Two
Avory
Uncle Marcus’ driving has always been awful, no matter how much he prides himself on it. Forceful braking, skimming curbs and always parking at a massive angle, no matter the size of the space he’s parking in. He swings out of the car park, the contents of the van swinging from one side to another with a screech against the metal flooring.
“Marcus! We kind of need stock for the shop, don't break it!”
A bellowing laugh leaves Marcus’ mouth as he takes a hand from the wheel to adjust his salt and pepper hair in the van's side mirror, sweeping it all on top of his head.
“Avory my lad, all the stock is in my name, that falls on me if anything breaks. How are your lyrics coming along?”
He signals to the notepad I've had bouncing on my leg since we left our latest performance grounds – a cider and beer festival with small indie bands performing throughout to crowds of drunkards and dancers.
We definitely looked out of place there as a punk rock band, but we need to get used to festival atmospheres instead of pubs and clubs like we have been doing, because that’s our end goal. It had always been Uncle Marcus’ end goal, and it became mine when I officially joined the band over three years ago, at only eighteen years old.
“You tell me, Marcus. How well do you think you can sing scribbled out words and random doodles?”
Marcus clears his throat, grabs his bottle of water we bought at a petrol station a few hours back, bringing the cap up to his mouth like it was a microphone and proceeds to sing my exact words, scribbled out words and random doodles.
“Now Avory, I would never lie to you, but it's not your best work.”
Marcus struggles to finish his sentence before laughing, my hand becoming a fist and lightly punching his arm as I laugh along with him.
Marcus and I have always had an easy-going lifestyle which has been brimming with banter, music and travelling. Marcus taught me guitar from the day he took me in at ten years old, then the drums from thirteen, and everything I needed to know about being in a band alongside the other members who had moved on.
I learnt from each and every one of them, yet once Marcus decided it was time for us to travel, that the band needed new land and needed to conquer new heights, that's when we packed up and never looked back. We always talk about how amazing it would've been if the whole band could've come along with us, but this was more of a fun evening once a week for them, but for us, we wanted more than just the same locals every performance.
We want new ears to bless every week, every day eventually, and the guys were more than encouraging for us to go. They knew how much this meant to Marcus and with everything he did for me, the man who always said he wasn't made to settle down with a family or kids, it's what we needed.
Joining him was just the beginning of my gratitude to Marcus for introducing me to something I never knew I needed – music. I am always buzzing with excitement when a new town is coming up for us. That means new venues, faces, chances at someone important seeing us live.
“So, what's the plan for this new place? How long are we looking at? Festivals or pubs? You never actually told me the name of this town.”
“Tetherton. It's a small coastal town, quite cosy with not too many pubs, but the ones it does have are huge and well equipped for hosting live music. Tetherton is smack bang in the middle of a load of festival grounds and has its own festival; Tetherton’s Farewell to Summer Nights! I tried to get us a spot, but they were fully booked within minutes of opening their applications, but I’m sure I’ll find us a way!”
Marcus shoots me a wink as he continues, “I've got us a small unit in the centre of town to set up the shop and then a flat above, sound alright?”
A calmer town sounds nice for a change. I’m always one for the loud, crowded audiences, because I don't mind the attention, no matter who it’s from, but having a calmer environment for a change would be a great opportunity to focus on creating some new material for Bright Lights.
“Sounds great, maybe I’ll actually end up getting something on this notepad.”
Marcus’ hand slowly drifts to his water bottle again before I grab his wrist to stop him.
“I promise I'll write something better!”
We laugh in unison again as I prop my feet up on the dashboard and recline my seat slightly. I feel my eyes drifting in and out to the playlist I always put on whenever we travel.
“I've got a deal to make with you.”
I reluctantly open one eye and roll my head over towards Marcus. His eyeline darts between me and the road.
“We don't leave this town until we are scouted, spotted, whatever. I think this is our chance. We'll have constant new faces, important people who could actually do something for us. So, deal?”
I hesitate as I mull over Marcus’ words, because settling down anywhere was the last thing we would ever plan to do. Our entire life is between this van and whatever room we can find. This lifestyle is why neither of us ever made close connections with others, why we never even attempted relationships, why we were so close as uncle and nephew.
