Chapter Fourteen

Thursday 1st, May

Attractive Today  

"Josephine darling, it really is quite important that you come downstairs."

I continue to ignore my mum and toss out the third pair of winter boots I've been hoarding in the depths of my wardrobe.

Behind on my bed piles of school yearbooks court Art class coursework, alongside clothes I haven't worn since I was six, that my mum won't let me chuck out because she gets way too sentimental about them.

"Darling, please can you come-"

"I'm getting ready!" I call out, fumbling for the sandals I've spent the last twenty minutes trying to locate. Ones that go best with my denim shorts and flannel shirt borrowed from the box marked Car Boot that's sat in our shed for the last three years.

With some last minute fussing over the state of my hair (unruly and more or less bog coloured since the hair dye faded out), I fire off a quick apology to Max for running late and gather my backpack.

My phone bleeps whilst I do a last minute check, before today's practice and before I make my speedy escape away from my mother, to the safety of Max's car, which has been idling for far too long outside of my house.

"Josephine, answer me!"

"NOT NOW MUM!" I swallow back the feeling of annoyance and how loudly my voice rips through.

"But you have a visit-"

I slam my bedroom door, taking the steps two at a time as I race down in sandals that slip under my sweaty soles. Swinging my backpack over a shoulder, I use the momentum to launch myself off the last step.

When I land with a solid thud, I slap a hand on the bannister post and without looking at her I say, "Why are you being so bloody annoying today? Look mum, I don't really have time for this, alright?"

Now, normally I would never talk to her like this, or with what dad calls 'too much lip' but a trifecta of stress, poor time management and nerves for the day ahead make it so.

And by the time I catch my mum in the kitchen giving me the eyes and Max's giving a look of mixed amusement, it's too late to take any of it back.

His jaw goes all tense when I choke out his name and a flurry of fiery blush begins to pierce my cheeks.

"I saw this poor fella waiting outside in his car for you. He's been there for half an hour Josephine," Mum says, tutting a little. "And in this heat! That's why I couldn't help but invite him in for something to drink."

Max side eyes me and mouths the word hey and then he goes back to looking suitably awkward.

"My apologies, Josephine is not normally this... rude."

"It's fine Mrs. Clarke," he replies, all smiles and as if addressing a teacher. It's weird. I don't like it or this surreal world I've stepped into wholly unprepared. "And thank you for the orange juice."

I watch as he raises his glass and takes a long sip, probably so he doesn't have to say anything else.

"Mum..." I begin, my tone slowly turning into a growl. "I told you not to interfere." The air in my rest rises and I hope she gets the hint that I'd like for her to disappear, preferably right now. "Come on Max, let's go."

Drumming her fingers along the kitchen counter, she smiles warmly at both of us. "And what have you guys got planned for today then?"

"Revision," I blurt out, grabbing Max's forearm before instantly regretting how it makes my mum's smile turn into a grin, but also because I've yet to disclose my entry into the college's talent show.

I'd rather keep somethings to myself, with less parental fussing.

"No college then?"

Max looks to me for some kind of plan and I shrug, like I'm not about to tell a big fat lie. "He's helping me watch and take notes for the films I've been asked to watch before our next project."

"Sounds like you both have a very busy day ahead." Mum circles round the counter and offers to lead us out.

I charge ahead and unlock the door. "Yeah, that's why we need to go." Quickly, I hurry Max out like a drill sergeant and my mum starts to laugh.

"What?"

"Nothing darling."

"Bye Mrs. Clarke," Max says, giving a wave.

"Bye Max, it was lovely to meet you, finally, if only for a few minutes," She gives me a funny look and pretends like I'm the one that's annoying. "Josephine is often quite shy about friends meeting the family."

I do my best to break Max away from any further conversation and from the door. "Yeah and I wonder why that is."

"Oh darling, you're so dramatic, Max doesn't mind talking to me, does he?"

He shakes his head.

I think it's the first time I've witnessed him lie.

"Mum..."

"Fine. Go. Have fun. But be careful and drive safe, please," she says with a sigh, waving us off as I head straight for the car. "You are careful, aren't you Max?"

He proudly spins his keys round one finger. "Of course. I did the pass plus driving course."

My mum's face lights up and she nods. "Wonderful."

"Bye mum."

"Goodbye Josephine."

Once she's closed the door and once we make it to the car, Max fumbles to unlock it because he's laughing too much.

"You look mortified that I just met your folks," he says grinning, when we're both in and half way down the road. "A bit more than usual."

"I am and you're just lucky you didn't have to meet my dad," I snort, rolling down the window.

Max adjusts the signal on the radio and nudges my arm as he settles back in his seat. "I think she likes me."

"She was just being polite and nosey because she can't help herself."

"Nah, I can totally tell when mums are like, 'Oh my god, get him away from my precious daughter' but I didn't get that vibe from yours."

