Rollerskater: Havoc
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This instalment contains moderate blood.
There were mere hours to go before the big show, and Daisy could already feel the shakes beginning.
Even the simple task of lacing up her shoes, a pair of Doctor Martens boots with a holographic rainbow finish, eluded her. Her fingers seemed to have a mind of their own, prodding and pinching without listening to her own mental instruction. It was compounded by the fact that this would be the first time she would see Jules since that damned kiss. Neither of them had said anything about it after the fact. It was as though it hadn’t happened.
But, damn it, it had happened. She felt stupid for having done it. Yet, paradoxically, she didn’t want to be the first one to address it. Some part of her hoped he’d say something. But so far, nothing, she presumed, because he wanted her to be the one to address it.
All of which wasn’t helping her lace up the damn boots. She realised she had been staring at her shoe for the last seven minutes, allowing her eyes to drift out of focus as she gazed at the colours, an iridescent rainbow, like the surface of a compact disc, but pulsating and fluid. She had been lost in thought.
Cross the laces, fold one under the other, make a loop, and pull. Just as her mother taught her, countless times as a child. She hadn’t figured it out until she was twelve years old, just as she hadn’t figured out riding a bike until she was nine, or figured out how to do up the buttons on her school shirts until she was six.
It was not until she was sixteen and struggling to hold a pen in exams that she had been formally diagnosed with what she later came to know was developmental coordination disorder, or dyspraxia. It explained why her fingers were so clumsy, why she seemed to fall over so often, why she would lose her purse or her bus pass or her keys, and why she was so anxious that, mid-performance, she would somehow forget all the fretwork and rhythms that she had been practising almost daily for the last three months.
The Jules situation wasn’t helping. How was she supposed to face him, to perform with him, with this hanging over their heads? Had he told the other two? She hadn’t asked him, terrified of what his answer might be. Could her stupid, selfish action have destroyed the band? Her pulse began to quicken and tears brimmed in her eyes. The laces still weren’t tied. She sat up, looked over at the guitar case.
“I don’t know if I can do this,” Daisy said.
She put a hand to her mouth and emitted a shuddering sob. The others can’t see me like this. They can’t. They can’t. They can’t they can’t they can’t they can’t they can’t—
Her phone rang. She picked it up and answered it.
“Hello,” she said, trying her best to sound fine.
“Hi, Daisy,” said the voice on the other end. “How are you?”
“Hi, Socks,” Daisy said. “Just getting ready for the show, you know.”
“I’m really looking forward to it,” Socks said. “Just on my way to Gina’s now. I’ll see you at Club Chill. You’re gonna do great.”
“Mhm,” Daisy said.
Socks was silent for a couple of moments. “Be seeing you.”
“You too,” Daisy said.
They hung up simultaneously.
Daisy put her face in her hands. “Fuck,” she said. I’m going to fuck this up and Socks is going to be so disappointed in me and that fucking weird rollerskater will be there and looking at me like I’m shit on her wheels and God I hate her and Jules is going to be so upset and the band will break up and it will be all my fault and all because I had to fucking kiss him I can’t do this I can’t do this I can’t do this
She stood up and paced about the room a little bit, trying to remember the cognitive behavioural strategies her therapist had taught her, then internally scolded herself for acting like a child. I can handle this. I’ll see Jules today. We won’t mention anything. Just focus on the mission. Full steam ahead. We have lift-off—
Her phone rang again and she picked it up. Jules.
“Hey,” Jules said.
“Hey,” Daisy said, haltingly.
“You ready for the show?” he said. He sounded quite hesitant.
“Yeah,” Daisy said. “Yeah.”
“Alright,” Jules said. “I’ll come to pick you up in an hour.”
“Sounds good,” Daisy said. She had the sensation that she was skirting around the elephant in the room, ducking under its tusks to get to a magazine on the coffee table, while remarking on how spacious the room was.
“See you then,” Jules said.
There was a pause. He didn’t hang up. Maybe he hoped she’d say something, or be the first to hang up? But she hoped for the same thing. So, in the end, they both hung up simultaneously without so much as a goodbye.
Daisy looked at her phone for a few moments. Okay, well, now this was definitely real. She was going to play a show tonight. It felt like that tense moment before boarding a rollercoaster, where, even though one has spent time waiting for the moment, there was still that bubbling nervousness in her belly, that sinking sick feeling telling her that soon, she would be strapped in for the ride – no escape, no taking it back now.
Shaking slightly from the adrenaline and cortisol coursing through her veins, she finally finished lacing up the boots, picked up her Fender Squier and checked the tunings a final time. I’m going to do this, she thought, looking once more at the mirror, at the reflection, and she saw Ella looking back at her, and she imagined her saying: Yes, you are.
*
The doorbell rang, and a voice came from inside the house: “Comiiiiing!”
The door opened. Socks was standing on the doorstep, propping himself against the doorframe with his left arm. He had a tote bag from a record shop in town that was filled well above its capacity with cans of Kronenbourg 1664. He was wearing a shirt with a yellow face on it, the facial features formed by the letters “XTC”, which was the name of his Dad’s favourite band, the shirt design being that of the cover of the 1979 album Drums and Wires.
“Hi, Gina,” Socks said.
“H-hey, Socks,” Gina said. Standing to the right and just behind him was K-Os.
She robotically opened her jacket and handed Gina a one-eighty-seven-mil bottle of Australian pinot grigio.
“I’ve been told that it is considered polite to bring drinks to a social gathering,” she said. “I assumed, based on the alcohol content and the picture of a kangaroo on the front, that you would enjoy it.”
Gina looked at the comically tiny bottle and back at K-Os, with the sort of expression that suggested that she was worried that giving any answer but “Yes, it’s very nice, thank you” would result in K-Os immediately snapping her neck.
