So a new day beckoned. Raining. Barely a soul passed by the front window without a coat zipped up to the neck, an umbrella open above them, or a hood stopping hair from getting wet. The clouds were quite dark, even though it was supposed to be middle of summer. Roads were jammed with all manner of vehicles, people trying to escape the downpour. Overall speed of pedestrians had increased a little too. It wasn’t exactly the most ideal day to be out walking, but some had little choice, through lack of sight, senility, no drivers licence, or no other way to travel.
In the middle of the sounds of raindrops splattering the pavement outside the window, a piercing noise shook the house. It was only an alarm clock, but it had been set upon the loudest setting possible, for the young man it was meant to awaken was a very heavy sleeper indeed. There could be a raging thunderstorm above and he would not notice it. After a few moments of fumbling around, he stretched out a hand and pressed the snooze button. This would enable a few more minutes of extended sleep.
The flat in which he resided, was owned by the shopkeeper who ran the business from the floor below. The outer walls were showing signs of erosion as the building had been set up that way for nearly forty years now. Inside the oak front door, was a hallway that had barely enough room to hold a selection of coats and jackets. Useful for entertaining guests, but for just him, it played host to his personal collection of hooded jumpers. He wasn’t a troublemaker, just his preferential choice of attire. The best thing he’d found about these was that they were waterproof. Further into the flat was a small kitchen. Ample for one person, a nightmare for holding a gathering of more than a few people. Tucked away in the corner of this kitchen was a fridge-freezer combo, which was stood alongside the sink. There wasn’t enough room in this kitchen for a dishwasher, so all of the dishes had to be scrubbed by hand. The dining room-lounge was an open plan. Given the size of the flat it was hardly likely to fit a major amount in. A four foot table, a two seater sofa, and a couple of armchairs took up the main amount of space. To the right of the window was a television unit, angled at forty-five degrees to face into the entirety of the room. At the back of the lounge was a bathroom, well, more of a shower room as there wasn’t space to extend into having a bath in there as well. The final room of this flat was the bedroom. A single bed was hidden initially from view, with a radiator the initial feature noticed. The main boiler was also in the bedroom, leaving a tiny amount of space for a wardrobe, the doors were able to just about open fully, but because of where the unit had to go, there was a little bit of natural light blocked out from the window.
The alarm sounded again. This time however, the young man reached out a bit quicker and instead of hitting snooze he found the lever to switch the alarm itself off. Rolling the duvet off of himself, he spun his body round and dropped his feet to the floor. Glancing at the time, he noted that it was now ten past seven. Still traffic seemed to pour past, just as the rain continued to bounce off the window. His frame was rather skinny, and his hair was an untidy mop of brown tangled mess. Often looking quite greasy, he had rarely been one for taking enough care of it, and today was no different. Bed-hair was his own unique brand of hairstyle, along with a pair of slim-line spectacles. He had recently had all of his rotting teeth removed, but hadn’t made a move to get any replacements as of yet. Rubbing his eyes a few times before putting his specs on his ears and nose, he stumbled through to the kitchen and filled up the kettle with sufficient water levels to make himself a coffee. To go with his morning coffee he nearly always had a cigarette, but for this he would need to go outside. Luckily for him, the shopkeeper who owned the entire building, had been granted planning permission to build a smokers roof to yield extra protection against adverse weather conditions such as today was.
The shop below was also relatively small. Situated near to the central focal point of the older looking part of the town, there were often passers by from as early as six-thirty. Being a Saturday, there was a little debris from the night before, engulfed in puddles as the rain continued to swamp the floor, and the shopkeeper was keeping himself relatively dry under the awning that proudly projected his family name. A tradition of his ancestry, filled with entrepreneurs and chefs, he was Indian by history, but having been born in England, he was officially English. By luck he was able to own a dual passport, which enabled him to be both British and Indian, both of which were true. Having been a native to the English language, he found himself struggling when it came to understanding what his family would say to each other when they visited. He was five foot eleven, short dark hair, and, like his tenant above, bespectacled. There were often times they would enjoy a brew together, after a long day in the shop for him, but for the tenant who was currently out of work, helping out now and again when requirements were needed to be met, that enabled the twenty-seven year old, six foot tall tenant to be able to keep the roof over his head.
