Page 37 of Finding Grey

NINETEEN

______

DANTE

I didn’t know what to do with what happened between us, other than write about it. Songs flowed out of me daily now. Some arrived in my head fully formed, as if channelled from someplace else. Others tore directly from the vein, bleeding onto the page one note at a time.

Sean had been right when he’d advised me to continue writing without prejudice. It had taken time, but the glut of words finally slowed, and afterward I was able to sift through my own thoughts one at a time. The myriad of seemingly disparate ideas began to seek each other out, gathering into clusters that quickly became lyrics. When I started reaching for my guitar, I knew the worst was over.

On Monday morning, three weeks after my arrival, I made the phone call that brought Sean’s father, Phil Kelland, back to the house. He arrived within the hour, ready to work.

“I’m glad you called,” he said with an eager smile. “I’m looking forward to getting into the studio with you.”

“Why is that?” I asked. “You think we’ll make beautiful music together?”

Phil’s chest rumbled with laughter, not unlike Sean’s. “I bloody well hope so.”

Something about the man put me at ease, but my ever-present defences cautioned me not to take him at face value. He may have been Sean’s father, but he was still a stranger to me. “I’ve got three songs ready to work on today. I’d like to spend some time playing around with the timing of them, then lay down some vocal scratch tracks. How does that sound?”

Apparently, my words were music to Phil’s ears. I’d never seen an audio engineer so excited by the idea of walking into the studio without a well-defined plan. The engineers I’d worked with in the past had all been hired by my father. Big on ideas, but short on time, they’d been forced to work with Roger breathing down their necks, asking when the tracks would be done. For all his love of the industry, I’d never seen Roger get excited by the process of creating music. Perhaps because his own attempts to do so, in his younger years, had been met with frustration and mediocrity. The day he realisedmypotential as an artist, he knew his path to musical success would be found through me—and he set about making it happen. It wasn’t about the music for him anymore. His only interest lay in getting the finished product into the hands of as many of the general masses as possible.

Being in Phil’s studio, without Roger’s overbearing presence, was different. Relaxed and unhurried, the atmosphere allowed me to play at my leisure, until I was satisfied with the bones of each song. Phil proved himself capable and patient. Each time I mentioned some aspect of the sound I was unhappy with, he pointed me in the right direction, whether it be a change in microphone or a slight adjustment to the settings on the mixing console. Before long we were working well together, and the process began to flow.

This had always been my favourite part of being a musician. Yes, I loved getting out there and performing for crowds. Being on stage came with a rush all its own. But this act of creation—of taking my emotions and turning them into music that could then evoke emotions in others—this was where my heartbeat found its home. I’d spent so much of my life alone, distrustful and wary. This process allowed me to connect with others in a way that felt safe, even when I allowed myself to be vulnerable.

We’d just finished laying down the vocals for the second track when Sean came into the building. I could see the basket he carried from inside the vocal booth, thanks to the large window separating us.

“Are you ready for a lunch break?” Phil’s voice sounded in my ears and I nodded.

Removing the delicate headphones, I placed them on a nearby shelf and then switched off the microphone before heading out to join the two men.

“Dante.” Sean lifted his chin in greeting.

I gave him a tight smile. “How’s things?”

He lifted a container full of gourmet sandwiches out of the basket. “Tasty.” Pulling the lid off the container, he put it on a vacant table before handing me a plate. He took care not to allow his fingers to brush against mine and my stomach clenched with longing.

Sean hadn’t gone back to ignoring me or avoiding me, the way he had before, and we continued to eat dinner together almost every night. But we never talked about what happened, and we never touched. It had been awkward at first, but then the natural affinity we had with each other kicked in, and we eased back into some kind of friendship. It was enough, even when it wasn’t anywhere near enough.

“I’ll come back in an hour to collect everything,” he said as he headed for the door.

“Sean, stay.” I didn’t mean for the words to sound needy, but the way Phil glanced at me out of the corner of his eye, that must have been how they sounded. “You’ve made enough food for five people,” I added in a more casual tone. “I can’t eat much when I’m singing, I’d hate for it to go to waste.”

Sean’s gaze darted from me to his Dad, who opted to observe the conversation in silence. “All right,” he said, stepping forward to grab a sandwich. “How’s your morning been?”

“Productive,” Phil said, after swallowing a bite. “I would say we’re having an excellent first day. What say you?” He looked to me for confirmation.

“Yeah, it’s been good,” I said with a nod. “I like the setup you’ve got here. How long have you had the place?”

“About eight years,” Phil responded. “I trained as an audio engineer when I left school, but then I ended up spending years as a session musician. Eventually, the travel got to be too much, so I decided to put my training to use and bought this place.”

“Who did you play with?” I asked. It turned out Phil had played backing for just about everyone who travelled the festival circuit back then, including people I’d gotten to know over the years. We spent a good twenty minutes trading stories of mutual acquaintances. I tried to entertain Sean with some funny anecdotes from the road, but the tension in him never eased. When we reached a lull in the conversation, I figured I should give him the opportunity to escape.

“I’m going to head back into the vocal booth to warm up a little before we lay the final track.” Standing, I drank the last of the orange juice Sean had brought with him and put my dishes back into the basket. “Thanks for lunch,” I said with a nod to Sean, before I directed my gaze back to Phil. “We’ll pick it up again in a few minutes?” He nodded in agreement.

Entering the small room, I closed the door behind me and then turned to keep one eye on Sean through the window as I ran through some basic exercises. He chatted to his father for a few minutes before packing up the leftover food in preparation to leave. Chugging some water to clear my throat, I put the headphones back on and turned on the microphone, so Phil could hear me. “Okay, let’s do this.”

Sean stopped when he heard my words, as I’d hoped he would. I wanted him to be here for this.