“Yes, it’s very nice, thank you,” Gina said, adding: “Socks, you didn’t tell me you’d be bringing your girlfriend.” (The last part was spoken through gritted teeth.)
“She’s not my girlfriend,” Socks said, looking back at K-Os, who rolled her eyes.
“Mhm, mhm,” Gina said. “Come in. Please. Now.”
She retreated up the hallway.
K-Os folded her arms. “What is it with you people?” she said. “Why don’t any of you like me?”
“I like you,” Socks said.
“By necessity,” K-Os replied, bitterly. “And before that, nosiness.”
“I just think you come on a little strong,” Socks replied. “You’re very intense. You should loosen up a bit.”
“Alright,” K-Os replied. She elegantly trod over the doorstep and skated into the house, graceful as a warship. Socks followed after her. From the kitchen, he could hear a pair of tinny speakers playing “Lola’s Theme” by The Shapeshifters.
The others were sitting on various chairs, and it suddenly occurred to Socks that this had been the first time he had been to Gina’s house since the Christmas incident. He felt his palms begin to sweat.
“Hi, guys,” he said. All eyes, however, were transfixed on K-Os, who looked back at them impassively. He nudged her.
“Good evening,” K-Os said. “How are you.” (The upward inflection that would imply she was asking a question was entirely absent.)
The others remained silent. Socks scanned the room. There was Max, the guy who wore check shirts, whom he had met at the Christmas party, Ahmed from his European History class, Mathilde, a Dutch girl from a sociology module he’d been taking, and an Italian girl, Alessandra, or Alessi, whom he knew from the Rock and Pop Society. The rest were a smattering of people that, he presumed, only Gina and a few others had any familiarity with. They all, however, knew who K-Os was, if not by name, and evidently, they feared her.
Socks cleared his throat. “Excited for the show?”
The others seemed to breathe a sigh of relief, as though the burden of having to answer K-Os’s rather simple question had been lifted from them.
“Definitely,” Alessi said. She was wearing a black jumper and raspberry beret. “I love The Light Havoc.”
“So does K-Os,” Socks said, trying to make an effort to include her, and the others winced internally.
“I do,” K-Os said. “Well, love may be an extreme term. But I do enjoy their music.”
“You listen to music?” Ahmed said. He had long, curly brown hair and a neatly trimmed beard. The others seemed to cringe. “N-not that there’s anything wrong with that.”
“Of course I listen to music,” K-Os replied, indignantly. “I dance, too.”
The Shapeshifters track ended and the next song in the Spotify playlist began to play.
Max cleared his throat. “What sort of things do you listen to?”
“I have a fondness for rock music. I did like The Beatles once. Whatever happened to them, anyway?”
“Well, two of them are dead,” Alessi said, a little nonplussed. “John died in 1980 and George died about a decade ago.”
“Oh,” K-Os said. She sounded quite sad. “I see.”
There was an awkward silence.
“I always thought XTC were as good as the Fab Four,” Socks said. He had not anticipated a night out with K-Os turning into what felt like a hostage negotiation.
“Clearly,” Mathilde said. She had auburn hair that framed her face, and wore horn-rimmed glasses that made her resemble a librarian. “Your shirt.”
“Yes,” Socks said. “They’re, er, my Dad’s favourite band.”
Mathilde laughed. “Right,” she said, and the others began to laugh, too.
The mood was beginning to soften.
“What do you think of Daisy’s band?” Socks said. “I’m not sure K-Os has heard them.”
“I haven’t, no,” K-Os said. “Do they sound anything like The Light Havoc?”
“They’re both shoegazing bands,” Alessi replied. She gesticulated as she spoke as a matter of habit. “I think Ella Foe and the Oscillations are a bit poppier, though. A bit more melodic. The Light Havoc can be very…abrasive.”
“I enjoy their melodies,” K-Os said. “So perhaps I will like this other band. What did you call them? Ella Foe and the…”
“Oscillations,” Mathilde said. “It’s a pun, you see. L-F-O. Low-frequency oscillations.”
“Is that right?” Max said. “I didn’t know that.”
“Well, Daisy is a bassist, isn’t she?”
“A damn good one,” Socks said.
“You’re definitely selling me on this,” K-Os said.
“Good thing,” Max said. “Since you have tickets.”
“Yes,” K-Os said, in a way that indicated she did not intend to use tickets to get into the venue. “Tickets.”
The others decided not to get her to follow up on that.
Gina, who had until now been hiding in the kitchen, behind Socks and K-Os, piped up.
“Would anyone like a drink?”
“What do you have?” Socks asked.
“Er, all sorts. Tequila, vodka, Jack Daniels, Malibu, Coke, Pepsi, Fanta.”
“I’ll stick to beer,” Socks said. “K-Os?”
“Pepsi would be nice,” K-Os said. “Thank you, Gina.”
Gina appeared somewhat startled that K-Os had actually deigned to be polite to her. Her face flushed red. “R-right away,” she said.
K-Os gave her a small smile.
Socks felt himself relaxing. He was all too aware that people found K-Os somewhat disconcerting. Perhaps, he thought, she set off some sort of “uncanny valley” effect in them? She was, after all, not human, though she looked as human as they come. And, indeed, her brusque manner did her little favours. Much as she tried to hide it, though, she had a soft heart. This he knew.
“So,” Max said. “What’s with the skates?”
Socks felt the sinking feeling again.
“What’s with that shirt?” K-Os replied.
Max was struck dumb for a moment. “Er, good point,” he said.
K-Os smiled at him. “I like it,” she said. “And I like my skates.”
“I think they’re cool,” Alessi said. “I love seeing you skate around.”
