Chapter Seven, Part 4

The Beat Goes On
by Adele Minchin

(Page 4 of 7)

"Emma, I am not a musician. I couldn't teach anyone else how to play, let alone compose a piece of music. Not if I were paid a million pounds."

"That's another thing: It would be voluntary. They haven't got enough money to pay anyone, so they're relying on people's goodwill. I told them you had plenty of that."

"Hold on a minute. Are you listening to me? I wouldn't know how to teach anyone the drums. I'm only learning myself."

"Oh, you're too modest for your own good. You're a brilliant drummer. You'd easily be able to teach people a few basic skills. Will you do it or not?"

"Are you just doing this so that you'll have me for company at the center, because if you are..."

"I'm not. I'm not," Emma protested. "The workshop would only be every other Saturday, so you wouldn't be there with me every week. I've got to get used to the place sooner or later."

"Oh, Em, I dunno. I'm not sure I could handle it, like."

I was stumbling over my words. I couldn't really express my worries exactly, but the thought of going to the center, where people were ill, or where I could even catch something myself, made me feel very uneasy. I realized that my prejudices were becoming apparent. "I'd feel like the odd one out," were the words that came spilling unexpectedly from my mouth.

"Why? Because you'd be the only one not dying or something?" Emma looked hurt.

A heavy tension immediately followed. I felt the blood slowly creep up my neck and burst into my face. I was flustered and nervous. We fidgeted and looked away from each other. I wished that the conversation had never happened. I felt so bad. I was letting Emma down. I was frightened and shocked by the workings of my own mind. It was as though I had learnt to cope with Em's status, but when it came to pushing the boundaries any further I was paralyzed by my fears.

And yet all she was asking of me was to help out with a music workshop. I knew how much Emma needed to make things around her as normal as possible, and perhaps I could bring some normality to the unfamiliar world that she'd entered at the center. Just stopping to think about what Emma was actually going through made me realize that if I was scared, then Emma must be petrified out of her wits living with a disease like HIV every day of her life, not knowing if she's going to fall ill suddenly, not knowing how long she has to live. It made me shudder to think about it, and I knew I had to get a grip on myself. I had to be strong.

"Em, I'm sorry. I'll do it. I'll do it. Will there be other people helping out as well, though?"

Emma smiled, but still looked sad and distant. "Of course there'll be others. I think they already know a singer and a guitarist. I don't want us to fall out over any of this, though, Leyla. I shouldn't have pressurized you so much. Come if you want to, but I don't want to force you."

"It's all right, I'm just being silly. It'll be fine. Anything for you."

"No, no, it's all in the name of music, remember," she teased, knowing that at the end of the day I would love the opportunity to get out of the garage and play with some real musicians. "Listen, I'd better go. It's getting late and Mum will be wondering where I am." Em hopped off the bed and gathered up her stuff.

As we walked past the living room, we popped our heads round the door; Emma thought it was only polite to say good-bye to the oldies. Mum and Dad were both fast asleep on the sofa, with their slippers kicked off in front of them. Dad was snoring loudly. There were half-eaten nibbles in little bowls on the coffee table next to an empty Blockbuster video case. The film played unnoticed in the corner. They'd probably only managed to stay awake for the opening scene. It was always the same. I rolled my eyes at Emma and saw her to the door.

"See you sometime next week," I said, waving her off down the road.

Now that I was alone and relieved to have smoothed over any bad feeling with Em, I realized that I was in fact quite fired up at the prospect of doing these drum workshops. For quite a while I had been thinking how good it would be to actually play with some other musicians and attempt for the first time ever to put some music together, and now was my chance. I was scared but pretty excited, all at the same time. I just hoped that I'd be good enough and that I wouldn't let Emma down. It's one thing mucking around in a garage on your own and quite another teaching people and putting your skills to the test. I suddenly panicked that I couldn't really play the drums at all, and felt that I had to get on them just to calm myself down.

It was gone ten o'clock and I was banned from stepping foot in the garage after eight, but hearing Dad's snores get louder and louder, I thought I could sneak in for a quick bash before Mum woke up with a stiff neck and pinched Dad awake to tell him he was missing half the film.

