Page 168 of The Last Love Song
Brad stood by the door to the studio, his arms folded. ‘Blimey, takes you back, doesn’t it?’
‘Yeah, those were the good old days,’ agreed Freddy.
‘Dunno about that – can’t remember much about them,’ smiled Brad. ‘I’ve got a photographer coming at three thirty to take some shots.’
‘Fine.’
‘The media interest is big, Freddy. I’ve given the go-ahead for the compilation CD and LP to be released a week after the concert.’
The telephone rang. Brad moved to the recording console and picked it up. ‘Brad here. What? Okay, Melody, I’ll be up immediately.’ He put the telephone down. ‘Gotta go and check out a weirdo who keeps peering into reception. Back in a second.’
Brad took the stairs two at a time.
‘There he is.’ Melody pointed to the glass doors. ‘He’s been there for a good twenty minutes. I don’t like the look of him.’
Brad stared at the man standing on the other side of the glass doors. He was tall and well built, dressed in a scruffy pair of jeans with a guitar slung over his shoulder. His dark hair was matted and his beard was long and untamed.
‘Probably looking for a deal. He’ll start playing that ancient guitar the minute I approach him.’
Brad walked towards the front door and pushed it open.
‘Can I help you, mate?’ The man turned towards him slowly, his eyes a piercing blue in his haggard face. ‘I said, can I help you?’
‘I don’t know, can you?’
‘Look, mate, you’re scaring our girls loitering around out here. If you have no business here, shove off before I call the police.’
‘Brad?’
‘Yes?’
The man smiled lazily. ‘You really don’t recognise me, do you?’
‘No, I...’ Brad studied him again. ‘No...I...Bugger me. Well, bugger me!’
The two receptionists watched in astonishment as their boss threw his arms around the man outside.
‘Okay, let’s have a bash at “Can Someone Tell Me Where She’s Gone?”,’ said Freddy. ‘You take Con’s melody line for now, Todd. You’ll probably share it with Paul on the night.’
The three started playing the intro.
‘I’ve travelled far, and still can’t find, the woman that I left behind me, I...’ Todd’s voice petered out as a familiar, slightly husky voice took over.
‘I’ve searched all corners of the land, over sea and shore and...oh, can someone tell me where she’s gone?’
Everyone in the studio turned their heads towards the door.
And watched him as he sang to the end of the verse.
He stopped, and there was silence in the studio.
‘Will no one say they’re glad to see me?’ he asked.
Todd stood up slowly and walked across to him. He held out his hand.
‘Hello, Con, welcome home.’
The press photographer who arrived twenty minutes later thought all his Christmases had come at once. There was Con Daly, back from the dead, chatting casually to his old colleagues.
