Maybe Tomorrow (part 6)
As Danny stared at the running water, a soft knock came from the door. He turned towards it for a moment, shook his head and reached for the faucet. Whoever it was rapped again, louder. He went out and looked through the peephole, shook his head again, and opened the door.
Where the peephole had been, Harry's arm held a packet of biscuits. He lowered it and lifted a carrier bag with the other arm. “Peace offering.”
Danny stepped aside. Harry went straight to the dresser and put down the biscuits and the bag. He turned. “I’m sorry, I’m an asshole. I guess that makes me a sorry ass.” He flashed a lopsided smile. “Hole.”
He hefted the shopping. “7-11 across the road. I went to get a bottle of the strongest stuff they had. Wound up with Hob-Nobs and instant cocoa.” He snorted. “Some fucking rock star.”
Danny rubbed at the side of his nose, lifted the kettle from the tray and took it into the bathroom. The water ran for a moment, then he brought it back out and plugged it in.
“Waiting for the light. Something Dougie said to me once.” Harry reached into the bag. “He said, when he crosses the road with you, he always looks both ways, because he knows if he screwed up you’d throw yourself under a bus or something to save him.” He took out two dark brown boxes, one flecked with green, the other with orange, and set them beside the kettle. “Said what a waste that would be.”
The kettle boiled and clicked off. Danny waggled a finger between the boxes.
“Mint,” Harry said. “Earlier… He said when you do find t’one…” He raised his head. “She’ll be luckiest lass in t’world.”
Danny reddened. “We’ll get rid o’ tha accent yet, lad.” He poured water into the cups, gave them a stir, topped them up and set the kettle back on its tray.
“I’m sorry.” Harry stood and offered his hand.
Danny laughed, stepped past it and wrapped his arms around the drummer. “Come on,” he said, “do it properly.”
“Bolton...” Harry tried to step away, shook his head and surrendered. He relaxed, and finally hugged back. “The cocoa's going to get cold,” he said, patting Danny's back.
As they separated, Danny grinned. He turned towards the cups, handed one to Harry, took the other and shuffled across the room to the tiny sofa. Harry trailed behind him, lost in thought.
Danny lowered himself onto the edge of the seat. “Still hot.” He blew across the drink, set the cup on the table, and sat back.
Harry frowned. “He said I was right, he wouldn’t be anything without us.” He tried a sip of the cocoa and quickly set it down. “I didn't mean it like that. All I meant...” He stood up again and fetched the biscuits. “He said he felt like Icarus.”
“What, bow and arrow?”
“What?”
“Icarus. Piccadilly Circus. Lad with bow and arrow.”
“That’s Eros, you-” Harry bit his tongue and concentrated on opening the biscuits. “Icarus.” He held them out. “His father... Daedalus, was an amazing inventor, built a load of things for this king. But then the king wouldn't let them leave, in case Daedalus went to work for one of his enemies, so he imprisoned them on an island. but Daedalus got some wood and wax and feathers and made some wings, and they escaped.”
“What? Like...” Danny flapped his arms.
“Yeah.” Harry shrugged. “Or like a hang glider, maybe. Anyway, Icarus flew too high, got too close to the sun, and the wax melted, the feathers came out, and...” One hand did a nosedive onto the coffee table. “Into the sea.”
“Hah! Too close for comfort.” Danny dunked a biscuit and chewed it. “Dougie were talkin about sea earlier-”
“If only I hadn't...” Harry snorted. “Fuck. What am I doing? He's only across the hall. It's not like he's dead or something.”
“You sound like you’ve been dumped.”
Harry shot him a look.
Danny shrugged. “I do know summat about being dumped.”
“I’m sorry about that.”
Danny shrugged again. “Just cos it hurts don’t mean it isn’t true.” He dipped another hob-nob in his cup and sucked at the soggy biscuit, slurping as it came apart in his hand. He swallowed. “What are you going to do?”
“What can I do? He's made up his-”
“If he was a girl-”
“Danny!”
“No, I mean, if you felt like that about a girl, would you just let her go?”
Harry sipped at the chocolate, put down the cup and hunched forward.
“You make a mission out of putting up a shelf. You and him... Thought you’d be swimmin the Channel with a rose in your mouth or summat.”
“Shut up.”
“It’s true.”
“Just cos it’s true don’t mean it don’t 'urt.” Harry glanced sideways.
Danny grinned, and finished his drink. “Keep practisin.” He reached for the kettle and disappeared into the bathroom. Harry sipped again and stared into his cup.
Danny stirred two fresh cups of chocolate, set down the spoon and lifted his guitar into his lap. Harry watched his fingers coax songs from the strings, every now and then lifting his drink to blow across it. He turned his head towards the window and stared out, nodding absently.
He set the cup down, reached for a piece of hotel notepaper and a pencil, frowned at it and scribbled a few words, then held it out to Danny. “Not sure I’ve got this right,” he said, “but do you…”
Danny squinted at the paper. He nodded, and set down his guitar, reached into his bag and brought out his iPod. He worked the dial for a few moments, then passed it to Harry.
Harry read the screen and frowned, put the buds in his ears and listened. He nodded. “That’s it.” Danny motioned to him to lower his voice. Harry shut his eyes and hunched forward.
Danny nursed his cup and tapped his foot until Harry took the wires from his ears.
“Can you...” Harry cleared his throat. “Can you play it, can you teach me?”
“What, you think we should cover it?”
Harry shook his head. “Teach me to play it, sing it.”
“Uh...”
“I can play a bit, you know. I had lessons.”
“I...”
“Please!”
“Aw, mate.” Danny reached out. “Course I will.”
Danny strummed softly as he watched Harry's fingers moving on the frets of the acoustic. The chord changes were smoother, much smoother than before. One-and-two-and-three-and-
And?
The drummer's face tightened, and the strings escaped from under his stalled fingers. Danny couldn't help but wince at the sudden mash of notes.
“Fuck!” Harry's head dropped forward and twisted painfully side to side.
“It's OK, mate, you're doin brilliant. Just, on that one, you don't need to move them two fingers. Just them two. Look...” He lifted his guitar and played each chord in turn. “See?”
Harry nodded, sat up, and positioned his fingers. “I still can't make it smooth.”
“Practice, mate, practice.” Danny yawned, sat back and stretched. “All it is, really. You're doin great.”
Harry clenched his left hand a couple of times, shook it open and flexed his fingers. He shook his hand again, then turned it over and checked his watch. “Shit!”
Danny glanced at his own. “Oops.”
“I'd better...” Harry stood, holding the guitar by the neck. “Sorry, Danny, didn't realise.”
“Can't be tucked up in bed by ten every night.” Danny laughed. “Rock stars, mate.”
“Can I,” Harry raised the guitar, “can I borrow this? Get a bit more practice in the morning.”
“Ehmmm...” Danny looked from one guitar to the other before stooping down to pick up a case. “Yeah, go on. Here. Come by before breakfast, we'll do a bit more.”
Harry put the guitar in its case and clicked the latches shut. He took a step towards the door, stopped, and turned. “Danny, thank you so much. I...”
“Wait til you get my bill, twenty quid an hour. Won't thank me then.” Danny laughed. “Your face...”
⇐ Part 5 - Part 7 ⇒