I lit the candles in the garage as I liked to do at night to create a bit of an atmosphere, then put the gas heater on. I slid my headphones on, pressed play on my CD player, and started drumming softly but deliberately along to the music blaring from my headphones. I thought I was being quiet, but I must have got carried away and worked my way up to a crescendo, because the main lights suddenly went on and I saw Mum, Dad, Sadie, and Anthony stood at the door with their arms crossed and lips pursed, staring right at me. I realized I'd gotten so involved I had broken into a sweat.

Sadie, who had just got back from the Bull and Gate with her worse half, began things as I reached down to turn my CD off. "Anthony and I could hear your racket before we even turned the corner into the estate, couldn't we, Anthony?"

Anthony, who had obviously had one shandy too many, was swaying on the step leading down to the garage, but nodded on cue as though Sadie had pulled a few strings at the back of his neck. He is such a dummy, I thought.

Mum was next. "You've spoilt your father and my Saturday night. We hired a video as a treat, only to have it ruined by this commotion. We couldn't hear ourselves think in there. What do you think you're playing at? You've got no respect or consideration for anyone." Mum was positively boiling over with rage. The veins on her temples were standing out and spit was flying everywhere as she lashed out at me. "What the hell do you think you're doing at this time of the night?" she said, moving her hands to rest on her hips so that I knew she meant business.

I stared back at all four of them, thinking how ridiculous they all looked. Dad with his shirt half in and half out of his trousers, scratching his ruffled bedhead, barely awake enough to know what all the fuss was about. Mum in her ski pants and socked feet stuffed inside pink fluffy mules, itching for a fight. And Anthony, who was ready to collapse into a drunken sleep, propped up by my smug older sister, who loved nothing more than seeing me get into trouble.

I couldn't be bothered to waste my breath trying to excuse myself. I had one last loud and furious turn on my drums before throwing my sticks down and barging past the whole lot of them back to my bedroom. Anthony fell off the step as I marched by, and I heard Sadie tut and tell him to get a grip on himself.

They all made me laugh. What a bunch of total losers. I threw myself onto my bed and wished I could be anywhere in the world but 30 Beech Glen. What the hell did they know about music and ambition? They'll be sorry when I'm rich and famous, I told myself. I'll be more than happy to remind them of the total lack of support and enthusiasm they showed me. They're far too worried about what the neighbors will think and not having their TV viewing interrupted to care that a musical genius is blossoming under their noses. I stuck my head farther beneath the duvet and tried to block out my surroundings before sinking into an exhausted sleep.

The next day I woke up late, and could sense the frosty atmosphere in the house even before I'd stepped out of my room. I could hear Mum slamming things around in the kitchen and giving Sadie monosyllabic answers to her questions. I couldn't believe that Mum was still so angry with me. Anyone would have thought I'd committed murder the night before. For a fraction of a second I thought that maybe I should apologize and make peace, if only for a quiet life, but I soon got over that and decided to carry on as normal as though nothing had happened.

I knew this would infuriate Mum further, but I just couldn't be bothered to suck up to her. Mum and Dad never show any interest in what I do and treat me like a freak for spending so much time on my drums on my own. They've never tried to understand what I'm attempting to achieve. Okay, so drums aren't the most sociable of instruments, but they're my passion. The way they tried to control and suppress what they called "just a phase" made me want to bash around on my drums at three o'clock every sodding morning.

I decided to brave the wintry climate in the kitchen and breezed in with a smile, full of the joys of spring. Mum, who had turned into the Ice Queen of Narnia, glared at me from the sink.

"You can take that smile off your face. Your behavior last night was unforgivable. You displayed a total lack of respect and consideration for me and your father, not to mention the neighbors, and we will not tolerate it. You know the rules, Leyla. We expect an apology from you."

She stood calm and upright at the sink waiting for my pleas for forgiveness, but I couldn't take her seriously, as her yellow marigold gloves and pale blue overalls failed to convey any air of authority. I kept thinking of our school dinner ladies and lumpy custard and found it hard to suppress a smirk. "Right. That's it! The garage door will remain locked until you decide to show some respect."

