s that haunting melody and those lyrics that are nothing but fragments from the past. The notes, tinged with sweetness and sorrow, evoke an instinctive mix of emotions, painting unwanted scenes in my head. The ones I tucked away a long time ago, hesitant to revisit and best left undisturbed.
“It’s not our song.” I’m one second away from gritting my teeth. I don’t need reminding. It’s a song banned from playing in this restaurant.
“It’s a ghost from days gone by,” she says with a hopeful smile, although I don’t know what she hopes to achieve by pushing this issue.
I watch her stand up from the chair. Her belly swelled with the final month of her pregnancy; she’s really about to burst.
“Yet amidst the ache you obviously still hold, there’s a strange allure in the familiarity of that song. A poignant reminder that even the sourest notes can carry a haunting beauty, capturing the essence of a past that refuses to be silenced.”
I stare at her and shake my head with amusement.
“I don’t know what you’re on about,” I huff a laugh. “And here we thought I had the lyrical talent in the family.”
“My degree in literature and philosophy was only ever going to get me so far,” her features soften as the corners of her mouth curl upward. “My talent lies in the catering business. Music was yours from as far as I can remember.”
“Talent or curse,” I mutter, not wanting to open the topic of my demise. I fold the unopened envelope and turn to leave. “I’ve got to open shop.”
“Music is your blood. That song was the one all five of you cowrote, not one that the label forced you to record. I remember how you all fought to get it through.”
I stop at the door, my back to my sister, hesitating. Because it brings back a memory trail, I don’t feel like going down right now.
“This song is a sign, Jag,” she urges. “Your calling to get the band back together.”
“I have a job, Abby, one I’ve been doing successfully for the past three years,” I say, turning around to face her.
She’s never been so persistent about me returning to music, so why now?
“You’ve been drowning ever since you got back from the Middle East,” Abby raises her hand to stop me from interrupting her. “I know you’re invested in this business as much as Derek and I are but the catering business was mine and his calling.
“I don’t often see him, but Asher is in the same boat as you. As much as he loves motorbikes, I hardly reckon an instructor was the major career choice he saw for himself when he entered that competition that changed all your lives.”
That bloody competition.
My brow furrows as she brings up my history. The one that ruined all of us, mentally and emotionally.
“We were kids back then.”
“And you’re adults now, and you’re ex-millitree1. A soldier who’s better equipped to deal with whatever toxic shite the industry will throw your way. Get Asher on your side and get the other two to consider a comeback.”
I sigh, pursing my lips together to form a firm line.
“She was what completed the group. Without her—”
“Then find her.”
My eyes pop at her suggestion. My sister must be having some pregnancy hormonal insanity going on right now.
“You don’t know what you”re asking.”
“It was almost a decade ago, Jag. The four of you hold a grudge for something you don’t even know why.”
I shake my head in disagreement.
“She abandoned the band.”
“According to the label’s publicists, she was fired.”
“Because she did a runner.”
A silent protest plays out on her face with a skeptical squint of her eyes scrutinizing my comment.
“Okay, put it this way. Imagine an eighteen-year-old girl with no family to seek refuge from is cast into the world and tainted as she was by the media. All of you were in England when the news broke, an entire ocean and a continent between you. Don’t tell me you forgot how the tabloids here destroyed her, so I can only imagine the image she was depicted over there. America’s sweetheart turned gang-banging trollop.”
I look at my sister and cast her a warning eye. Even after all these years, I still feel that element of protectiveness with Eden. How many fights did the lads and I have with journalists hounding us for info.
“She was alone and scared,” my sister adds. “I don’t blame her for taking off. She did it to protect herself. But she’s getting the same royalty checks as you. So trace those checks, and you’ll find Eden Rivers.”
“And if she doesn’t want anything to do with me. With us?”
I don’t even know why I’m asking. It’s not like I’m considering it.
Abby approaches me, leans forward, and removes some imaginary flint from my shirt.
“Checked patterned shirts and chinos were never your thing. Leather and denim were. I reckon a decade of hibernation is enough for all five of you.
“Regarding Eden Rivers, well, the only thing I can tell you is that I remember a thirteen-year-old scruffy version of yourself giving a live speech in front of millions of viewers and convincing a music mogul called Oliver James to choose you among hundreds of contestants. He saw something in you, and if Eden doesn’t want to rekindle your romance, she’ll see how serious you are with your music. Maybe your dating talents suck, but your ability to move people with your music is something I know you can be successful with.”
I move from the doorway to allow her to pass.
“This song is your second chance, little bruv. It’s fate calling you back. This time, do it how you always dreamed of doing it.”
My brows furrow like storm clouds gathering on the horizon. This is a disaster just waiting to happen.
“But you need me. I can’t just fuck off and leave you here!” I shout at her as she walks down the hallway.
“Restaurant managers are plentiful. I’ll manage fine!” she says without turning around.
“Fuckin’ell Abby!”
“Love you right back!” She yells before opening the service door and entering the restaurant.
I retrieve the envelope from my back pocket, holding it in my hands with a contemplative gaze. Most likely, all five of us got this same check yesterday, and I have to wonder whether any of the others are entertaining the same haunting melody in their minds.
It’s still early, but I know where Asher spends his mornings before picking up a student to start the first of several instructional training sessions he has booked for the day. I head out towards the tube, intending to get on the Victoria Line to Battersea, knowing I’m heading straight into the morning rush hour.
I swear, Abby, this had better be bloody worth it.