“Thank you…” K-Os said, trailing off. “I’m sorry, we haven’t been introduced.”
“Alessandra,” Alessi said. “Alessi for short.”
The others took this as opportunity to introduce themselves.
“Nice to meet you all,” K-Os said.
Gina handed her a can of Pepsi. “Sorry it took so long,” she said. “I got distracted.”
Socks gave her a somewhat confused look. How could you possibly have been…?
“Thank you,” K-Os said, pulling the tab. As she did, her finger slipped, and she seemingly nicked her finger on the sharp edge of the can’s opening.
This would have been fine, except for the fact that what should have been a minor nick suddenly began to gush with blood, as though K-Os had cut herself with a boxcutter. Socks looked at it, then at K-Os.
“Oh, oops,” K-Os said, nonchalantly.
The others had gone pale.
“Oh dear!” Socks said, a little too loudly. “Let’s go and get you cleaned up in the bathroom, K-Os! I’m sure we’ll find something in there to make it better!”
K-Os looked at the others, then back at him. She seemed to figure it out. “Yes,” she said. “Of course.”
They went straight for the downstairs toilet, and the others said nothing.
*
She had a special method of meditation, which she would use to calm herself.
She imagined herself in a dark room with a round wooden table in the middle, and next to it were two chairs – chairs from primary school, with no arms, metal frames, plastic seats and backs. She would sit in one of those chairs and try to concentrate on her breathing. As she did so, she would hear a comforting voice from across the table, and in the periphery of her mind’s eye, she could swear that she could see a face, smiling. And the voice would say: You’re okay, you’re doing great, we’re going to get through this, you and me. Just breathe. Take all the time you need.
It was a silly thing, she supposed, but it was calming. And she needed it now, given that she was sat in the back of Jules’s car. She had refused to sit in the front, and he had not insisted. They had scarcely said a word to each other, besides idle pleasantries:
Hello.
How are you?
Fine, thanks.
Ready to go?
Yes.
And off they went. She had her eyes closed, and let herself be in that quiet space, as though Jules were not there, and as though the accident of the previous week had never happened, and that things were normal.
She opened her eyes and saw that the car had made it to the roundabout before the boundary road into the university grounds. She had a momentary panic as the car swung round before turning and driving up the boundary road, which was largely flanked by scrubland, parkland and forest, as well as small farms.
The university came into view as they travelled down the road. It was a plate-glass, somewhere around fifty years of age, which was older than both her parents, but not ancient enough to have earned the favour of the Russell Group, nor posh enough to enjoy the prestige enjoyed by Oxbridge. There it was now – suspended on stilts of steel and supports of concrete, built into the side of a hill. Jules drove his car around a bend, and they were beneath the university’s mossy, algae-covered underbelly.
They pulled up outside the university’s entertainment venue, which was located beneath the stilts. The university was a marvel of Sixties engineering, to be sure, but it definitely wasn’t pretty. As with the student neighbourhood just off the university grounds, the architecture was very much about form over function, and it had been built around the same time, in the years following the last great war.
Jules parked the car, and immediately a large man in a yellow hi-vis jacket walked up. He tapped on the window and Jules rolled it down.
“You got permission to park here?” asked the large man.
“We’re playing a show here tonight,” Jules said. “Is this not a good place to park?”
“You should really have a permit, sir.”
“Management are expecting us. We’ve met with them, they know us.”
“It’s a health and safety matter, sir.”
Daisy sat silently in the back. Fucking jobsworth rentacop.
Jules fumbled for his mobile phone and rung up the manager. The manager asked to be passed to the security guard, who dutifully took it, spoke to the manager, feigned embarrassment as if he hadn’t enjoyed every second of his power-trip, and invited them to follow him into the venue. Daisy picked up her guitar case and carried it with her as they walked into the venue.
The sign above the door gave the venue’s name, “Club Chill”, which was a very spacious area with a sizeable dancefloor and practically no seating. The venue was really more suited to electronic dance music than indie, but convincing people to trek to another town entirely or even a different county for an indie night would be a bit ridiculous. The Rock and Pop, Indie, and Alternative Rock and Metal societies had all pulled some strings to get more guitar-based acts in to the club, to the chagrin of the bassheads.
The stage was at the far end of the club, and had a sound-system for them to run all their equipment through. Two familiar faces were already on the stage setting up. Jules and Daisy made their way over to them.
“Hey guys,” Jules said. He sounded almost surprised, as though he had suddenly remembered how to speak. “How’s the setup going?”
“It’s going,” Ollie said. “Can’t get the sodding thing to work.”
Daisy picked up a 3-pin plug and held it up. “This have anything to do with it?”
Ollie looked sheepish. “Yeah, well, that won’t…help.”
Daisy rolled her eyes as Ollie scrambled to plug it in. There was a hum from the speakers, electricity thrumming through electromagnets that dissipated their accumulated charge, and then it quickly died down.
“It’s alive!” Ollie said, mock-Frankenstein.
“Great,” Lewis said, who until now had been quietly checking his pedalboard. “Once we’re all set up, do you want to do a quick rehearsal?”
“Couldn’t hurt,” Jules said. “It’ll give…” He hesitated. “…Daisy a chance to warm up her vocal cords.”
The other two looked at him, then at her. He didn’t tell them. Frankly, she was almost amazed that he had acknowledged her presence.
A frustrating time of untangling knotted cables and sorting out which lead went where later, they were in business. The Light Havoc would not be turning up, so they were told, for another few hours. No pressure, Daisy thought.
She got up on the stage before the microphone, and that knot of anxiety built up in her stomach again, which she subdued, as she always did, by letting Ella take hold, and before long, rehearsals were underway.