"That's not fair. You're treating me like a criminal just for having a quick practice on my drums. Do you want me to achieve anything in this life or not?"

"You won't achieve anything without discipline and respect for others, Leyla, and the sooner you learn that lesson the better."

"How about you showing me some respect for once? Okay, so maybe I shouldn't have been playing quite so loudly at that time of night. I got a bit carried away. But the way you treat me for playing the drums at all is totally unreasonable. You just don't seem to care that music means a lot to me. It's what I want to do with my life. Why can't you take me seriously and give me some support?"

A tense, heavy silence followed as Mum and I stood looking at each other across the kitchen. Sadie was sat at the table with her mouth wide open, lapping it all up as if it were an episode of EastEnders. For a moment it seemed that Mum and I were desperate to understand each other but that neither of us knew where to start. Mum turned back to the sink and carried on with the washing up, muttering that the garage was off limits until Dad and her received an apology.

I couldn't bear to stay in the house any longer, so I threw on my coat and headed out the door in the direction of Sarah's. I ran down the road and out of the estate, glad to be in the open air and away from the house. I needed some space, and the fresh breeze cooled me down. I knew that I'd have to grit my teeth and tread carefully with Mum for a while in order to get my garage privileges back, but I felt so frustrated with her. I just wanted to break free of her for the day and think about something and someone completely different. I knew that Sarah's company would be the perfect cure.

"All right, missy. What a pleasant surprise to see your grumpy old face on this fine Sunday morning." Sarah was her usual self as she opened the door to me.

"Do I look grumpy?" I asked, surprised.

"You've got a face like a slapped arse."

"Sorry. It's just Mum, you know. Listen, forget it. I don't want to talk about her. Cheer me up, Sarah."

"Well, actually, despite my better judgment I might have some news that will put a smile on your face."

I perked up immediately and followed Sarah to her room. "Go on then. What is it?"

"Have I shown you the new nail varnish I bought last week? It's a wicked color. I thought it would go with my sparkly pink top," Sarah teased as she browsed over the cosmetics on her dressing table.

"Sarah, don't be such a witch. Tell me the news."

"Oh, it's not that exciting really. You won't be interested."

"Sarah, I'm gonna kill you." I pulled her onto the bed and sat on top of her chest, pinning her down. "Tell me the news."

"Okay, okay, okay, get off me,' she said, struggling. "I'm flat-chested enough as it is without you making it any worse."

"Do you promise to tell me?"

"Yes, yes. Now get off me." I jumped off and she sat up straight at the end of the bed, all smugness because she knew something she knew I'd be interested in. "Jamie told me this morning that he's going to watch a skateboarding competition down at the park at midday with a bunch of his mates. Apparently it's the regional championships and a lad from our school is tipped to win because he's won most of the local competitions all year."

"Is that it? Some kids skidding around on boards and that's news?"

"Oh, I just thought you might like to know that the local champion is in fact Darren Mitchell. Loverboy himself. Your Darren." Sarah turned her back to me and pretended to be engrossed in the contents of a shampoo bottle on her dressing table. "But if you're not interested in a bunch of kids 'skidding around on boards' then don't worry, we'll just stay in and watch telly instead."

"What do you mean, my Darren?" I asked, blushing.

"Oh come on, don't go all coy on me. You've hardly been subtle about how much you like him. Hanging around the corridors after every lesson hoping to catch a glimpse of him. Holding your breath every time someone walks past our secret place just in case it's him coming to see you. You're so transparent, Miss Burgess. You can't hide a thing from me."

"I thought I was playing it really cool." We both fell about laughing at how blatant I'd been. "So he's a champion skateboarder as well as a totally gorgeous, talented DJ. But why would you want to point out another of his many assets to me when you can't stand him?"

Copyright © 2001 by Adele Minchin

About the Author

Adele Minchin has worked in public relations for four years, first at Campaign Against the Arms Trade and currently in publishing. She is a volunteer at Body and Soul, the self-help organization that supports adults and young people living with or affected by HIV/AIDS. The Beat Goes On is her first novel and, shortly after its first publication, won the Branford Boase Award for fiction in the UK. Adele Minchin resides in London, England.