So why was the idea of having to actually learn about all the things available in this town daunting?
Marcus' hand, large with every bone and vein being defined as if he were sculpted, extended my way as he waits for my response. If I have learnt one thing about Marcus, it's that every big decision he has made, has had a reason behind it. He clearly has a reason behind this idea.
“Fine, deal!”
My hand locks in his as we shake it twice. This town better be nice.
My eyes shoot open as a hand grabs my leg and shakes me. Marcus. When did I fall asleep?
“We're here bud, I'll give you a minute but come on out and give me a hand when you’re ready.”
I wave my hand half-heartedly to him while I try to figure out what day of the week it is. My hoodie has slumped over my head, as if I attempted to bury myself away and my hair has smothered my eyes as if to be my own personal blinds.
I drag my aching body back up the seat, pushing my hood off my head and over my shoulders as I gaze into the side mirror. My thick, black waves of hair have gone in every direction possible and the bags under my eyes seem many shades darker than the last time I checked, or that could be my eyeliner smudging.
The longer I gaze into that small, oval mirror, the more I realise how long it has been since I had my hair trimmed, but the extra length was growing on me, ironically. It frames my face nicely and the length teasing my shoulders had become a new favourite sensation.
I glance into the back of the van, sighing at the sheer number of bags and boxes we had to move into our new home for however long we end up staying here for. I exhale, grab the door handle and throw myself out of the tall van and onto the concrete below, the sun brighter than I imagined for the late afternoon.
As I adjust to the daylight, I get my first look at Tetherton. A town diced up with cobbled paths, freshly painted pastel shops, harshly divided up by dark and metallic pubs and bars. That's what we’re here for.
The street which we were going to have to get used to dove down before spreading across the coast below, its waves crashing up against the town's seawall, the harsh smell of salt wafting through the streets as it thickens the air. It was somewhat comforting.
I find myself getting lost in the street, taking in every part of our new home, until a twinkling bell rings from the other side of the van, bring me back to the unfortunate reality of unpacking.
“Welcome to the brand-new Pick and Strings!”
Marcus struts out of the shop with his arms stretched either side of him, showing off the small black unit with white paint outlining the door, two windows either side starting from the floor and finishing at the ceiling.
Marcus always printed these window stickers with our shop's name to place on the front door, but whoever he rented this unit from had already made a custom hanging sign for us.
Marcus has always been an avid collector of vintage guitars, band posters of icons who he raised me on, and anything musical with worth. Wherever we travelled to perform for months on end, we would set up these pop-up shops to create some extra funding and buzz about our band. People from all over these towns would wonder why a vintage music shop has opened, they would all come in and be met with not only some gorgeous instruments and art, but also with mountains of posters, adverts, and cards screaming “Bright Lights”
with every performance we have going on.
Marcus’ hand jingles in his pocket until he pulls out a key chain, which he throws towards me with a swift under arm. I catch the chain with both hands before seeing two keys attached.
“One is for the shop door, the other is for the flat upstairs.”
I nod to Marcus as we both head to the open back of the van, we had all of that to unpack yet and the sun was beginning to fade behind the clouds.
We have boxes on boxes; valuables wrapped in layers of bubble wrap, duffle bags, rucksacks, and suitcases full of mine and Marcus’ belongings, which we start moving into our new home.
The flat is larger than most we have ever stayed in, and one of the nicest too. An open, bright space with a kitchen filling the walls by the front door, a small island with two bar stools standing in the middle.
We usually take on places which are furnished since we never have space to travel with furniture, and whoever styled this space has good taste. A plush, black sofa faces a matching TV unit with a flat screen and games console built in on top.
A monochrome shaggy rug lays in the middle of the room, a small black bookcase with plants hanging over the edges fitting nicely under the windowsill, and three doors sit on the right-hand side of the room, two bedrooms with the bathroom through the middle door.
I claim the bedroom on the left as not only does it have its own entrance to the middle bathroom, but it has a window facing the street where I have a clear view of the coastline and the sunset that is going down over it, casting a golden haze over the town and into my new bedroom.