*
K-Os healed her finger quickly in the bathroom. Socks watched with some fascination as it turned into that liquidous pink milkshake and wobbled, not unlike coloured wax in a lava lamp, before transforming back into her finger, good as new. He was also amazed as he watched the red droplets on the floor and in the sink turn into little specks of milkshake and flow up K-Os’s arms and legs, rejoining the rest of her.
“Why were you bleeding so heavily?” Socks said.
K-Os sighed. “I don’t have blood, Socks,” she said. “When I need blood, I just…make some. I suppose I misjudged how much I needed to make…”
“The government would have a field day with you,” Socks said.
“Who’s to say they haven’t?” K-Os said, smiling wryly. Socks wasn’t sure if she was joking.
He began to search in the drawers and cupboards for bandages. By some miracle he found some in a small green rubberised kit with a big white cross enclosed in a circle printed on it, and the words FIRST AID helpfully displayed beneath it.
“What’s that for?” K-Os asked.
“We need to put a bandage on your finger,” he said. “Most people would react to a wound like that by rushing straight to A&E.”
There was a pause.
“I see your point,” K-Os said, somewhat begrudgingly.
“Hurry up,” Socks said. He was becoming a little conscious that they’d been in the bathroom for a good ten minutes, and the others were liable to become suspicious.
K-Os hurriedly wound the bandage around her finger. She pondered for a moment, and then, before Socks’s eyes, the bandage was stained a little brownish-red.
“What did you do?” he asked.
“What does it look like? I bled on the bandage a bit,” K-Os replied. “It won’t look convincing otherwise.”
Socks saw the point. He opened the bathroom door and they returned to the living area, where the others had begun chattering amongst themselves. The chatter silenced as K-Os rolled back in.
“All better,” K-Os said, holding up her bandaged finger. “Just a little cut, nothing to worry about.”
“Are you sure?” Gina said, after a moment. “I’d want to consider going to Minor Injuries.”
“And miss the show?” K-Os replied. “Don’t worry…Gina, was it? It’s all fixed.”
Socks was just relieved nobody had fainted. He became acutely aware that the bloodstains K-Os had left on the kitchen floor were gone – probably absorbed back into the rest of her body, he supposed.
“Are you sure?” Alessi said, looking hesitantly at the bandage on K-Os’s finger.
“Of course I’m sure,” K-Os said. “Don’t worry about me, worry about yourself.”
“Alright,” Alessi said.
K-Os searched around her for the can of Pepsi and found it, still slightly blood-stained, on the counter. She wiped it clean with her hand, then took a sip from it, as though nothing had happened. The others seemed disgusted and unnerved, so Socks saw fit to change the course of the conversation.
“When are we thinking of leaving?”
“It’s only just gone six,” Max said, checking a Casio watch on his wrist. “The show doesn’t start until half eight. I was thinking of ordering a cab in about an hour’s time.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
“But until then…” Gina said, walking out with a tray of red and green jelly shots.
There was a moment’s pause, and then a silent, mutual agreement of fuggit before the others set about taking the little plastic shot glasses off the tray.
*
Daisy had become very hung-up on her mistakes. They weren’t even perceptible mistakes – she had made a slight error with the fretting here and there and caused that awful tinny buzz, but certainly not anything anyone would pick up on. She knew why. It was the shakes, firstly, but secondly, it was Jules, who had been having a much harder time getting the chords right.
They were in between rehearsals now, and Ollie, who was studying a degree in audio engineering, was fine-tuning the sound setup, with the help of Lewis. Daisy went outside to get some air and breathe a bit. She had gone easy on her vocal cords. She didn’t want to injure them just before the show. They always said she had a beautiful voice, but she couldn’t hear it, even on recordings. All she could hear were her flaws.
She leaned over a railing. The light was fading fast, and the fluorescent lights were shining down in harsh white. If this were a movie, she thought, I’d be smoking, and there’d be an orchestral swell. She shook her head. Christ, my life is a pantomime. She laughed a little darkly at the thought. She closed her eyes and tried to focus her breathing, repeating the mantra: I’ll be fine. You’ll be fine. I’ll be fine. You’ll be fine…
There was a light tap on her shoulder and she felt herself tense up. She turned.
It was Jules, and he was holding a paper cup in a cardboard sleeve, with a plastic lid. It had “DASEY” written on the sleeve in black marker.
“What’s this?” Daisy said.
“Tea,” Jules said. “Er, English Breakfast, I think. Got it from the Starbucks upstairs.”
“Thanks,” Daisy said, taking it from him. She almost sipped it, then decided to hold on to it for a while, lest she scald her mouth and make her throat sore.
“Milk, two sugars,” Jules said. “I know you like it that way.”
“Yes,” Daisy said. “I’m fussy.”
There was an awkward silence between the two of them. Steam rose from the little hole in the top of the cup.
“Well, I’ll see you,” Jules said, turning to head back in.
“Wait,” Daisy said. Jules turned back to her, somewhat reluctantly. She sighed.
“We need to talk.”
“I know,” Jules said. “You heard it too, huh.”
“I was more concerned with my own playing,” Daisy said. “We’re not going to be able to do this show unless we talk about this. About…what happened.”
“The kiss.”
“The kiss.”
“Yes,” Jules said. “I…listen, Daisy, it was…I don’t know why, it was just…you were so…you are so…”
“I started it,” Daisy said, firmly. “I kissed you first, didn’t I?”
“And then I kissed you second,” Jules said, clearing his throat.
Daisy sighed. “So what did it mean, Jules?”
Jules looked as though he’d been hit in the chest with an arrow. He really hadn’t wanted her to ask this, she could tell, and she regretted it immediately.
