Page 61 of Summer at Harbour View House
Natasha smiled. ‘Sounds perfect.’
‘I’ll knock for you about seven.’
‘Great.’
She was feeling uncharacteristically giddy after Ben’s surprise request, but she had a million things to do, so forced tonight’s date to the back of her mind as she tried to get on with organizing the concert. From the beach she headed to Eddie’s house, where she found him lounging in the front garden.
‘Hi Natasha,’ he said, not looking up. ‘Have you got a band for me?’
‘Almost,’ she said. ‘I think I might have you a drummer. ‘And I’ve tried reaching out to the Curve—’
Eddie sat up. ‘What? That son-of-a—’
‘I thought it was worth a try.’
‘And what did he say?’
‘No.’
‘That figures. He always was only in it for the money. He might have had the best riffs of his era, but he always was just a money grabbing scumbag. Like most of them. Huh. Perhaps we should call the whole thing off—’
‘No! I mean, no. Hannah and me have busted a gut trying to get this off the ground. If the Curve won’t play, we’ll find someone who can.’
‘Is that all he said? “No”?’
‘Ah … he said something about someone called Elizabeth, who you threw into the Thames River.’
Eddie sagged. ‘Ah, that. I didn’t think he’d ever get over that. But I don’t blame him, really. It was … wrong of me. What I did to him, it was like cutting off a drummer’s kick drum foot, or breaking a keyboard player’s fingers, or cutting off a singer’s—’
‘Yes, yes, well anyway, he said no. He said what you did … it can never be undone.’
Eddie stood up. ‘Actually, it can.’
‘Excuse me?’
‘Come. I’ll show you.’
Eddie wandered back into the house, Natasha trailing along behind. He went through into the kitchen, leaving the doors open for her to follow. In a store room at the back, he moved a stack of boxes aside and pulled out a dusty plastic case.
‘Elizabeth was the Curve’s prized guitar,’ Eddie said, carrying the case through into the kitchen and putting it down on the tabletop. It didn’t look like a guitar case to Natasha—it was too bulky and wide—but when Eddie unclipped it and lifted the lid, she understood.
Inside lay a beautiful twin-headed guitar, the kind of thing Natasha had only ever seen in music videos. It was in pristine condition, and looked freshly polished.
‘Elizabeth,’ Eddie breathed, nodding slowly. ‘The Curve’s Gibson EDS-1275, signature guitar. A magnificent thing. She has twelve strings on the upper neck, six on the lower. She needs a tune, but otherwise, she’s ready to rock.’
‘I thought you threw it—her?—in the Thames.’
Eddie sighed. ‘It’s a long story. Brew?’
‘Sure.’
‘The band had come back together in 1990, to see if we could muster enough songs and enthusiasm for a new album and tour. Our heyday was behind us, but there was still fire in the tank, you know? Anyway, we came together on a riverboat on the Thames—as you do when you’re a rock star and you can do what you like—to discuss things, rehearse, get drunk, the usual.’
‘Sounds … interesting.’
‘It started out okay, but then things got heated. All the old problems surfaced, and it ended up with me throwing Elizabeth over the side.’ Eddie ran a hand through his thinning hair. ‘The Curve wanted to rework a couple of songs for the new tour, add some extended solos. I got all egotistical about it. We had an argument about who was the focus of the band, but really, all the great bands had a twosome, didn’t they? Jagger/Richards, Tyler/Perry, Page/Plant, Gallagher, and er, Gallagher, you know? Neither of us was better than the other. We were both Cowslip.’
‘I see.’