Lighting up his first cigarette of the morning, Gary choked a little. It was a relatively high pressure release, giving him an option to draw on a relaxation technique which he had administered successfully for the last ten years. It was still relatively quiet, although there were a few cars already parked up in the nearby car park. Peering between the raindrops he thought he recognised a black car belonging to someone he knew. However as the flow of rain continued it was a struggle to make out what the number plate specified.
“Good morning sir,” Sachin said, as a prospective customer entered the relatively narrow frame of the door.
“Morning,” grunted a deep voice in return. “Just here for my usual.”
“Twenty Benson and Hedges silver if I remember right,” Sachin scanned the cigarette display behind him. “I seem to have none here, would two tens be ok?”
“No, I’ll have gold instead. Must get twenty,” the deep voice resonated through the sound of the rain.
“Ok, that’s £6.52,” continued Sachin.
“Here’s £7. Keep the change,” The owner of the voice dropped a five pound note and a two pound coin on the counter and made a hasty retreat.
An unusual start to the day, the most common thing he sold early on were the papers, but perhaps being weather affected. After all, wet newspapers were a little tricky to read. Even so, he carried on putting the newspaper inserts inside them, mainly television guides on a Saturday with a seven day outlook as to what programmes were on.
After his morning cigarette, Gary stepped back inside. Unsure as to how the day was going to pan out, he went to find his laptop. He was a self developing music producer in his spare time, and he didn’t have a plan to go looking for a permanent job at the time. Making another coffee, he listened to the rhythm of the rain and wondered if he’d be able to utilise the sound instead. Peering out of the solitary window in the lounge area, he spotted a few people hurrying past, trying to avoid the puddles that were slowly building up. As his laptop loaded up, he decided to take another cigarette break. The stone steps that led down to the back area of the shop glistened in the rays of sunlight that were beginning to poke through the clouds, brightening up the day slightly. The forecast had been for heavy showers all day, but the weathermen weren’t always right. Once the laptop had fully loaded, he opened up his program and looked at his current project. There was a piano part, and a drum pattern, but he wasn’t sure that’s how he wanted the project to feel. Not trained and also not the best singer, he wasn’t sure if he should set himself up for a melody line, but having to think quite hard early on in the day, made it a challenging start.
“Hello Sachin,” came a familiar sounding voice. It was his long term friend John.
“Morning John, what can I do for you today?” Sachin had a smile for everyone anyway, but this was a slightly wider one.
“Well, I wonder if you could help me out?” John asked politely. “You see, I have been working part time with a local band who I feel are quite talented, I just need to see if I can find someone to help me record them.”
Sachin thought for a moment. Hearing the music from the flat above gave him an idea that he hadn’t thought about. “I could always ask my tenant,” he replied. “Judging by what I’m hearing above, he might be able to help.”
John closed the door for a moment to minimise the volume of passing people picking up as it was now eight o’clock. Straining his ears he heard the sounds through the ceiling.
“That sounds rather good,” he noted. “It sounds like he knows what he’s doing at least.”
Sachin replied courteously, “If you want, I could pass your number to him, and ask him to give you a call.”
“There’s no harm in at least talking, I guess,” John mused, as the door swung open and a young woman stepped in to browse the magazines.
“I’ll pass your details on then, look for his call later on,” Sachin was good at multitasking. “Is there anything I can help you with madam?”
She continued to look as she answered, “I was wondering if you had an up-to-date copy of the fashion magazine?”
Sachin excused himself from his conversation with John, and flicked through the magazine box he had at his feet. There was supposed to have been two copies come in but he could only find one.
“You would be in luck my dear,” his voice floated over the counter as he straightened his legs again. “I have one right here. It’s £2.85.”
Navigating her way around the stationary section, she approached the counter and looked at the magazine. “Yes, that’s the one. Oh, and could I get ten Sterling superkings to go with that?”