I found myself watching the sun descend until only a slither of gold was left on top of the ocean and my room had gone dark. I took that as my cue to finally switch on the light and get to work unpacking.
While we always travel light and always try to make sure that we would be able to pack and leave whenever we need to, I had a few staple items which went with me, no matter where we were.
The first piece of merch we ever had – a black flag with the band’s name “Bright Lights”
in white, bubble writing, filling the lack of details in the background. This always gets pinned up above my bed, while my two guitars, one acoustic and one electric, are always propped up next to the bed on their stands.
Depending on the layout of our temporary home, I always had frames of Marcus and me to balance on either a windowsill or bedside table, filled with myself from ten years old to our most recent performance at the festival. Even with living with the man for eleven years and having him around all the time, it never stopped me appreciating everything he has done for me.
The last item, while minor to most, are my headphones. Marcus gifted me a pair of bass-boosted headphones one Christmas, to help me have more in-depth listening to our music when we rehearsed or when I attempted to create my own beats with our sound systems, and I cherish the way they help me appreciate music more than I thought I ever could.
Everything else within my bags are clothes, accessories and toiletries which I distribute between the bathroom and on top of my set of drawers opposite the double bed.
“Avory! Come on out here, I've got news!”
Marcus beams as I stroll back into the living room, the kettle already boiling as he digs around the cupboards for mugs. He pulls two out and places them on the counter.
“Coffee?”
“Marcus, you know I only drink it iced!”
He rolls his eyes as he puts one mug back and begins making his milky coffee. “So, I have good news and really good news, specifically for you!”
I raise one eyebrow as I sit myself down on one of the stools, Marcus stood on the other side of the island. “Do go on.”
“First of all, you and me, Friday night! Our first gig right here in Tetherton!”
Marcus offers up a high five across the island which I gladly agree to. It usually takes us a couple of weeks to get our name out, let alone get a gig within a few days of being here.
“That's amazing! How did you do it? What are we going to perform? We haven't rehearsed in a couple of days.”
Marcus cuts me off by sliding his way over to my side of the island with his arms outstretched, ready for an embrace before grabbing the handle of my stool and sending me plummeting to the lowest height the stool could sit at.
“You dick!”
Our belly laughing fills the flat as Marcus attempts to carry on with his news.
“So, to answer your array of questions, I contacted multiple bars before we got here! We will perform an old set we know absolutely rocks a crowd of semi drunk people as it'll be our first night here in Tetherton and we need to make Bright Lights known! Now, for my last piece of really good news.”
I feel a sense of déjà vu as Marcus reaches into his jeans pocket and pulls out a singular key with no chain. He tosses the key to me again with a swift underarm and I catch it with my left hand, rolling the key between my fingers.
“Something I wasn't aware of when we rented this place, was that it was a music shop when it was first built, and while it's had all sorts in it since, they never changed the layout.”
I stare at Marcus, clearly a puzzled expression on my face as Marcus continues to explain, the key still in my hand.
“There's a basement to the shop, that key leads to the basement, and that basement is—”
I cut Marcus off as I jump from my shortened stool. “A recording studio!”
“Yes! It's obviously out of commission and everything has been removed, but electricity is still hooked up down there and it's completely soundproof! Strum away until your heart's content!”
I hop over to Marcus and hug him, Marcus squeezing and picking me up off the ground before dropping me.
“See? You're still not too big for me to do that!”
“Are you sure you won't need the room? I can't guarantee that you'll ever see me again once I go down there.”
We chuckle.
“No, not at all. It's all yours, besides you play the instruments, I'm just the pretty face with the voice.”
And he isn't wrong. Marcus has always had these amazing vocals which resonate with all the iconic rock bands of the eighties and nineties, and the ladies adore him, no matter where we go.
He’s a tall, tanned and brawny man with trousers one size too tight and shirts with deep neck lines, plunging into his sculpted pecs. He's chiselled like a Greek statue with black and silver stubble lining his jaw and chin, his hair always slicked and a wide, beaming smile which would cause anyone's knees to buckle, and he was fully aware of that. All the teens and twenties loved me, and all their mothers loved Marcus. I think everybody loved Marcus, and I fully understand why.