"Is that so? Just how many mums of girls have you met?" I challenge, though it leaves a bad taste in my mouth.

Max shrugs as he takes a sharp corner. "That's besides the point. I just know these things."

I half shrug back and leave it be, if only because the thought of his past makes me feel off-balance. We've never discussed anything close to girlfriends or boyfriends and I'm not keen to start now.

Not with an imagination that's prone to over complicate or over think, like mine is. So, I'm pretty thankful that Max changes not only the tune on the car radio but the conversation too.

"It's going to be a good day," he says, rather cryptically, slyly smiling.

"Is that so?"

"Yes. There's a surprise waiting for you at mine."

"Not another," I say, turning to the window to catch the breeze. "I think this morning had enough surprise to last me a whole lifetime."

* * *

"So, I know it needs a ton of work, still, but I thought it was a good start, so we can get practicing properly," Max's proud smile beams around the summer house, like the filtered rays of sunlight though the square panel windows, which he's tried to black out with cardboard.

Besides a small armchair rests a bright orange amp, a mini stereo and a pair of headphones, which he says I can use when I don't want to hear him play guitar any longer.

"He's been working on it for days, bless him," Mrs. Montgomery - Belinda, whispers close to my ear. She stands beside me and claps her hands together when he reveals a black microphone, clipped into a stand held together by duck tape.

Apparently it's for me too, and I'm suitably and terribly overwhelmed but most importantly, surprised.

Max drags one rubber role across the front of his right trainer and shrugs. "Thought it would be cool for you to have like a real microphone. So it feels more real. You know, inner rock star and all that."

"Oh wow, Max,that's awesome," I say with as much enthusiasm as I can muster because though it is such a wonderful surprise, it also makes the charity talent show and the bet with Maddie all the more real. Which only leaves my tummy feeling queasy with the realisation that I can't shy away from actually singing forever. That it's not just a fun excuse to hang out with Max or get out the house.

It's happening. It has to. All bets are on. There's no backing out now. I can't give Maddie the satisfaction.

Continuing the grand tour with the waft of his hand, Max gestures up at the wooden beams. "The acoustics in here are pretty good. And you know, my dear mum keeps saying I should get out of my room more...So I thought I'd clear this place out and we can use it as a practice room."

I run my fingertips over the woven throw covering up a battered old sofa and wicker chair. "Cool. Yeah it's a great idea."

Max flashes a grin. "You sure you like it?"

"Of course. I can't wait to get started." Thank god he can't read minds, because mines a mess of little white-lies.

Belinda squeezes me shoulder. "This one tells me you've got a great voice."

"He's just being kind," I say, blushing from front to back. "He's the one with all the talent."

"Max has always been rather musical. He must get it from his dad, because I'm done deaf."

"Yeah right," Max scoffs, before deflecting any further mention of a 'dad' I've long suspected left a big hole in the Montgomery household but I haven't had the guts to ask too much about.

When Belinda finally leaves us to it, to my relief his voice softens again with the excitement of the newly converted studio summer house kicking back in.

"Shall we get started then? Put all of this to good use?" He says, and all too quickly relief disappears as he pulls the microphone stand closer.

Reluctantly I take it, with legs as shaky as leaves on a Winter's Day.

* * *

It's been two hours since our practice started with a bang (the dropping of the microphone early on because of my nerves) and yet, I'm still no closer to recreating the epic vocal performance of my morning shower.

Nor am I even close to capturing the bravado and Debby Harry inspired sass that I'd been able to harness whilst drying my hair.

Max says he believes me when I tell him this all happened and how I'm not totally inept but I wouldn't hate him if he didn't.

If anything he has every right to. Practice so far, in the newly appointed summer house hasn't boosted anyone's confidence. Least of all mine.

"Let's give it another go," Max suggests, plugging in an baby blue electric fender he pinched from the college, under the guise of 'study'. The small amp he props one foot on jolts and vibrates through the floor. "But no pressure to finish the song. It's good to just run through it in parts."

I admire his patience.

And by some small miracle, as I angle my body to face away from the sunlight and focus on the garden, anything to trick my mind into feeling semi-relaxed, the intro, first verse and chorus filter out.

A few of the lyrics are wrong and off key, and I fluff up on the timing when Max plucks out a fierce solo but it's much better than before. It's almost right.

We go again. And then again.

I try to keep up the momentum. And I soon feel as if I can belt out the next chorus, maybe stomp my feet or wrap the microphone lead round my wrist, like Debbie does in the live video from nineteen-seventy eight but it all goes to pot once the the drums coming crashing in.

Max's dark eyes spike and he throws his dead to the side and towards the open summer house doors. Another loud crash shakes it's wobbly foundations and slowly the beat edges into a repetitive rhythm, though it still sounds as if an animal's been let loose.

"Brilliant! Great!" He angrily shouts,  laying down his guitar. "They're doing this in the mornings as well as every afternoon now, are they?"

