Songs For Your Mother Read online

  There are two people up before me. First, there’s a guy who sings a version of Outkast’s ‘Ms. Jackson’. This is when I start to worry. He’s got a great voice. Next is a girl who does a slow-achy version of ‘Smells Like Teen Spirit’. It’s another decent performance. I was expecting far less. I’m such an idiot.

  I rub my neck. I worry that I’ll play a string of bum notes and that the guitar strings will cry in musical pain. It’s all a moot point, however, as the MC is calling my name. He’s telling people I’m British and here from London. I wish he hadn’t done that. It adds a weight of expectation. People will be thinking I’m like some travelling troubadour with a plane ticket and a guitar. That’s not me. I’m the random guy on a road trip sending a message to my idiot friend and trying to impress a girl who made my heart skip a beat. None of that, however, matters as my time is up and the one thing I cannot do is back out. Josie hands me her guitar.

  I smile thanks and, as I turn, the brunette calls ‘good luck’ after me. She smiles, and it’s a bright sunshine smile that carries me on my short slow walk to the stage oblivious to everyone else around me. I sit down on a stool with the guitar on my lap. My throat is dry; this might as well be Wembley Arena. I have created my ghetto blaster moment, willed it to happen, right here in Santa Cruz, proving it’s not dead yet.

  A hush falls across the bar, even the girl who has been rabbiting away happily as the other two singers played stops talking. This further unnerves me. A few people are playing with their phones. I want to tell everyone else to do the same. There’s no need to be quiet for the British guy. I sit there for a long moment looking at the small audience. They are watching me intently. I strum the open strings, and the tuning is fine. I look back towards the two girls and down at the guitar. I lean into the microphone, and my mind goes blank, and everyone is looking at me expectantly.

  Finally, I say ‘Tangle’ as it’s the only song in my head I can remember how to play. It’s by a friend and it’s one of the songs we used to play. I run my fingers over the fretboard. It’s a lovely guitar. I reel my mind back in and focus on the song. I get it straight in my head, and then I start to strum a fast rhythm:

  Love is a long-drawn fight.

  It brings tears to the eyes.

  It’s a disappointing drug…

  As the words come out of my mouth, it strikes me that they are perfect for this evening and this moment. I could not have chosen better. I start to let go, and I sing the words out loud.

  It’s over. I made it. I got up on stage in a bar in California, sang and played the guitar. A couple of bum notes aside, I feel like an acoustic guitar-star. It’s the first time I’ve played on stage in almost four years, since university. My performance receives a smattering of polite claps, for which I am grateful. Better than that though there’s generous clapping from my new friends. I walk back towards the bar, and I might be a jangly bag of nerves, and my legs are like jelly, but I did it. Not a serenade, but close and I’m feeling so much better. I carefully hand Josie her guitar and thank her for its use.

  ‘You wrote that, right?’ Josie says.

  ‘A friend did,’ I say.

  ‘I liked it. I’d love to hear it again. We had you down for something else,’ Josie says.

  ‘Yeah, Wailing Break-Up Guy,’ the brunette says.

  ‘If I ever go on the road, I’ll have to use: “Wailing Break-Up Guy”,’ I say.

  ‘You’re welcome,’ the brunette says.

  ‘It was written all over you,’ Josie says. ‘We were betting on “Love Will Tear Us Apart”. Or Chris Martin; I had a sneaking suspicion you were Mr Coldplay,’ Josie says.

  ‘The Smiths, maybe Elliott Smith,’ the brunette says.

  It’s only then that I notice she has a soft southern accent in comparison to her friend’s vowels that sound like they were acquired from somewhere in the eastern United States.

  ‘Good call, I love Elliott Smith.’

  ‘So, you’re not break-up guy?’ Josie asks.

  I shake my head, ‘Not that kind, no.’

  The two glance at each other, and they exchange a look. I have the feeling that I may have already been a topic of conversation, as they discussed what my story might be.

  ‘That sort of sounds intriguing, I’m going to give you that. Intriguing is always interesting as a place to start, as you never know where it might take you. Why don’t you keep my friend company while I play my set,’ Josie says.

  ‘I can do that,’ I say.