“Sure, that’s now £5.97,” Sachin totalled up the figures with quick keying into the till in front of him.
Pulling out a ten pound note she said, “I have an odd pound coin if you have any fives left.”
Opening the till point, Sachin shook his head. “I’m sorry, I don’t actually have any fives left,” he replied dejected. “They’ve flown this morning.”
“Its ok, I’ll probably do better to have the coins anyway,” she continued. “I just find it easier to keep hold of notes myself. But thank you anyway.” Taking her magazine and her cigarettes off the counter and placing them in her handbag, she stepped outside and opened her umbrella. It was still raining quite hard, although the clouds had started to break up allowing patches of blue sky to appear.
“Sorry about that,” Sachin explained to John, “Where were we?”
“You were going to give my details to your tenant,” responded John. “If you could do this sooner, it would give more chance to the group to get things moving a little quicker. They could even get a trial run recording done today.”
“Ah yes, I have your number in my phone, I’ll just jot it down and call up to him. I can’t leave the premises unattended without good reason,” It meant a lot to Sachin to be able to maximise profits.
“Well I bid you good day then,” said John as he opened the door.
“I’ll see you around sometime I expect,” Sachin called through before the door closed.
A stiff breeze started billowing past, blowing the drops of rain into the glass panes. With a few more breaks in the clouds developing, the rain itself began easing, but the breeze stifled the easing by making it sound worse. Playing through his current project, his mobile started to ring. Pausing the music, Gary picked up his phone and answered. “Hello?”
“Hey Gary, its Sachin.”
“Morning,” Gary replied. “Do you need me to help out at all today?”
“Not today. Actually I have something else to ask of you,” Sachin replied enthusiastically.
“Oh,” Gary was surprised. “What would that be?”
“It’s something a friend of mine has just asked me, and he also overheard your music coming through the ceiling,” Sachin pressed on, barely pausing for a breath. “He’s asked me if I knew anyone who could help him record a band. Having heard your music he was impressed with what he’d heard and wondered if you would be interested.”
Gary thought for a split second. “Would it be a paid opportunity?”
“I’m not sure,” replied Sachin. “I can give you his number though, and you can call and ask.”
“I’ve always done things for myself though, self teaching in many aspects of self-developments. I don’t think I’ve ever thought about working with someone,” Gary confessed. “But I guess it wouldn’t do any harm.”
“Have you got a pen and paper ready?” Sachin queried.
“Just give me a moment,” Gary hurried over to his dining room table. A loose pad of paper was sat with a handful of biros. “Ok, fire away.”
“Ok, the number is 01256,” Sachin started.
“0. 1. 2. 5. 6,” Gary repeated it back to him as he wrote it down.
“453525.” Sachin chuckled at the easiness of the number.
“4. 5. 3. 5. 2. 5.” Gary had a habit of reciting individual numbers back to whoever gave them to him just to clarify he had the right number. “And what would be your friends name?”
“John Stapleton.”
“Ok, I’ll give him a call in a bit. I’m just working on a piece right now. Would you like me to turn the volume down a bit if you’re able to hear it down there?” Gary asked.
“No its fine, it’s better than the sound of this awful weather we are having today,” replied Sachin, diplomatically. “Although it looks like it could be brightening up a little.”
“Thanks for that. Sounds like a good idea though,” Gary agreed.
“Ok, back to work now. I’ve got more customers filtering through,” Sachin added before hanging up.
Returning to his piece of music that he was working on, Gary looked at the slip of paper with the number on. It could be a defining moment for him to make the best of his self acquired skills and knowledge. But he had a project to add to for now. Devising a morning itinerary, he made his way back to the kitchen for his third cup of coffee of the morning, and it was only eight-thirty.
A little while later, after adding a little more to his musical project, he paused to take a cigarette break. It was nearly ten o’clock, and he’d been running a few ideas through his head. Piecing them together had been hard going for some reason. Having picked up the little slip of paper with the phone number on, he decided now was a more optimum time to make a call. He had no idea how old this ‘John’ guy was, nor did he know what he would be letting himself in for, but something was better than nothing. Picking up his phone he keyed in the digits written down in front of him, he thought for a moment and then pressed the call button. A voice greeted him at the other end of the line.