I take a deep breath. "Guess we'll just have to go back to the start again. I suppose it gives me a chance to run through a few of the lyrics that I've been stumbling over."

"No, no. It's completely thrown me off now."

"Ok, well can't you get your mum go round and ask them to stop?"

He laughs and tugs at a strand of wavy hair. "Good luck with that."

"Can't we try then?" I say, though his expression reads the same. Apparently this is a stupid idea. "I'm actually a bit curious, you know - this mystery drummer."

"Just an annoying neighbour whose hell bent on ruining any moment of peace, so I suggest that we ignore it by going inside for a bit. Are you hungry?"

I know he's trying to change the subject and so, I kick back my feet in protest because I'm now curious as to why he has. "Not really."

"Thirsty then? There's coke in the fridge," he tries in earnest. 'Maybe we can take a break and watch some TV."

"You can. I'm alright out here. I actually quite like the drumming, it doesn't bother me like it seems to bother you." I'm aware that I'm trying my luck but I hope that my small grin is enough for him not to take any offence.

Max belly laughs and shakes his mop of hair. "On the contrary. I couldn't even care less if I tried." Rising to his feet, he kicks at a tuff of overgrown grass. "I'm going in to make a sandwich. You coming or what?"

"Fine," I drawl, tilting my head towards the sunlight. Slowly I follow him, mock marching to the drumbeat as it switches and dips low. "But can't we just have a peak? Isn't there a passage that runs behind here?"

Max's eyes spike and he abruptly stops. "Why?"

"Curiosity," I say with a grin, soon making a break away from him for the fence with my arms swinging.

"Come back!" He calls out as I unbolt the small door sandwiched between the fence painted to a grainy burgundy to blend in. "Seriously, Josie what are you doing?"

"You know the more I listen, the more I think we could actually do with a drummer," I muse, trailing the weeds by the door with my fingers as he hurries over. "I think that's what's missing."

As I slip out and onto the gravel passage, he tries but fails to catch my arm, much to his dismay.

Max's eyes roll as I pick a seeded dandelion and blow it back at him.

"I think a day of uninterrupted practice is needed more right now," he says as the little almost florets stick to his t-shirt and hair.

"No harm in taking a look through right?"

"Josie, what are you doing? He hisses, keeping his head low as mine bobs above the small fence that acts as a wall between us and the sound of thrashing drums. I take a step up onto a rotting stack of winter firewood and use my hands to hoist myself up further.

When it begins to tilt, Max's hands dart up to steady my hips and I wonder if this actually wasn't the best, spontaneous idea I've ever had. A great way to shake off the cabin fever felt from hours of practice in the stuffy summer house.

Unfortunately, he doesn't look as impressed.

"I'm just going to see whose playing and then we can leave." I peer over again, scanning the large back garden and garage tacked onto the back of the house plastered in white stucco.

There's a large glass sliding patio door, that's half open. Sound escapes and the drumming intensifies.

The beat is infectious and heavy.

"We should go Josie. I really don't want to be here," he says, hands slipping.

I swat him away, too busy watching the appearance of two arms, failing up and then down again on symbols from inside the corner of the garage, with long wooden sticks held tight between hands.

A knee rises and falls as a deep kick erupts out from the base drum pedal and out the doors, as if aimed straight for us.

The drummer's nose continues to scrunch. Face locked in concentration. Skin so pale, almost translucent, they might as well be part of the white washed walls.

My breath catches and I wobble some more on the wood bundle. And I'm not sure if I had an real expectations of who I'd find sat behind an enormous black drum kit but it was never her.

And then I realise that the whole time, I never considered it could be a girl. Not for one second.

As I peer down at Max, I wonder if he's known all along, if she's the reason why he's being acting like he'd rather be anywhere else in the world.

If the girl with the long fair hair and tiny, cherub like features, possibly the prettiest girl I've ever seen is the real reason why the drumming pushes his buttons and makes him see and not just feel red.

Which is the colour of his cheeks when I glance down at him, with a face full of red too.

"Do you know her?" I hiss whisper, my hands gripping the top of the splintered fence.

He shrugs, eyes darting side ways at the sound of crunching grass. "As I've said, I don't want to be here."

"This whole time, you knew. Why didn't you just say something? Why did you lie?"

"I didn't lie. You just never asked," he replies and my tummy sinks. "And you're the one who couldn't leave well alone."

I go to say something else but my voice trails off when it becomes glaringly obvious that we're now the ones being watched.

There's no time to debate why the drumming has stopped or why the side slate in the fence has been swung aside and a girl steps out, with arms folded and an amused grin. One eyebrow cocked just to really drive home the building regret of letting curiosity get the better of me.

And for not listening.

"Max Montgomery... well, well, well," she sighs, all sing-song like, which makes my stomach feel sick. "What brings you back to my yard?"

. . .