“I don’t know,” he said, after a while.
“I don’t, either,” Daisy said. “I guess I just…I thought we were going to die in that crash and I was thinking about how I could die at any moment and I could die right now in front of you even possibly and if that happened I’d regret having never kissed you and I don’t know it was just so stupid of me and I don’t know why I did it and I’ve gone and ruined everything haven’t I oh Jesus—”
“Breathe,” Jules said. He stepped forward. “Can I just…?”
Daisy felt tears brimming in her eyes. She put the tea down on the floor and walked into his open arms, and threw her arms around his back.
“You haven’t ruined anything,” Jules said, after a minute or so. “Understand? We both did a stupid thing. We’ve both admitted to it. Finish your tea and let’s get back to rehearsals. You’re going to do great.”
“Thank you,” Daisy said, and Jules nodded uncertainly, turned and walked away.
Daisy picked the tea up and sipped at it. Milk and two sugars, just as he’d said. She went for her phone, only to catch a glimpse of her reflection in the screen – mascara had streaked down her cheeks and her nose was running.
This never happens in the movies, she thought, and thanked herself that she hadn’t yet put on her stage makeup.
*
Everyone, with the exception of Socks and K-Os, was thoroughly pissed. Socks had taken a leaf from K-Os’s book. It wasn’t wise to drink. They were both, still, very much in danger. He momentarily caught himself wondering how someone without blood, much less a liver or a brain, was able to get drunk, but didn’t dwell too long on it. Alcohol’s a poison no matter which way you slice it, he supposed.
There was a quiet moment where they were able to talk privately. Everyone had gone past the Loud Drunk stage and into being quiet, swaying euphorically while gazing through squinting eyes, ruddy faces and tilde-shaped smiles.
“It’s easy to forget that we’re in danger,” Socks said.
K-Os nodded. She was on her third Pepsi of the night. Socks wondered if the caffeine affected her at all. It suddenly occurred to him that she never actually burped, and he idly wondered where the gases went.
“You get used to it,” K-Os said. It wasn’t at all reassuring. “Anyone in this room could be after us.”
Socks looked over the room. Gina was huddled with a few girls from her netball team, and they were nattering away about something-or-other. Alessi, Mathilde and Max were locked deep in conversation about which Led Zeppelin track was the most underrated, and Ahmed was on his phone, probably to a girlfriend, or maybe his mother, assuring her that he absolutely wasn’t drinking despite being five shots deep in Apple Sourz.
“I doubt it,” Socks said.
“You never know,” K-Os said. She sipped at the Pepsi. “You people amuse me. You poison yourselves for fun.”
“That’s life,” Socks said.
He sipped at his lukewarm beer and spoke again.
“You know, the last couple of times someone’s come after me…I’ve sort of been able to tell.”
“Really?” K-Os said. She seemed interested by the revelation.
“Mhm,” Socks said. “I guess it’s the way they dress or look or talk or something. There’s something about them that’s…off. It’s like I have Spidey senses.”
“That’s not so much a power as intuition,” K-Os said.
“I suppose,” Socks responded.
“Don’t worry,” K-Os said. “You take care of me and I’ll take care of you.”
“Yeah,” Socks said, uneasily. “I am a little worried about the show tonight.”
“Keep your wits about you,” K-Os said. “We’ll get through it.”
Socks smiled. “Thanks, K-Os.”
“I’ve been protecting people like you for thousands of years,” K-Os said. “I know what I’m doing.”
Max suddenly roared to life. “Auuughhh!” he vocalised, stretching. “Forgot to get the cab, didn’t I? When’s the show?”
“Hour and half,” Ahmed said, not looking up from his phone.
“Righto,” Max said. “Any ridealongs?”
“What size we talking here?” Socks asked.
“Minibus,” Max said. “I’ll pay, then you can pay me back later.”
“Roger,” Socks said, turning to K-Os. “That’s our cue.”
They all deliberated on who would be riding with whom and where, and Socks allowed himself to relax a bit.
The show must go on, he thought.
*
They had just finished their second rehearsal when they heard the commotion near the performers’ entrance. The security guards were clamouring to open the doors for the new arrivals. The four of them went to the doors to see a black saloon car with dark, tinted windows. The rear passenger-side door of the car, the door closest to the nightclub, opened.
There were three of them. The first of the three stepped out, wearing dark glasses and extremely skinny jeans, tucked into which was a plain white T-shirt, and on top of that, a wool jacket. His hair was long, brown and shaggy. Atop his head he wore a black wide-brimmed fedora, and on his feet were a pair of Chelsea boots, with the toe fashioned into an almost absurd point. He reached into his jacket and pulled out a cigarette with a small metal Zippo lighter, lit it up, and took a puff.
“You can’t smoke here,” said one of the security guards. He rolled his eyes and threw the barely-smoked cigarette on the ground, stubbing it out under his boot.
“Name’s Derrick le Prince,” the man said.
The other two stepped out.
One man was large and muscle-bound, wearing a black sleeveless top, with black combat trousers and army boots, and his black hair was cropped into a military crew-cut. He wore a goatee.
The other was slight, shaven, with long blond hair and blue eyes. He wore a very wide-brimmed black sun-hat on his head, and on his torso a black blazer over a white button shirt with no tie, tucked into black suit trousers. He had no socks on his feet, and wore black loafers with a gold buckle.
“And this is Daniel St. James and Sven Gunnarson.”
The guard checked the list. “The Light Havoc,” he said.
“That’s us,” Derrick said, affably. “Our kit’s just on its way. Won’t be long.”
“As long as you’re ready for nine tonight, I don’t care,” the guard said.
Derrick seemed to take offence, but let it slide.
“Danny, Sven,” he said.