“Good morning, John Stapleton speaking, how can I help?”
“Hello John, my name is Gary,” he responded, but was cut off mid-sentence.
“You’re the tenant of Sachin, the newsagent?” John enquired enthusiastically.
“Yes, how did you….?” Gary was shocked.
“I was speaking to him this morning, and gave him my number to give to his tenant. Everyone else tends to call my mobile and I know he’s busy at this time in the morning,” John replied, seemingly a knowledgeable person himself. “It’s a deliberate set up, that after meeting new people I give them my mobile number and impart that it is imperative they use that only.”
Gary briefly took a moment or two to collect his thoughts, before replying. “So, you heard my music this morning then?”
“Yes I did, and as a matter of fact I found it interesting,” John wasn’t going to be stopped from his flow. “The thing is, I have a band connection, but I’m not quite ready to try to record them and was wondering if you would have any knowledge as to how to do such a thing?”
“Oh? I’ve only ever recorded myself, and that was a few months ago,” Gary answered.
“That’s not an issue. Can we meet up, say, eleven-thirty at the Starbucks on the corner of the parade near you?” John asked.
“I’m sure that wouldn’t be an issue,” Gary looked at the clock through the open oak door. “I’ve still got time to get ready.”
“Great. I’ll see you there then. We can talk music all day long if you like.” John finished with a flourish. “Look forward to meeting you.”
Gary heard a little click as John hung up the phone. It felt like there was something near to a big break happening for him. Certainly progress seemed to be being made.
The clouds rolled away as more blue sky appeared and the rain finally eased off. It was still a little breezy, but not quite like what stiff breeze had stifled the rain gradually easing earlier. There stood Gary, a few metres away from the entrance to the Starbucks coffee shop, awaiting John. Looking around him, there were a few people already seated inside, and only now a few tables were being set up outside by one of the baristas. Gary was dressed sharply, sporting a once worn suit jacket, pressed black trousers, a white shirt with a plain red tie, and a pair of cheap but polished black shoes. John was approaching but Gary didn’t know this instantly. John was a little more laid back, in a sporty jacket which was unzipped, a plain blue t-shirt, a pair of jeans and trainers. Having arranged this meeting, John had presumed that Gary would be smartly dressed.
“Hey,” John greeted Gary with a firm hand shake. “Shall we?”
They entered the coffee shop and joined the back of the queue. Only a few moments passed when a barista asked them, “So what can I get for you?”
John replied, “I’ll have a cappuccino please.”
The barista then looked at Gary, “And for you?”
“I’ll just have a black Americano,” Gary answered.
“Can I get one Americano, no milk, and a cappuccino to drink in,” the barista called to their colleague. “Will that be all?”
John nodded.
“That will be £4.30.” The barista took the money from John and gave him the change before adding, “We shall call when your drinks are ready.”
Making their way to a two seater table, John and Gary sat down and begun conversation.
“So, you make music,” John enquired inquisitively.
“Yes I do,” replied Gary. “I have been for about twelve years now.”
“Interesting. Have you had any lessons with any of your work?” John was intrigued to find out more about Gary’s musical knowledge and interest.
“Barely. I learnt guitar chord shapes off my dad many years ago, and had a total of about ten piano lessons. Other than that, the rest is acquired knowledge and self taught creativity.”
“One black Americano, one cappuccino,” called the barista.
“I’ll get these,” said Gary, pushing back his chair before standing up.
“I’m impressed with what I heard this morning,” John said as Gary returned from the end counter with the drinks. “I hope you can help me out recording this local band.”
“I’ll do my best. Is there any money in this?” Gary asked, hopefully.
“There will be. The band pay for my services, so I don’t see why they shouldn’t pay you if you do a good enough job for them,” John replied, confidently. “You have a talent, one that is unlikely to be teachable.”
Gary felt a little wave of personal triumph. Little had he known when he awoke that morning that four hours later he’d be discussing a possibility of developing beyond his original working comfort zones.
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