Chapter 20
MELODY
Melody is still wearing her pink helmet when she storms into the Trance Productions offices.
Prunella is in the canteen, all muted tones and slicked-back hair, nursing a cup of coloured tea, warming her hands around the mug.
She looks like an ad for fabric softener, fresh and breezy, as though she’s pegged to a washing line and blowing in the wind.
The door bangs behind her. Prunella and Ed look up in surprise.
Melody lifts the visor. ‘What the hell was that about?’
Prunella arches a perfectly brushed eyebrow in amusement. She looks from Ed to Melody. ‘Did I do something?’
‘Prunella! Today on New Day, you had that environmental guy on from Bridgespan to talk about the love locks on the Grace Plunkett Bridge.’
Ed obviously didn’t know this. He looks at Prunella.
‘He was an ecologist, not your bridge guy.’ Prunella seems shocked. Shocked! As if totally unprepared for Melody’s anger and not anticipating it. ‘Why are you angry?’
Melody pulls off her helmet and can tell her hair is a mess from the way that Prunella is looking at her, but couldn’t possibly care about her appearance right now.
She tries to stay calm, though her voice is trembling with rage.
‘The love lock story was my story for the podcast. And that’s why I’m quitting. ’
‘What?’ Real shock from Prunella this time. It shows how fake the first time was.
Ed stands up. ‘Melody.’
‘I quit, Ed, I’m very sorry but I can’t do this. This is not how I work.’
As she’s racing down the cycle lane on her scooter, the speed no match for her racing adrenaline, she lifts her face to the air and feels the instant relief. She is free of the podcast.
But she knows what has really happened. Spurred on by last night with Al, by her feelings for him today, her throat was starting to tighten up. The podcast contract is up for renewal, she will have to make a decision to commit one way or the other. The walls are closing in on her.
She speeds up on her scooter, lifts her face to the cold air.
She can pretend to be righteous or she can admit to herself that in a timely manner she allowed herself to be pushed before she would inevitably jump.
Al was right about her fear of the commitment of the new contract.
It had been a terrifying thing. She has thought about Al numerous times since she left him this morning, flashbacks and ghostly sensations of last night as though he has left a part of himself on her skin.
Her neck tickles now and then and she closes her eyes as if he’s there, kissing her.
The rage leaves her almost instantly as she realises what he must think of Walter being on the couch today.
If he has seen Walter, his archnemesis, on the television then he could think she’s had something to do with it.
She doesn’t want to get too invested in him, but she still cares about what he thinks of her, and his feelings.
She suddenly slows her scooter, getting yelled at by the cyclist behind her who has to manoeuvre around her, into a lane of traffic.
‘Sorry, sorry,’ she shouts, wheeling the scooter onto the path.
She takes out her phone. She has two missed calls from her agent, and suddenly she’s nervous.
The kick of quitting, the satisfaction of cracking Prunella’s icy exterior, the feeling of freedom from the podcast, all simmer down as consequence follows.
Still, it’s nothing compared to how she feels about hurting Al. She needs to get to him first. She calls him but he doesn’t answer. She records a voice note.
‘Al, it’s Melody. I’m so sorry about Walter being on TV.
I had no idea it was happening. I just want you to know that it hadn’t anything to do with me.
If I’d known I would have tried to stop it, or let you know.
I’m so angry with Prunella, and if it means anything, I’ve quit the podcast. Okay … Bye.’
She sends the message, feeling it was as strong as it should be but lacking in affection. She records another voice note.
‘In case you’re wondering I’m Melody, the girl from last night. Last night was amazing. Thank you.’
She ends the voice note and grunts loudly, much to a pedestrian’s fright, who sidesteps her. She doesn’t want Al but she wants Al. It’s infuriating and she can’t control her thoughts, which terrifies her.
That night she has a set from ten until one a.m. in Club Ventura. She’s working and while it’s everybody else’s night out, it’s not hers, but she needs to loosen up tonight so she has a few drinks.
Electronic music is where Melody’s heart has always been, and she’s a nerd fan of the artform.
Some say invented as early as the 1920s, electronic music was usually made by a handful of people in suits and ties, looking like they were scientists.
She feels that way too, when she’s experimenting with music, she likens her mini studio in her bedroom to her lab.
She’s heard of artists being in the flow when they’re at work, completely focused and drifting without an idea of time outside of their moment.
When she listens to music, creates music, mixes music she gets lost in that flow, and then also during the performance she enjoys watching the crowd, feeling their energy.
She’s never had performance anxiety, no matter the size of the crowd, she’s always excited to get up there and share what she loves doing with hundreds sometimes thousands of friends who are there for the same reason: the love of music, the desire to escape, and connect with themselves and with something higher.
Some of her best gigs have been like a spiritual experience and there’s nothing like it.
Though last night with Al came pretty close.
DJing is the perfect example of how she can be alone but not really be alone, everybody alone together perhaps.
She is so deeply focused on her set that she forgets everything, the podcast, Al, the bridge, her mum and Derek.
The more chaotic the tracks, the calmer her mind becomes.
Her fingers move quickly over the mixer, the crossfader, the decks, instinctively knowing where they should be and what to do.
She feels the bass in her chest. She watches people on the dance floor, the smiles, the joy, the stresses of life disappearing as they fling their bodies and dance the night away.
She feels responsible for helping the collective endorphin release.
It’s only when she’s finished, in the early hours of the morning, that she checks her phone and sees a message from Al.
Last night was terrible. Haven’t thought of you all day.
I’m going away for the weekend. Talk next week if you’re interested.
I couldn’t care less either way.
She laughs as soon as she reads it, it couldn’t have been a more perfect text. She feels his ghostly presence on her body, as she has felt all day, which, of course, terrifies her even more.