Page 65 of Summer at Harbour View House
Natasha gave a nervous laugh. ‘A few. Hannah said not to worry, she’d deal with it when she got back from Barbados. She said we’d get a lot more just showing up on the night.’
‘How many?’
‘Ah … seventy-five?’
Lizzie sighed. ‘Not gonna need a field at this rate. Could just put it on in the village hall. Curtain off the back half to make it look like a sellout.’
Eddie clenched a fist. ‘When I call them, my fans will come.’
‘Well, you’s better get shouting a little louder, ‘cos it don’t look like many is paying no attention.’
‘Perhaps if we hand out some leaflets in St. Austell?’ Natasha suggested.
Ben shook his head. ‘No, you need some decent press. Has anyone called the local newspaper?’
‘Not yet.’
‘Lizzie, can I borrow your phone?’
‘Sure.’
‘And I need the number for the local newspaper.’
‘Do you think they’d be interested?’ Natasha asked.
Ben nodded. ‘You just need to know what to tell them. Do you know what the secret is? People like a good disaster. I was riding giant waves all around the world for more than five years. I was the first person to surf two breaks now considered a mainstay of the scene, yet do you know what got the most press during all that time?’
‘What?’
‘My accident.’
‘That’s kind of … sad.’
‘It is, but it tells you something about human nature, doesn’t it? Casual fans don’t watch skiing competitions, or horse races, or cycling races, or any of that kind of thing because they care that much about the winner. They’re just waiting for someone to botch it, to fall off. They love a good disaster. All we need to do is work that to our advantage.’ He grinned. ‘Give me five minutes to break the story, and we’ll see what happens.’
It had at least stopped raining the next morning when Natasha took the newspaper she had bought in the tiny village shop down to the lifeguard hut on Winter Vale Beach. In defiance of the blanketing cloud cover and chilly wind, Ben was sitting outside on a deckchair wearing only shorts and sunglasses. He sat up and smiled as she came over, holding up the newspaper.
‘I think you’re some kind of anti-genius,’ she said. ‘Hannah set up an online booking page and we’ve sold eight hundred tickets in the last two hours. I don’t know how you did it.’
She looked down at the paper’s headline and shook her head.
Eighties One-Hit Wonders in Failed Reunion Attempt After Former Guitarist Says NO, read the dramatic headline. Underneath was a grainy picture of Cowslip in their heyday. The rest of the article read:
A proposed charity concert by Eighties mullet “rockers” Cowslip in aid of a struggling local community at risk from property developers was on the verge of being dramatically SCRAPPED yesterday after original guitarist The Curve refused an olive leaf from estranged singer Eddie James Willard to reform the band. Due to a long running feud, during which The Curve branded Willard a “scumbag” and “a joke”, the balding has-been was forced to recruit a local FARM HAND to play drums, after the death of original drummer Col Morton in 1995, while allegedly The Curve’s guitar parts were to be performed by a TAPED RECORDING due to the guitarist’s absence. However, abysmal sales for the unwanted reunion have left the concert on the verge of being scrapped. “It’s a shame,” Willard was quoted as saying last night. “For once in my life, I was hoping to do something good.” For more information, please visit theevent’s website.
‘Eight hundred tickets in two hours,’ Natasha said, shaking her head. ‘You’re a total genius.’ She gave him a grim smile. ‘All we have to do now is make sure we have a band.’
25
Coming Together and Coming Apart
‘Look,’Ben said, taking a t-shirt out of a plastic bag and holding it up. ‘I found it in the market in St. Austell yesterday. Dad and me did a bit of shopping after we took the band back to their hotel. Isn’t it great?’
The frayed t-shirt was missing one arm. On the front was a barely visible band photograph, but when Ben turned it around Natasha read Cowslip: UK Tour 1986 on the back. Underneath were some flecks of plastic she assumed were all that was left of a list of tour dates.
‘Amazing,’ she said with a smile. ‘How much was it?’
‘Nine pence.’