They walked towards the building, and it was around then that Daisy became aware that her legs felt like they were made of jelly. She steadied herself against a rail as they entered, surveying the place, and, more importantly, their support act.
“Hello,” Derrick said, placing the dark glasses on his forehead and casting a glance at them while looking around at the place. His face seemed to say Christ, what a dump.
They all answered with a variation on “H-hello,” stammer included.
“And who might you be?” Sven asked. He had a sweet, musical Swedish accent.
“We’re…” Daisy began.
“Ellafoeandtheoscillations,” Lewis said, somewhat explosively.
“What was that?” Sven said, smiling.
“Ella Foe and the Oscillations,” Jules and Ollie said, at the same time.
“Ah,” Sven intoned, looking at Daisy. “And I presume this is Ella?”
Daisy blushed. “It’s Daisy, actually,” she said.
“Oh, I see,” Sven said, playfully. He turned to look at Jules. “So this is Ella.”
“No, no,” Daisy said, hurriedly correcting him. “I’m. It’s a character I play. I’m Ella.”
Sven chuckled. “Of course. I’m only joking. Ha. Ha.”
The big guy stepped forward. He had an extremely gruff voice, a voice that gave the sense that he spent much of his free time gargling cement. “Which one of you is the drummer?”
“That’d be me,” Ollie said.
“Thought so,” he said, holding out a frighteningly huge hand. “Name’s Danny.”
Ollie somewhat reluctantly took the hand and shook it. His knuckles audibly cracked and he winced.
Derrick had finished surveying the place. He put the dark glasses back over his eyes, which seemed strange, considering how dark the room was. Daisy supposed that he was so effortlessly cool that his eyes had become accustomed to it.
“Two guitarists, eh?” he said. “I was listening to some of your stuff on the way up here.”
Jules seemed to think back to their neglected Bandcamp page, on which only a few tracks were available.
“Oh, yeah,” he said, sheepishly. “That’s pretty old material.”
“Well, I can’t wait to hear your new stuff,” Derrick said, smiling widely. “Daisy here has a lovely voice.”
Daisy blushed again.
“And Lewis, man, you’ve gotta show me your pedalboard setup.”
“Oh, it’s pretty basic,” Lewis said. “Standard stuff.”
“You know your pedals, pal,” Derrick said.
There was another commotion at the door. The Light Havoc’s equipment had turned up.
“Right,” Derrick said. “Catch you all later. Looking forward to your show, guys, honestly.”
He walked away in the pointed boots.
They were starstruck. He was a relatively small-time musician like them, but to be complimented by a musician even one or two steps ahead of them, someone who had played on BBC Radio, for Chrissakes…it was incredible.
“Right,” Daisy said. “Well, I’ll get my stage makeup on. Everyone, get our kits ready. We’ve got a show to do.”
“You’re not nervous?” Jules said.
“Nervous?” Daisy said. “Derrick le Prince just said I had a lovely voice. I could kick a wall down.”
The others smiled, then set about their duties.
Daisy had a good feeling about this.
*
The cabs turned up and they all piled into them. K-Os and Socks ended up sharing a minibus with Max, Ahmed, Alessi and Mathilde – Gina and her group of friends got into another bus, and the others got into their own bus. It was a bumpy ride, and Socks was worried that someone was going to be sick. His fears, however, proved unfounded, and they made it to the university in one piece. When they got there, the queue to get in was already quite long.
“Huhh,” Alessi slurred. “I always thought the rock and indie nights weren’t all that popular.”
“For cheap booze, people would happily stand around and dance to a white noise generator,” Max said.
They had all made sure to sober up a bit before trying to get in. The security guards were notoriously very hard-faced, not to mention hard-nosed, and put up with very little funny business. They knew the score, and had all made sure not to overdo it, though nevertheless, the lightweights among them, such as Ahmed, were swaying and trying very hard to not look drunk, which had the paradoxical effect of making them look absolutely rat-arsed.
The queue slowly moved forward. Occasionally it’d kick off in the queue, as someone pushed into someone else or the bouncer wouldn’t let someone in, and they’d be dragged off the premises, effing and blinding, and the people in the queue, similarly inebriated, would issue cries of schadenfreude: “Wahey!”
Socks looked up at K-Os, who didn’t seem to be all that flustered by the commotion. Of course not, he thought. She fights people with magic powers. Fighting off a drunk lad would be like stepping on an ant. Or at least running one over.
As they were getting near the front, Socks caught sight of someone waiting behind them. He had black skin, and seemed to be looking directly at him, smiling at him, wearing round, dark glasses in white frames, resembling futuristic goggles. He had a heavy, black gilet on. Socks could feel his Spidey senses tingling. What unnerved him was that the glasses made it hard to tell what the guy was actually looking at.
He patted K-Os’s arm. She turned to him.
“Don’t look now,” he said, quietly. “But there’s a guy behind us in the queue, and he’s giving me weird vibes.”
K-Os took a few seconds. The queue moved forward, and she looked over her shoulder, then back at Socks.
“Yes, I see what you mean,” she said. “Keep an eye on him. If he causes trouble at the show, we’ll stop him.”
“Got it,” Socks said.
After a few more minutes, they made it to the front. Security checked IDs and tickets. Amazingly, Ahmed was allowed in despite being almost too inebriated to stand. K-Os got to the front. The security guard was about as tall as her even with the skates on.
“You can’t wear those in there,” he said, looking her up and down.
“I think you’ll find I can,” K-Os said, sharply.
“You can’t,” the guard said.
K-Os seemed almost surprised that her mind-trick hadn’t worked on him.
“I definitely can,” she said.
The guard seemed to see sense.
