Page 63 of Summer at Harbour View House
Ben grinned. ‘Professional surfer was another one.’
Despite his expression, there was a hint of sadness in his voice, and Natasha’s teacher astuteness noticed the past tense.
‘What are you going to do? Is it definitely … over?’
‘I like to look on the bright side of things,’ he said. ‘No pun intended.’
Natasha smiled. ‘None taken.’
‘I mean, I’ll be thirty-six in October, so my best days are already behind me. And much as guys around here like to big me up, I was only ever in the chasing pack. Fifty-four feet might sound like a monster—and it’s pretty huge, let me tell you—but guys out there are pushing for a hundred. All it’ll take is the right conditions.’
‘Not many people can say they’ve surfed a fifty-four-foot wave.’
‘Not many people can say they’ve brought an Eighties rock band back from the dead.’
‘It’s still a work in progress. So, what are you going to do?’
‘I’m going to enjoy the rest of the summer, then I’m going to do a bit of family payback and help Dad and Mum through the harvest. Then, we’ll see. I might go out to Portugal for the winter big wave season. I can’t ride competitively, but there are plenty of other things involved. There are tour groups, boat rides out behind the surf. Guys wanting to learn.’ He grinned. ‘Hell, I might even just sell ice-cream.’
‘How will you get by?’
Ben plucked out another chip. ‘You know, money is only really important when you’re trying to save for something. Just for living, you don’t need so much.’
‘I wish you were right,’ Natasha said. ‘I’ve got to find a new flat in three weeks’ time.’
‘And you will, when the time comes. But if you put too much energy into thinking about it ahead of time, you’ll spoil the moment.’
‘It’s not always that easy.’
‘I know. But one thing I learned when I was riding those big waves, is that in that moment, when that wall of water is bearing down on you, nothing else matters. You focus only on that moment, on getting to your feet, of staying on the wave, and not getting hammered. Where you’re going to sleep that night, the electricity bill, the hole in the crotch of your jeans, the birthday card for a mate you need to buy, none of that matters. You deal with the moment, and then you deal with the next one. You climb a ladder one step at a time, right?’
Natasha grinned. ‘Actually, I throw out a grapple and then haul myself up thirty steps at a time.’
‘I thought so. No way you’d be able to organise a concert otherwise.’
24
Frayed Tempers and a Leak to the Press
‘Play it again,’Eddie instructed from his deck chair on the floor in front of the stage. One leg crossed over the other, with a glass of juice in one hand, he waved at the assembled band with the other. ‘You were one bar short on the pre-chorus. Do it again.’
On the stage, tensions were starting to fray. Behind the drums, Ben wore a wide grin, while Jago, a guitar strapped around his shoulders, looked completely out of place, like a vagabond caught stealing an instrument from a thrift store. The bassist, Mikey Pinsent, and the keyboardist, Ryan Raymond, just wore resigned looks, as though this was any normal day. And while one backing singer, Carly Dixon, who had aged like a fine wine, watched Eddie with barely disguised adulation, the other, Mandy Lancaster, who had filled out somewhat and now resembled an angry beachball with arms and legs, glared at him as though hoping to delete him with her eyes.
‘Why don’t we stop for drinks?’ Natasha said, clapping her hands together. ‘We’ve been practicing for half an hour—’
‘We’re barely warmed up,’ Eddie snapped. ‘You want us to go on stage raw, undercooked like a Cornish lobster in some of these so-called gourmet restaurants? You think this is a game? We have a reputation to uphold here.’
‘It would help if you might lower yourself enough to sing something,’ Mandy snapped. ‘We’ve not heard a single note come out of your mouth.’
‘I will sing when I’m ready.’
‘She’s got a point,’ Mikey said tentatively, as though speaking wasn’t really his thing.
‘I fired you once—’
‘Guys!’ Natasha said. ‘Let’s take it easy.’
Behind the drumkit, Ben was grinning. ‘It’s like being in the Commitments,’ he said, then played a little ding-ding-bosh on his drums as though to indicate a punchline.
