Page 29 of The Last Love Song
Todd, his cousin on his dead dad’s side, was someone Derek idolised. When he’d started at the same school as Todd, he’d been mercilessly bullied due to his stature. Todd, three years older, had looked out for him, sorted out the bullies and made sure Derek was left alone. He’d gone to a really famous music college when he’d left school, and had told Derek to keep practising his guitar, as one day he would want to form a band. Derek had taken his cousin at his word. He practised for hours every night, nearly driving his mum mad, but finding that the concentration drove thoughts of Peggy from his mind.
Then, sure enough, Todd had come to see him the summer Derek had left school and asked him if he’d be interested in becoming part of the new group he was forming. In spite of their being cousins, Derek had to audition. His years of solid practice, combined with a natural ability, had made it easy for Todd to offer him a place.
Derek drained the rest of his beer from the glass. That had been three years ago. Fame was taking longer than expected. ‘Todd Bradley and the Blackspots’ got regular gigs and had a small following, but it was hardly megastardom. Worst of all, they had just lost Norman, their bass guitarist, to another group, which had further demoralised them.
Derek checked his watch. There was no need to rush home tonight. Auntie Marge was coming round for tea, and Derek knew how she and his mum liked to be left alone for a nice chat. He stood up and decided to take a wander down Carnaby Street.
Con suppressed a yawn as he hauled his guitar onto his shoulder and played a few chords. Trying to find a spot where his instrument wasn’t drowned out by records blaring from the shops was becoming more and more difficult. He checked what he’d made so far. Almost ten shillings. If he was honest, it wasn’t enough to keep a dog alive.
This was it. The last day. On Monday he’d find himself a proper job, paying decent money. Sorcha and he would soon be out on the streets. She deserved better. He owed her a good life, after everything. There was no alternative.
‘Ah well,’ he sighed out loud to no one in particular. ‘No one can say I didn’t try.’
As he strolled along, Derek thought of the song he’d half composed earlier today. He might show it to Todd when it was ready, to see if they could play it at one of their gigs.
Suddenly, Derek became aware of a melodious sound coming from the other side of the street. It was in such contrast to the rest of Carnaby’s hectic cacophony that he turned around to look. The busker was tall – Derek no longer resented him for that – and extremely good-looking. The song he was singing was not one he had heard before, so he presumed it was an original. Although simple, it had a haunting melody. Derek slowly ambled across the road to watch for a while. There was no doubt the chap was a proficient guitarist, and he liked his deep, mellow voice.
When the busker stopped, Derek reached into his pocket and pulled out some shillings. He threw them into the open guitar case.
‘Play another one.’
Con stared at the young man. He’d watched him cross the street towards him. His gait was unusual, his knees occasionally bowing out to the sides, as if he was unbalanced. With his blond hair and big blue eyes, he reminded Con of an overgrown choirboy. Age-wise, he could have been anywhere between sixteen and thirty. Con glanced down at the four shillings that had been thrown into his guitar case.
‘Any requests?’
‘Play another of your own.’
Con gave him a courteous grin. ‘Okay.’
He played a more uptempo number that he’d composed as a fourteen-year-old and which was still one of his favourites.
When he’d finished, the young man clapped. ‘That was great. Do you play bass by any chance?’
‘I have been known to.’
He walked forward and offered his hand. ‘Derek Longthorne. Pleased to meet you. Fancy a beer?’
Con arrived home two hours later. He was lurching between happiness and uncertainty. Having made up his mind that his music career was over, he’d been offered a tenuous step in the right direction.
‘Hello, sweetheart. Something smells good.’ Con sniffed the air as he crossed the room to hug Sorcha, who was standing stirring the contents of a saucepan. ‘And youlookgood enough to eat.’ He wrapped his arms around her waist and kissed her, staring into the saucepan. ‘What’s with the bacon? And the mini-skirt?’
She turned to face him. It was the first time he’d seen her wearing make-up in a while.
‘Con, I...’ Her eyes sparkled. ‘We’re having a celebration.’
‘Are we? Have I forgotten an anniversary or a birthday?’
‘No. I need you to promise you won’t be cross.’
‘Sorcha, with you looking like that, I’m putty in your hands.’
‘Okay. I’ve got a job. I’m starting on Monday and I’ll be paid five pounds a week.’
Con dropped his hands from around her waist. ‘Now, I was thinking we’d been through this before.’
‘Con, we have. But things are desperate.’
‘I know, I know,’ he sighed. ‘Well now, what exactly is it you’ll be doing?’