“Yes, of course,” he said, somewhat confused at the fact the words were even leaving his mouth. “I apologise.”
“Good,” K-Os spat, and rolled into the club. He hadn’t even checked her non-existent ticket.
Socks smiled awkwardly as the guard sized him up, checking his own ticket. After a moment’s deliberation, he was allowed in, and walked from fluorescent lighting into a dark room, lit by coloured lamps and LEDs. The bar was already surrounded by people. The show wasn’t due to start for another half an hour yet. Socks found K-Os in the throng of people, being given dirty looks by girls in tight dresses and looks of fear by men in check shirts.
“We’re in,” Socks shouted, over the loud chatter in the room. The sound-system was playing a playlist of generic oughties hits – everything from Junior Senior to Daft Punk to Crazy Frog and beyond. Occasionally a whoop would rise out of the crowd like plumes of gas rising off the sea floor as another banger was shuffled on by a MacBook somewhere backstage.
“I can’t believe I’m saying it,” K-Os said, “But I’m excited.”
Socks smiled, and tried to forget the worry in the back of his mind.
*
The Light Havoc had disappeared – to where, they didn’t know. Presumably they were getting themselves tidied up for the big show. It allayed Daisy’s anxiety somewhat, which had returned after the initial high of being complimented by one of her personal heroes, as she really didn’t want to let them down after all this. Nor her bandmates, for that matter.
All of a sudden, it was almost time to go on stage. An emcee had gone out to warm the crowd up, tell a few jokes and introduce the acts.
“We have two bands here for you, tonight,” the emcee said. “One of them is homegrown, from right here on campus, and I hear they play some great stuff…” There was a big cheer from the crowd. “…the other are an up-and-coming band, they’ve got an album out, and I’m sure you’re looking forward to hearing them as well…” There was an even bigger cheer.
Daisy sat backstage with her bass guitar. She had tuned it and retuned it. There would be no bum notes. She imagined herself in that room again, with the wooden table, and that voice assuring her that she would be fine, everything would be okay, and that she could relax.
There was a tap on her shoulder. It was Jules.
“Come on,” he said. “Don’t take a nap on us, now.” He was smiling. “We’re about to go on in a few minutes.”
“I’m not napping,” Daisy said. “I’m just trying to relax a bit. Don’t want to be all stiff on stage.”
“You’ll smash it,” Jules said. “Trust me on that one.”
“Everyone ready?” Ollie said, drumsticks in hand. “I can’t believe it. We’re playing with The Light Havoc. Nobody pinch me. If I’m dreaming, I don’t want to wake up.”
“I’m ready as I’ll ever be,” Lewis said, guitar slung around his shoulder.
They all stood and waited to be called upon. The emcee continued to hype up the crowd.
“Alright,” the emcee said. “I think it’s around about that time…”
The crowd roared.
“Here we are, then. The first of our performances tonight. Please give a very warm welcome to our very own – ELLA FOE AND THE OSCILLATIONS!”
They ran out like soldiers jumping off a helicarrier, quickly assumed their positions. Just as rehearsed. Daisy let herself relax. She heard the crowd roaring in her ears, melting into the sound of blood, rushing behind her eardrums. Her makeup was still fresh. She knew she looked great. Her hands clasped the guitar, and she stepped up to the microphone.
“Hello,” she said, becoming Ella. “We’re Ella Foe and the Oscillations…”
There were whoops. Her eyes scanned the crowd for familiar faces, but it was just too dark. Not how she imagined it at all. But this would make it easier.
“…and this one’s called Cloudsurfing.”
*
Socks couldn’t believe that it was really Daisy standing up there. She was wearing rainbow Doc Martens, a pleated skirt with dinosaurs printed on it, fishnet tights and a pastel green blouse. Her makeup was especially striking – she had painted a blue square over her right eye, and a pink circle over her left, and on her upper lip was pale pink lipstick, while her lower lip sported a baby blue. She was holding a seafoam green Fender Squier.
The drummer tapped out a rhythm on the high hats, and then there was a squeal of guitar feedback, and Daisy’s fingers began expertly working the strings as she strummed out a bassline. The lights swung down and strobes began to flash as the electrifying riff kicked in. The crowd absolutely lost their minds.
“Holy shit!” Socks yelled, jubilantly. He looked over at K-Os. It was the widest he had ever seen her smile.
“Having a good time?” he asked her.
“Absolutely,” K-Os said. “She’s good! The rude girl is good!”
“You should talk to her after the show,” Socks said. “Maybe you got off on the wrong foot.”
K-Os said nothing. She did, however, dance.
Socks had never seen K-Os dance before.
It was quite obvious to him by that time that a person doesn’t live to be a few million years old without picking up some moves.
As people began to notice that, yes, the quiet girl in rollerskates was at this show and, yes, she was dancing effortlessly in them in ways that would give most professional dancers pause, a space cleared, and people were cheering, not just for the music, but for K-Os as well.
Socks smiled and headed to the bar for a drink.
As he jostled against people, he looked around him and caught sight of the glowing white frames of a pair of sunglasses, and a face, smiling at him in the dark. He turned his attention away and back to the bar, pushed his way to the front, hurriedly ordered a pint in a plastic cup and waded his way back through the crowd.
The song ended.
“Thank you,” Daisy said. Socks noted how different she sounded on stage.
There was a brief lull, and then they launched into the next song, and the song after that. After a while, the space that had been cleared for K-Os turned back into a dancefloor. They played upbeat numbers and slow numbers, tearjerking and heartfelt love songs next to optimistic affirmations. Socks was sure it wasn’t the bias of Daisy being his friend – the band really were that good.
He cheered after every song. He kept on cheering to the end of the set. His throat was red raw from screaming, but he didn’t care. The lights were strobing, the music was amazing – Daisy had played a blinder, and he never wanted it to end.
