Out Of Place (Face the Music Book 2) (4 page)

Gemma was already in the garage. Now that she lived here she was never late—which was more than could be said for Dan. She glanced up from the notebook she was flicking through. He recognised it as one she’d carried around for the whole tour.

He frowned. Ever since he’d known her professionally, not as the kid he used to torment, she’d always had a notebook and pen in her guitar case. He glanced over at her corner—they all had a small personal space—and saw several other notebooks stacked up.

“Cleaning up?” He dropped onto a stool. He didn’t have it in him to pick up an instrument right now. If he did, he had no idea what he’d play.

“Nah. Just looking for ideas.” She handed over the notebook so he could have a look. “Where’s all your half scribbled stuff?”

He glanced at her work. Some of it seemed to be observations or how she was feeling, other bits seemed to be snatches of lyrics or melodies that never went anywhere. All of it was very raw and the kind of stuff he ditched if it wasn’t coming together.

“Are all of the books like this?”

She nodded, already looking through another one.

If the idea wasn’t working, what was the point of continuing and keeping it like a memento to failure? And yet, as he looked at Gemma’s book, it wasn’t only about music. It was about what she was feeling at the time. The page he was on was about being tired and wanting her own bed and pillow and missing home. In the next line she was dreading another confrontation with her father. Her home life had never been easy and since moving out she had fretted about her mother being there alone with him.

While at times they’d all grumbled about being away, Gemma had actually written it down and tried to make it into something. Three lines later she’d given up…interrupted or too tired?

Gemma glanced up. “What about you?”

He literally had nothing except what was in his head. Shit, was that his problem? “I never kept anything.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve got a few finished pieces.” That were not up to a standard where he’d felt he could share. “But if it’s not going anywhere…” He shrugged.

Gemma rolled her eyes. “There could have been gold in there. One good idea.” She held up one finger.

He got it. He really did. Had he thrown out something good because it hadn’t been working right then? Six months down the track he might’ve rediscovered it and been able to do something with it, but he hated seeing half-baked ideas lying around. Right now, a half-baked idea would be more than he currently had.

“You must have something.” Gemma flipped the book closed.

“But that’s my stuff…” And some of it was super personal. He didn’t want to write the whole album. He didn’t want that pressure. He shook his head. “I’m not sure it’s the right sound.”

She looked at him, her lips pressed together like she was thinking really hard. “You’re a perfectionist; not with us, you’re quite happy for us to muck around and try things out, but when you work on your own you expect it to be perfect before you let anyone have a peek.”

“That’s not true.” He liked the idea to be solid before he shared and it got worked on further.

“Yeah it is. How many times have you brought something in?”

“A couple of times.” They were things he’d been happy with, but in the end they hadn’t made the cut. Not because they were bad, but because they hadn’t sat well with the other songs. They had dozens of songs that had got close before falling by the wayside. Sometimes they played a couple at gigs for fun.

Dan and Gemma’s latest collaboration,
One Mistake
, had gone down well live. It would probably be on the next album. They had the golden touch when it came to lyrics. He’d be grateful for a few chords right now, something that didn’t sound like it had been done a hundred times before.

“Do you ever write without trying to make it into something? For fun?”

“I’m not keeping a diary like a chick.” He handed the notebook back. That wasn’t going to work.

“It’s a journal, dumbass. Since the chick has all the ideas, I guess we’re going to write a song about…” she flicked through the pages of the journal. “Cramps.”

She was joking. She’d better be joking. There was a dangerous look in her eyes and he couldn’t be sure.

He glanced at her pile of notebooks,
journals
. Instead of trying to turn ideas into songs, perhaps he needed to actually spend some time with the idea, seeing where it went. Perhaps he should stop throwing stuff out before it had a chance. The idea of sharing something that was barely a concept made him feel ill.

“I’ll try it for a week.” The first thing he wanted to put down was the stillness of the woman in the café. Like a glassy ocean, he was sure there was some dark monster beneath. A secret or something. He didn’t know which was more intriguing: her or the idea that had formed because of her. Was she the muse Kirsten had said he needed? He wasn’t sure he believed in that kind of stuff, but he did believe in being open to ideas and experiences.