  ‘And buy her a drink, as you’re probably going to do most of the talking. She’s shy,’ says Josie.

  ‘I hate you,’ the brunette says and rolls her beautiful grey eyes, which are the colour of English skies on September mornings, and even though I have barely left England, I feel a little homesick just then.

  ‘I know,’ Josie says and hugs her friend. Josie turns and walks towards the stage and leaves the two of us sitting there thrown together. She looks across at me and does this thing where she switches her jaw from side to side and then smiles and closes her eyes when she realises what’s she’s doing.

  ‘I’m Johnny, by the way,’ I say.

  ‘Lauren,’ she says, and she offers her hand, and I take it, and we do this soft little shake, and I offer to buy her a drink. She asks for a beer, and I order two more PBRs. I hand her the beer, and we touch our glasses and say cheers.

  ‘You were good when you got up there. I wasn’t sure if you would make it for a moment,’ Lauren says.

  ‘I wasn’t sure I would either. My throat went dry, the chords and words escaped me, and then that noisy girl at the front decided to be quiet. Totally threw me.’

  ‘But then you got going. My problem is that I can’t quite get over the nerves bit, my voice goes high. It’s not a good look,’ she says.

  I find that hard to imagine as her voice has a softness to it and that southern lilt that makes you want to sit a bit closer.

  ‘I’m guessing you have a pile of songs somewhere,’ I say.

  ‘Funny you should say that. I do have one or two scribbled down in a Moleskine notebook. Pretty much redundant.’

  ‘A lot of people write songs and never take them out of the bedroom. The bedroom artists are a large unsung group. They need better representation,’ I say.

  ‘I suffer crippling nerves,’ she says.

  ‘You have the songs though, just saying.’

  ‘And thank you for that, but I have to ask if you’re not break-up guy, which guy are you?’

  ‘Wailing Break-Up Guy,’ I correct.

  ‘My bad, you’ll always be Wailing Break-Up Guy to me. I’ll tell my friends. I saw Wailing Break-Up Guy at his first US gig. People will be like “wow”,’ she says grinning.

  ‘First and only US gig,’ I say.

  I’m about to answer, to tell her my story, to explain which guy I am, and how I ended up alone in this bar singing melancholy songs when Josie starts to talk. She introduces her first song as a few people hold their phones up and take pictures.

  ‘This one is called She Sleeps in the Afternoon,’ Josie says.

  I hold that thought, and the story, and we turn to the stage as Josie begins to play with sweeping open chords. She has a haunting, ethereal voice which carries an achy hurt within it and is soft and bright. The song slowly builds as Josie stretches her voice before she turns it up for the chorus and brings it right back down.

  In the bedroom by the lake, she sleeps in the afternoon.

  Oh Louise why do you sleep in the afternoon…

  There’s deserved enthusiastic clapping from the audience, as Josie is good. She pauses to adjust the tuning of her guitar and plays three more songs. She leaves the stage to shouts and applause. This includes the token drunk guy in the silver-studded, dirty denim waistcoat and Kiss t-shirt who is standing and punching the air as he shouts out ‘that’s what I’m talking about’. Standing by us again, she’s completely cool, no nerves whatsoever.

  ‘See – that’s what I wa
nt to be like,’ Lauren says.

  ‘I keep trying to coax her on stage, but she won’t get up there for love nor money, and I offer both,’ Josie says and puts her arm around Lauren, and they laugh together like it’s an old joke between two close friends. ‘So, did you get his story?’

  ‘Not quite,’ Lauren says. ‘Although I did get his name: Johnny, meet Josie.’

  Josie holds out her hand, ‘Well, pleased to meet you,’ and we shake.

  ‘You were amazing, by the way,’ I say.

  ‘Why thank you. You can come back and can borrow my guitar anytime. And while I would love to stay and hear your story, I’m going to have to settle for the highlights. I have this thing, right?’

  Josie looks at Lauren for a moment, gauges her friend’s reaction. She tips her head to one side, and she waves the index finger of her right hand back and forth, like a metronome marking the beat of the night. They’re doing that thing that girls do when one is leaving and is trying to work out if her friend wants to stay or go. I’m about to find out where this evening goes next. Do I get to sit longer with Lauren or will I be back on my own where I started. Right now, I am hoping it’s the former. I don’t know if that means anything or if this evening will take us anywhere further than the door of this bar, but I’d like to find out.