*
The final note was played, and Daisy felt Ella release her grip, and she was standing on stage as the crowd cheered. She hoped, in her heart, that it wasn’t just drunkenness, that they had been that good, and that people would remember this band. She opened out her arms to bask in the applause, and kissed her hands, blowing them into the crowd.
“Thank you so much,” she said. “You’ve been wonderful.”
The crowd called out in appreciation, and her bandmates began the process of packing up for the next act.
The emcee took the stage again after they’d got everything unplugged and moved backstage. Waiting there were The Light Havoc, each member of which was smiling.
“Good job out there,” Derrick said.
“I only wish I could play bass as good as you,” Sven told Daisy.
She felt like she was going to cry.
“Nice rhythms,” Danny said, slapping Ollie hard on the back. He was visibly winded.
“Thanks,” he choked.
“You ready for your show?” Jules said, nonchalantly.
“You know what,” Derrick said. “Not really. I’ve got stage fright. It’s why I wear these.” He pointed to the dark glasses. “Old performer’s trick. Can’t be scared if you can’t see the audience. Speaking of which…”
He nodded to the other two, who put on their own dark glasses.
“They got stage fright too?” Ollie joked.
“No,” Derrick said. “It just makes them look fucking cool.”
The other two smiled. It did indeed make them look fucking cool.
“Good luck out there,” Lewis said.
“Oh, believe me,” Derrick said. “We’ll need it.”
The emcee shouted into the microphone:
“Please, put your hands together for THE LIGHT HAVOC!”
And they ran out on stage.
*
In the lull between performances, Socks searched the crowd for K-Os, who seemed to have gone missing. She was near the front, right by the stage, some distance from the bar.
“There you are,” Socks said. “Been looking for you. Enjoying yourself?”
“You’ve got it,” K-Os said. “What a great band. They were the warm-up act, as well. I can’t wait for the headliners.”
Socks shifted uncertainly. “Listen, K-Os…that guy from the queue is here. He’s giving me the creeps. Are you sure we’re okay?”
“I’m sure we can handle it, Socks,” K-Os said. “Just keep an eye on him. If he tries anything, I’ll notice, believe you me.”
“I hope so,” Socks said, and he disappeared back into the crowd.
The emcee was chattering away onstage as he made his way back over to the bar. As he walked over, he saw, out of the corner of his eye, those glasses again, and that face…except, now, it was coming closer to him.
The sound of the emcee died down, and the murmuration of the crowd disappeared into the background. The man was walking his way. Socks looked at him, unsure of his next move. The man weaved around people, on a mission. Socks’s mind was trying to make plans: Should I run? No. I have to stand my ground.
The man was now less than two metres away from him, and he reached into his jacket.
Socks clenched his fists, assuming a defensive stance.
The man grabbed something and pulled it out.
It was a small plastic bag filled with pills.
“Hey, man,” the guy said, in the most friendly voice Socks had ever heard. “Saw you looking my way. Probably heard about me, yeah? Looking for a good time? £30 for two. This is good quality shit here.”
“Wh-what?” Socks stammered. “Wait, you’re not trying to…never mind, sorry, man, not interested.”
The man looked almost hurt. “Alright, man. Well, you were looking at me, so…”
“Yeah,” Socks said. “Listen, I’m…already on something. Guess I’m paranoid.”
“Got some benzos if you need to chill.”
“Yeah, I’m alright, thanks.”
The guy nodded. “Alright, well, you know where to find me.”
He disappeared back into the crowd.
The sound had come back to him now, the cheering crowd, the emcee’s hype. That strange feeling was still hanging over him. He looked over at the stage.
“Please, put your hands together for THE LIGHT HAVOC!” shouted the emcee, as the band ran out on stage to loud cheers.
Spotlights shone down on the band, all dressed in black, all wearing dark glasses. The lead singer and guitarist of the band had an all-black Fender Stratocaster. Even the strings were black, which was interesting. They looked the epitome of cool, post-punkers disguised as shoegazers. Or vice versa, maybe. The singer reached into his pocket and pulled out a small black plectrum, holding it high above his head.
“Hello,” he said. “We’re The Light Havoc.”
There was a cheer from the crowd.
The singer smiled. “Let’s get right into it. This one’s called Cry Hope, Cry Fury.”
The spotlights were all focused on him now. On his guitar. On his plectrum.
His plectrum made of—
made of—
MADE OF—
“K-OS!” Socks yelled, but the realisation had come too late.
The Light Havoc played their first chord.
K-Os had little time to react.
It was as though a hundred fists had all simultaneously hit her, and she rocketed through the air.
There was a scream from the crowd. Not of jubilation, but of terror.
The bar patrons quickly made a break for it, and the upper half of K-Os’s back came down on the bar, hard.
Eyes bulging, Socks watched as K-Os’s upper body immediately burst, disintegrating into that milky pink substance, which proceeded to coat the bar and the floor. Her lower body from the waist down remained splayed on the ground. The rollerskates, usually a pristine white, turned the blackest black that he had ever seen.
But he had no time to process this fully, as by then, the band had launched full pelt into their song. Their instruments were made of umbric. So were the amps. Every soundwave…
All the veins in his body felt as though they had been replaced with burning hot wires. His skull was on fire. He could feel his ears and eyes begin to bleed, and he collapsed in agony, surrounded by screaming patrons, dashing for the exits.
The last thing he heard, just before he was deafened, was the lead singer laughing.
“Oh, don’t leave now, folks. You’re going to want to see this…”
Another time, another place…
This work is distributed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 4.0 International License.
ARC ONE: UMBRIC SPRING
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