Dan’s car pulled into the driveway. He got out with a sixpack tucked under his arm. He’d been bringing beer to every session lately. Not many, but it was something he’d never done before.

Ed glanced at Gemma. “How’s he dealing with the break up?”

Gemma grunted and shook her head. “You can see for yourself.”

Yeah, and he didn’t like what he was seeing. None of them were angels and he’d done his share of drinking on the tour. He’d also gotten tired of traveling with a hangover wringing his guts and bashing his head.

Gemma and Dan were close; he’d thought she would know more. She probably did. “He said anything to you?”

She looked at him and didn’t answer. She didn’t need to. Dan had said something to her, but she couldn’t or wouldn’t say what. Once he’d expected her and Dan to hook up. They would’ve made a pretty couple—and the media had suggested that Gemma was with each of them at various times. The truth Gemma was determined to keep very quiet.

He watched Dan draw closer; he was looking a little rough, which wasn’t like Dan at all. Ed lowered his voice. “If this keeps up—”

“I’ve got it.” There was steel in her voice.

He nodded at Dan as he strolled into the garage. “How’s it going, man?”

“It’s fucking sunny outside and I’m spending the arvo inside you lot. Where’s the hairy one?”

Mike’s car pulled up on the grass. Ed was lucky his parents weren’t precious about the state of their front yard. The hot tires would leave burn marks on what lawn was surviving the summer water restrictions.

“At least he didn’t ride his bike. Then he’d be sweaty and hairy.” Dan twisted the top off a stubby and flicked the cap in the direction of the bin, it bounced off and rolled along the floor. “Want one?”

“No. You’re right though. It’s sunny, let’s sit outside.” At least then he could pretend that it was a social occasion and that they weren’t supposed to be working and that Dan wasn’t drinking more than he should.

He wasn’t Dan’s keeper.

Mike walked in. He looked grim. He shot a look at Dan that spoke volumes. Considering Dan was crashing at Mike’s one-bedroom apartment, it was not a good sign. It was like being on tour again, right at the end when tempers were fraying and they were sick of each other. He hoped no arguments would break out today. The heat could bring bad moods to a rapid simmer fast.

“Gemma’s got today.” She had the talent of calming people down—something she’d had to learn at home—when she cut loose, it was best to duck for cover and start praying.

She gave him a filthy look. “Wha?”

“Your journal. Let’s sit in the sun get in touch with our feminine side.”

“I keep a journal, so shut your mouth.” Mike crossed his arms and glared at Ed. His eyes looked a little red. Had he pulled an all-nighter and was still hung-over? There was definitely something going on, but he knew Mike well enough not to press. Mike would say something when he was good and ready.

“I was stirring Gem.” He smiled at her and hoped she understood. Like his sister, she flipped him the bird. Two for two, he was doing well today. Perhaps he shouldn’t be socialising with anyone. “Have any you got a better idea?”

Mike shook his head, and Dan sipped his beer, his gaze sliding over everyone.

“Fine. I’ll go in and get some paper.”

“Leave your perfectionism inside,” Gemma called after him.

He deserved that. If she wanted to see rough, he could do that, and she’d realise why he didn’t share his every scribble.

Olivia pulled her hair up into a loose bun—it was too hot to leave it hanging free to make the back of her neck sweaty. All she ever did with it was wear it up these days. Miles had liked it long, so she’d left it long. She was still living as though he was going to walk through the door and everything would go back to how it was.

She bit her lip as she realised that she didn’t want things to go back to how they had been. That girl didn’t exist anymore, but she clung to her, scared of who she might’ve become. She tugged the ring off and sat it on the bathroom vanity. Her heart pounded and she picked it up and put it back on.

No. She could do this. She took the ring off, then fisted her hands so she couldn’t pick it back up. Not wearing it, she wasn’t any different than she had been five minutes ago. The changes had already happened and she was hiding. That ring had become her armour, her cocoon. A comfort and a constant reminder. A restriction on what she could and couldn’t do, as if she needed boundaries.

