Page 44 of Cream & Sugar
Or speaking aloud when no one’s there,
I’m not crazy, I’m just in my brain,
Living back on Amber Lane.
Someone starts clapping to the beat and before I’ve finished the four-bar instrumental, the whole pub has joined in. For a split-second, I catch Rory’s eye and smile, but he quickly drops his gaze back to the floor. As I start the second verse, Rory springs to his feet and throws on his jacket.
One day we will move away,
But we’ll remember Amber Lane,
Every cut and fall and scrape,
The bittersweet of pain.
Taking out his wallet, he drops a few notes on the table and makes for the front door. Is he leaving?
Taking pictures on our phones,
No filter for that summer glow,
Memories of you and me,
Alight in shadesof gold.
Rory storms out of the pub without looking back. I carry on playing, but Rory’s sudden departure makes me fluff some of the lyrics on the next chorus. Thankfully, no one seems to notice; they’re all clapping along quite happily, one old guy at the bar is even waving his lighter back and forth like a glow stick at a festival. With the amount of spirits he’s been drinking, that’s sure to be a fire hazard.
Amber Lane technically has a bridge and a third chorus but I cut the song short so I can chase after Rory.
There’s a smattering of applause as I say a quick “thank you” into the mic, sling the guitar over my back and dash after my brother, grabbing my coat from our table on the way.
Rory hasn’t gotten far. He’s leaning against the boot of his car, rubbing his hands together for warmth. I approach nervously.
“You should have waited in the car if you were cold.”
He meets my eye. “Another thirty seconds and I would have.”
He’s back to his moody self again. God, what have I done this time?
“You didn’t want to watch me play—?”
“Hey!” The door to the Penny Farthing swings open behind me and a hand taps me on the shoulder. I spin around to see Gary staring up at me, his cheeks bright red.
“I’m sorry son, but you have to give that back!”
“Huh?” Too late, I realise I’ve just performed a guitar-jacking. I hand the instrument back to Gary who snatches it from my grip like he’s expecting me to bolt at any second. The strings twang discordantly as he shoulders it. Poor thing.
“Sorry about that,” I offer an apologetic smile.
Gary gives a single curt nod before disappearing back into the cosy warmth of the pub. I turn back to my brother, whose scowl is even heavier than usual.
“Oh what? I wasn’ttryingto steal it. I forgot it was on my back when I was running after you—!”
“Why do you always assume I’m angry at you?” he asks in a dull voice.
My turn to scoff. “Because you are! It’s basically been your default emotion until today.” Rory chews his lip; even he can’t deny that. I lower my voice, gesturing back towards the pub. “So what was all that about?”
Rory makes a defeated sound, somewhere between a groan and a sigh. “Aren’t you tired of playing those same old songs? Amber Lane, Going Numb, they’re just so…” He sucks his teeth. “When was the last time you wrote something new?”
