Page 11 of When We Were Young

Reu jumped up, went to the boot, and started lugging out the gear. For someone so skinny, he was handy at lifting heavy amps. He said little as they unloaded the car. All they got out of him was he was almost sixteen and he’d travelled there by bus, and even that was like getting blood from a stone.

As they waited for Mitch, Reu began assembling the shabby drum kit that was scattered in pieces around the rehearsal room.

‘I wouldn’t bother with that, mate,’ said Matty. ‘Mitch brings his own kit.’

But Reu carried on fiddling and had set it up in no time.

As Will played the intro to ‘Wandering’, Reu joined in with the bass drum.

‘That’s great, Reu,’ said Will. ‘If you can keep time for us, we can get started.’

After a few bars, Reu began playing the rest of the kit.

‘You’ve got sticks?’ asked Will.

Reu nodded.

‘You play drums?’ asked Matty, laughing.

‘A bit…’

They played three songs before Mitch arrived and Reu jumped up to unload his kit.

‘Who said he could come?’ whispered Mitch while Reu was at the van.

‘I did. Why?’ said Will.

‘He drove me mad at the last gig. He must have asked a million questions.’

‘Give him a break. He’s helping you, isn’t he?’

Every rehearsal after that, Reu arrived first and helpedthem set up. He sat cross-legged in the corner, tapping away on his knees, his presence a barometer for how a session was going. The more he bobbed his head and slapped his knees, the better the song. Each week, he played drums until Mitch arrived, and every time, he revealed more of what he could do.

Chapter 7

March 2016

Emily

A pile of Post-it-covered papers is waiting on my desk. Mrs Taylor, the head teacher, looms in the doorway. ‘Ah, there you are. The email for the Year Three trip needs to go out this morning – it should have gone yesterday. Good Lord, Emily,’ she adds, ‘couldn’t you have put make-up on? You’ll frighten the children.’

And she’s gone without so much as a ‘how are you?’

She’s right though, an inky purple stain has formed at the outer corner of my right eye and the eyebrow looks like one of the reception kids glued it.

I head to the kitchen. I’ve been working for that witch for a decade, and if I’ve learned one thing, it’s my day will go much better if I make her a drink. Just thinking about spitting in it gives me enough pleasure to make it unnecessary.

‘I made coffee,’ I say, entering her office. I do an odd little curtsey to place the drink on her desk with my stiff neck.

‘Glad you’re feeling well enough to join us.’ She keeps her eyes on her computer screen.

I’m taken aback. ‘Thank you.’

‘Don’t forget to give Diane your doctor’s note.’

‘Oh, I didn’t think I’d needed a doctor’s note – I was off for less than a week.’

‘Speak to Diane. You’ll have to fill out a form.’

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