  ‘Lauren, though, doesn’t have a thing, right?’

  ‘No thing,’ Lauren says.

  Josie places a hand on my shoulder and holds my gaze for a second or two. Then taps it a couple of times.

  ‘Why don’t you buy my friend another drink, but not too many, it’s a school night. Then make sure she gets home safely. She knows the way.’

  Lauren rolls her eyes at this and shakes her head. ‘Josie,’ Lauren says in a measured voice.

  ‘I’m teasing,’ she says and she leans in and hugs her friend. She picks up her guitar and steps away from the bar. ‘Nice to meet you.’

  ‘You too,’ I say.

  ‘Maybe later then,’ Josie says. ‘Who knows?’

  With that, Josie is gone. The two of us are sitting alone again. This time we’re not so awkward. We pick up where we were before Josie took the stage. I start to tell her about my great American road trip and how Will sent it off the rails in Monterey, and I’m glad he did.

  ‘Well, if you’re only here for one night, as a local girl I should show you more of Santa Cruz than this delightful bar, come on,’ she says.

  With that, Lauren slips off her barstool, and we are out of the door.

  Chapter 2

  Outside the Blue Lagoon, there’s a group of people milling, smoking cigarettes. There are two hippy-looking girls in colourful skirts and two surfer dudes, one with long blond dreads. We walk down the tree-lined street, and pass restaurants and bars, and Lauren points out a couple of places. Nodding at a diner called Zachary’s, she says they have pancakes to die for. Next to it a vintage clothes store called Moon Zoom. Lauren pauses, and we look in through the window.

  ‘We went to Burning Man a couple of years back, and we bought everything from this place. We all looked amazing, you know, in a seventies kind of way,’ she says.

  We walk on and away from the pulse of downtown, past a Walgreens, and through a more residential neighbourhood. Ahead, the outline of tall palm trees lines the street that runs along the edge of the beach. We walk by the pier and onto the sand until the ocean laps near our feet.

  ‘So, what’s the plan? Are you going to do the solo road trip?’

  ‘If I don’t keep going, it will be like admitting defeat. If nothing else I’ll have a good road trip story to tell,’ I say.

  After Santa Cruz, we were going east to Yosemite National Park, and then north to Lake Tahoe. Reno for one night of gambling was next followed by Sacramento and San Francisco before flying home. Even if I am doing the drive on my own, I get to do it in the rich golden yellow of the Californian sunshine.

  ‘I did it when I moved here for college. You get to choose all of the music, where to stop and the route. I did nine states coast-to-coast from Georgia, through the south and west, to California. I loved it.’

  As we walk along the wide beach, I ask her more about her road trip. It is more of a life story than anything else, and it’s all heartbreak and country music. It’s the story of how Lauren drove west from Georgia to attend the University of California Santa Cruz when she was eighteen, with almost everything she owned stuffed into her car. She had lived with her aunt, who she barely knew and liked even less, after her parents had been killed in a car accident when she was fifteen.

  ‘I couldn’t wait to get away; my aunt meant well, but she never had any children, and her love was the church. Me not so much, I was the surprise and the disappointing teenage child she never wanted. We were both happy when I left. It’s been five years, and I’ve never been back,’ she says.

  ‘Isn’t it odd, never going back home?’ I ask.

  Lauren pauses and shakes her head slowly. There’s something there, in that slow head shake, and I’m not quite sure what. It might be a note of sadness. A minor chord softly played, as if her mind is catching on a memory as it slides over a faded image.

  ‘Places are so much about people, aren’t they? Home was full of ghosts for me and empty buildings.’

  ‘When you put it like that,’ I say, and I find myself moved. I can’t imagine how hard it must have been.

  ‘There’s no one to go back for, and I’m happy here as I try to work out what I do with a major in English Literature while waiting tables. I think, shockingly, the answer might be waiting tables in Santa Cruz,’ she says, and she laughs.

  I love her laugh. It’s pretty perfect. There are some people that you want to throw your arms around when you hear them laugh, and Lauren is one of them.