At first she had, as the world had been too big.

Now it was too small.

The band of gold had become her prison.

She didn’t need the hollow comfort it gave. Yes, she’d once been loved. But if she kept wearing it, that would be all she’d ever have. She’d never move beyond and see what could happen.

Her heart beat a little faster. She wasn’t ready.

However the thought of being asked again when the wedding was, especially at Julie’s wedding, was enough to make her cringe. She didn’t want to answer that question ever again. Or see the look of shock, or pity, or incomprehension.

Life would be easier if she wasn’t wearing the ring. No more awkward questions.

Olivia picked up the ring. It was cool to touch, but she didn’t put it on. At least, not on her finger. She slid it onto a chain and put it around her neck. It disappeared from view beneath her shirt.

While her hand felt naked, her skin overexposed, she hadn’t completely cut herself off from her past. She couldn’t hold on to it either, not the way she had been. Something had to give to make room in her life for other things. She touched the ring beneath her clothing. Already she felt lighter, as if making that small change was progress. She couldn’t change what had happened in the past, but it no longer had to shadow her future.

Ed paddled back out, glad to be doing something. He’d almost decided not to bother coming because the waves were so small, but they were consistent and there weren’t many people on the water, not even the retired guys. The waves weren’t big enough for most people. It wasn’t often that he had the beach almost to himself.

Yesterday he completely failed to capture any kind of calm, as he’d planned. Instead, what he had scrawled down had been more about the anger around him and the simmering tension between Mike and Dan. That wasn’t what he wanted.

It could be what he needed to acknowledge. He wasn’t moving anywhere with his life. Not backwards, not forwards, not even in a fucking circle. It annoyed him in a way that defied any rational explanation. He’d never felt so frustrated about everything.

He paddled harder. He couldn’t blame jealousy because he didn’t want what his sensible career-minded friends had. He wanted more. Which made him seem like a greedy child. He hadn’t written that thought down because he was willing to work. He didn’t expect the magic touch that some bands got—and he had no idea how they got it. If he did, he’d be lining up the lightning strike.

He stopped and looked back to shore, hoping that a decent wave would suddenly spring up. He was sure it was getting flatter. He sat up and let the ocean rock him. It wasn’t relaxing. He’d have much preferred big waves and pushing himself. A challenge.

Mike had refused to come down, not worth the effort. He had a point.

Ed glanced around. Friendless and waveless. What did he have to do to catch a ride that would take him to the next level?

He blew out a breath between his teeth. He knew the answer. Wait and put in the effort so he could ride it when it came in.

While the agitation was there, it had calmed a fraction. It was hard to remain wound up when the ocean was so big and the sun was shining. Not everything sucked. He smiled and scratched his cheek. The sun was drying the salt spray on his face and making his skin itch. He could hear the sounds from the beach. It looked like some kids were already on school holidays for the summer.

He was either going to sit, or he was going to surf what was available.

Usually, if it wasn’t good enough he’d pack up and go home.

Was he waiting for the perfect wave? The perfect chords?

He knew in that heartbeat Gemma had nailed his problem. Somehow he’d turned into one of
those
people. Everyone knew stories about artists who couldn’t do anything unless it was perfect and just so. While he was fretting about the small stuff, everything else had stilled.

He glanced around him. He didn’t need good surf to enjoy the surf. He was going to make the most of the morning.

After stacking it for a second time, he decided that he wasn’t going for a third in one day. He had no idea what time it was, or how long he’d been out, only that the sun was climbing higher and it was getting hotter. As he stripped off his wetsuit, he was glad it had saved the skin up his arm, if not the top of his foot. That took a special kind of talent to get a sand burn there.

After changing and loading his car, he debated heading home or staying for a coffee. No breakfast this time, but a coffee he could handle and it might be nice to sit, and even if he wasn’t writing anything down he could at least contemplate some ideas. Taking the pressure off the actual writing was almost working.