Close To Home (aka The Summer That Never Was)

cassette labeled “Songs from a Black Room” mixed in with a lot of other tapes.

“How was I to know you were looking for me?”

“Don’t you read the papers or watch television?” Annie asked.

“Not much. They’re boring. Life’s too short. Mostly I practice, listen to music or read.”

“What instrument?” Banks asked.

“Keyboards, some woodwinds. Flute, clarinet.”

“Did you study music professionally?”

“No. Just lessons at school.”

“How old are you, Liz?”

“Twenty-one.”

“And Ryan?”

“The same. He’s in his last year at college.”

“He a musician, too?”

“Yes.”

“Do you live together?”

“Yes.”

Annie sat down on one of the beanbags, but Banks went to stand by the window, leaning the backs of his thighs against the sill. The room was small and hot and seemed too crowded with three people in it.

“What was your relationship with Luke Armitage?” Annie asked.

“He’s… he was in our band.”

“Along with?”

“Me and Ryan. We don’t have a drummer yet.”

“How long have you been together?”

She chewed on her lip and thought for a moment. “We’ve only been practicing together since earlier this year, after we met Luke. But Ryan and me had been talking about doing something like this for ages.”

“How did you meet Luke?”

“At a concert at the college.”

“What concert?”

“Just a couple of local bands. Back in March.”

“How did Luke get into a college concert?” Banks asked. “He was only fifteen.”

Liz smiled. “Not to look at. Or to talk to. Luke was far more mature than his years. You didn’t know him.”

“Who was he with?”

“No one. He was by himself, checking out the band.”

“And you just started talking to him?”

“Ryan did, first.”

“And then?”

“Well, we found out he was interested in music, too, looking to get a band together. He had some songs.”

Banks pointed toward the tape. “Those? ‘Songs from a Black Room’?”

“No. Those are more recent.”

“How recent?”

“Past month or so.”

“Did you know he was only fifteen?”

“We didn’t find out until later.”

“How?”

“He told us.”

“He told you? Just like that?”

“No, not just like that. He had to explain why he couldn’t just do what he wanted, you know. He was living with his parents and going to school. He said he was sixteen at first but then told us later he’d lied because he was worried we’d think he was too young to be in the band.”

“And did you?”

“No way. Not someone with his talent. We might have had a few problems down the line, if things had got that far. Playing licensed premises, you know, stuff like that, but we figured we’d just deal with all that when we got there.”

“What about who his real father was? Did you know that?”

Liz looked away. “He didn’t tell us that until later, either. He didn’t seem to want anything to do with Neil Byrd and his legacy.”

“How did you find out?” Banks asked. “I mean, did Luke just come right out and tell you who his father was?”

“No. No. He didn’t like to talk about him. It was something on the radio while he was over here, a review of that new compilation. He got upset about it and then it just sort of slipped out. It made a lot of sense.”

“What do you mean?” Annie asked.

“That voice. His talent. There was something about it all that rang a bell.”

“What happened after you knew?”

“What do you mean?”

“Did it make a difference?”

“Not really.”

“Oh, come on, Liz,” said Banks. “You had Neil Byrd’s son in your band. You can’t expect us to believe that you weren’t aware that would make a big difference commercially.”

“Okay,” said Liz. “Sure, we were all aware of that. But the point is that we weren’t anywhere commercially at that time. We’re still not. We haven’t even played in public yet, for crying out loud. And now, without Luke… I don’t know.”

Banks moved away from the window and sat on a hard-backed chair against the wall. Annie shifted on her beanbag, as if trying to get comfortable. It was the first time he’d seen her look ill at ease in any sort of seat, then he realized she might have hurt herself falling over in the bookshop. She should be at the hospital getting checked out, especially the way on-the-job injury insurance worked these days, but there was no telling her. He didn’t blame her; he’d be doing the same himself.

“Who did the singing?” Banks asked.

“Mostly me and Luke.”

“What kind of music do you play?”

“What does it matter?”

“Let’s just say I’m interested. Humor me.”

“It’s hard to describe,” Liz answered.

“Try.”

She looked at him, as if trying to size up his musical knowledge. “Well, it’s all about the songs, really. We’re not trendy and we don’t go in for long solos and stuff. It’s more… have you heard of David Gray?”

“Yes.”

“Beth Orton?”

“Yes.”

If Liz was surprised by Banks’s familiarity with contemporary music, she didn’t show it. “Well, we’re not like them, but that’s sort of what we’re interested in. Having something to say, and maybe a bit jazzy and bluesy. I play quite a bit of flute as well as organ.”

“Did you know that Luke was taking violin lessons?”

“Yes. That would have been wonderful. We were looking to expand, bring in more musicians, but we were being very careful about it.” She looked Banks in the eye. “We were serious about making a real go of this, you know,” she said. “But without selling out or being commercial. We’re absolutely gutted by what’s happened. Not just as a band, I mean, but personally, too.”

“I understand, and I appreciate that,” said Banks. “Did you have any other sort of relationship with Luke? Other than musical?”

“What do you mean?”