  ‘Alternatively, you get up on stage,’ I say.

  ‘Yeah, but you haven’t heard me sing yet.’

  ‘I’m betting you have a great voice,’ I say.

  ‘Is this the part where you tell me you’d “love to hear me sing”?’ she says, smiling, as we stop by the water’s edge. ‘I’ve never heard that line before.’

  I drop my mouth open and throw my arms out in mock protest, and Lauren gives me a big smile.

  ‘Besides you’re right, I do have a great voice. Come on, this is my favourite part of the beach,’ she says.

  The warm summer Californian night breeze blows, and the lights from the edge of the city illuminate the water’s edge and make the dark sea sparkle like the cosmos above.

  ‘This is the part where you tell me the rest of your story. What’s your deal?’ Lauren asks me.

  It’s the ‘how much baggage do you have?’ question. For ages, I’ve been telling myself, and other people, about ‘not being in a good place right now’ and that ‘it’s complicated’. It isn’t though. I got my heart broken by this girl, and it has taken me a long time to get over it. I tell Lauren this, who claps her hands together in delight. To be honest, this wasn’t the reaction I was expecting.

  ‘You are Wailing Break-Up Guy! Damn. I owe Josie five bucks. When you sang that song we made a bet,’ she says.

  ‘I never thought about it, but yeah, I’ve probably been waiting a long time to do that, to sing that song. To let it out, it’s cathartic,’ I say.

  We leave the beach and head back towards town. Having told me about her family, Lauren wants to hear about mine. I tell her about my mother, who is a doctor. She likes to ring me up and ask me, in a not-so-roundabout way, when I’ll be getting on with my life. She doesn’t see being a freelance journalist as a real job. While she never says it, it boils down to following in the footsteps of my sister, Dani, who is two years older than me. She hit the fast track after university with one of the big management consulting firms, and has never looked back.

  We walk for another ten minutes or so, and the conversation between us continues to easily spill. We talk about some of the bands we have seen, the music we listen to, and the books that we have read.

&n
bsp; We finish our walk outside of a two-storey, U-shaped apartment building built around a central open communal garden, which has a fountain at its centre. It meets the street with a wrought-iron fence and gate. Lauren is telling me this is where she lives. It takes me a moment or two to realise that this isn’t another pit stop. This is goodnight.

  I’m struck by the thought that up until now, tonight has been so surprising, so unexpected, and perfect in the way it has unfolded. It has been like few nights in life are, without the aid of shades of memory and rose-tinted glasses. I don’t want to ruin or lose that. I’m wondering how life managed to do this. How it conjured up such a night out of the ruins of today. I’m wondering what is possible now when Lauren breaks our silence.

  ‘You’ve gone quiet,’ Lauren says, and looks away for a second.

  ‘It’s my thing,’ I say, my hands stuffed deep into my pockets. ‘I go quiet at crucial moments. I feign deepness; hope it doesn’t get mistaken for confusion or fear. I keep my fingers mentally crossed and hope for the best.’

  ‘What’s your average?’

  I draw my lips in and purse them, shake my head, ‘These things can go either way.’

  ‘You’re no help at all, are you?’

  ‘That has been said.’

  ‘This is your cue, by the way,’ Lauren says.

  ‘Yeah, I thought it might be.’

  I take a half-step forward and pause, and I look at Lauren, and she smiles, amused. She blows very gently so that I can feel her breath on my lips, and she tilts her head forward, and we kiss. My hands are still buried deep in my back pockets, and I am transported. It is one of those kisses that is like a sunrise, full of hope and promise, and feels like everything. Lauren places her palms flat on my shirt and chest. She looks up at me, tips her head slightly, and sucks her bottom lip in for a moment.

  ‘This is the part where I tell you that I don’t do this kind of thing all that often but…’ Lauren says, and she trails off, smiling.

  That smile is something. I know that I’ll remember this moment for a long time to come. I’m swept away by her words as they take me by surprise. I’m at a loss and not sure how to respond. Tomorrow I am not going to be here, and as much as I want this to happen, want more of Lauren, tonight more than anything I want to be honest. I want to be the best of myself. I know from experience that I am not always that person, and tonight it does not seem fair to be anything less.