The Magpie Effect - The Magpie Chronicles Book 1 (#Wattys2015)

Chapter 6.1

Of all the songs on The Joy Detergents imaginative yet somewhat limited set, Plectrum Heart was probably my favourite. It was the only one that didn't include the words 'I was like' in at least two of their verses, and the one where the lead singer whipped his sweat-roped hair about the least.

The stage - which was actually just a glorified platform made out of plywood - was set against the back wall of the pub. I watched on from the bar as the lead singer drew his hands across his face, as though he were drawing a mysterious veil over his eyes.

"You strummed too hard on my heartstrings," he sang, his voice low and husky. He sounded as though he needed a throat lozenge.

"Bloody awful," Trevor grumbled into his pint. It was the singular most insightful thing I'd ever heard him say. The audience, not that there was much of one, either ignored the clamour or drank until it sounded like birdsong. "Absolute drivel."

I checked out of the conversation just as Trevor launched into an elaborate, burp-ridden account of his own musical tastes. My gaze wandered.

Debbie was standing not too far from the edge of the stage. She was wearing a baggy black t-shirt with a snarling wolf depicted on the front, and wore her hair in straight midnight sheets. She was staring up at the lead singer with a look of wonder in her eyes.

He was the guy that she'd been pursuing the past month. The one that I'd stored away in my mental archive of Debbie-drivel and plucked out only hours ago.

"I think I might be a genius," a voice drifted over my shoulder. I turned to see Bev standing behind me, propped in the doorway to the kitchen. She had a towel draped across her shoulder and an expression of pained self-gratitude on her face.

"Please, enlighten me." Bev and I had switched the polite relationship that existed between employer and worker, full of pleases and thank yous and well-mannered enthusiasm, for the fond derision that we now, had months ago. Sometimes, I thought that perhaps she was my true-born mother and that there was a mix-up at the hospital when I was born.

"Well, this band might be worse than the devil's alarm clock, but at least the custom is drinking their way towards sweet deafness," Bev said, nodding her head at Trevor. He was leaning against the bar, his eyes closed, and woke himself up with an explosive snore.

"Oh, that reminds me. I've been meaning to ask you something."

"No."

"What? You haven't even heard the question yet."

"I'm ninety-five percent sure that the answer will be no."

I blew air coolly through my lips. "You're doing that thing where you're awkward on purpose, aren't you?"

"That, as well as generally asserting my authority," Bev smiled, displaying a row of uneven teeth. "Clean my shoes, kiss my feet, all that malarkey."

"You couldn't pay me enough money to go anywhere near anybody's feet, not even my own," I said, with a shudder. "Are you going to hear me out or not? It could end up making you money, you know."

"Well why didn't you say that in the first place? Go ahead."

I took a deep breath in through my nose, felt the beer-incensed air fill my lungs. "Ok, there's this new guy at school and-"

Bev's face lit up. "Is he with the new family in town? The Burrs?"

I winced back my surprise. The magpies really had been hard at work, I thought to myself. "Uh, yeah. Anyway, this new guy - the Burr kid - he's in my class, and I got to talking with him and it turns out he's a musician. He plays guitar, writes his own material, and he was wondering if he could get a chance to play here."