his da arrived home with a beautiful red drum kit and Davey was so happy he burst into tears. When he played that evening, his parents agreed that, whatever it took, they’d get him to where he wanted to go.
When he joined the band, Davey’s parents could see that they had something – good songs, good musicianship, good work ethic – but, more than that, they had Johnny Faye. If ever a star was born, it was Johnny. He was the real deal. Davey’s da spotted his potential the first time he watched their acoustic set in the local hall one Sunday afternoon. That night they cleaned out the garage, put in heaters, then lined it with egg boxes and heavy draping to soundproof it. Two weeks later, Davey became Kitchen Sink’s new drummer; his family’s garage became their official rehearsal room, Molly and Jack Hayes their biggest supporters.
From the start Rabbit loved being in the garage with her coat and gloves on, watching the lads play and listening to Johnny singing. She’d sit quietly in the corner for hours, so quietly that, hidden behind draping, amps and an upturned sofa, they’d often forget she was there. Sometimes she read a book, others she’d just lie on the floor and listen to them play, banter and laugh. Rabbit could listen to Johnny sing all day. He had such a cool, clear, sweet, sorrowful voice, and despite her brother’s many attempts to get rid of her, Johnny always stood up for her.
‘Let’s take it from the bridge. One, two, three . . .’
Rabbit loved it when her brother counted in before hitting the drum. She loved the bass and guitars kicking in, then Johnny’s voice, giving her goose-bumps and making her spine tingle.
Rabbit spent half her childhood in that garage, listening to her brother and his band rehearse and dream. They were going to make it. After all, one of the lads from U2 had grown up down the road and they were filling stadiums in the USA. It was a sign and, like the lads often said, soon Kitchen Sink would make U2 look like a bunch of bleedin’ amateurs. And Rabbit had been there from the beginning, lying on her duffel coat on the cold hard floor while Johnny Faye sang just for her.
Now the past was so real it sometimes felt more real than the present. It might have been the opiates or perhaps it was because Rabbit was so tired when she was awake that her mind only became energized in sleep. And when she was awake she had to face the truth of her situation. Two weeks ago she had been living with cancer; now they were telling her she was dying and would leave behind her twelve-year-old daughter.
Nah . . . I’m just tired. I need a few days to rest and I’ll feel better. I’m not leaving Juliet. No way. Not happening
. She couldn’t face it. She couldn’t talk about it. She couldn’t accept it. Instead of forcing herself awake and into the present, she remained in the past, listening to Johnny Faye sing his heart out.
Davey
Davey hadn’t slept for more than four hours straight in at least twenty years. That meant it was easy to talk to the family on the phone or Skype, no matter what time zone he was in. He had been playing poker on the tour bus when his mother had called four years ago to tell him his sister had breast cancer. He came home just after her mastectomy when she was hopeful that it had all gone. After chemo and radiation it
was
gone, but only until the second call had come three years later. He was just about to go on stage when his ma had told him tearfully that it was back in the other breast and in her liver. He’d flown home immediately. Things were bleaker, but Rabbit Hayes was nothing if not a fighter. She would get better, and if she didn’t, the medication would help her manage the cancer. That time, he’d stayed for three weeks, until Rabbit had demanded he go back to work.
‘I’m not going anywhere,’ she’d promised. Besides, he couldn’t let his drum tech step in for ever. ‘What if they realize he’s better than you?’ she asked,
When he joined the band, Davey’s parents could see that they had something – good songs, good musicianship, good work ethic – but, more than that, they had Johnny Faye. If ever a star was born, it was Johnny. He was the real deal. Davey’s da spotted his potential the first time he watched their acoustic set in the local hall one Sunday afternoon. That night they cleaned out the garage, put in heaters, then lined it with egg boxes and heavy draping to soundproof it. Two weeks later, Davey became Kitchen Sink’s new drummer; his family’s garage became their official rehearsal room, Molly and Jack Hayes their biggest supporters.
From the start Rabbit loved being in the garage with her coat and gloves on, watching the lads play and listening to Johnny singing. She’d sit quietly in the corner for hours, so quietly that, hidden behind draping, amps and an upturned sofa, they’d often forget she was there. Sometimes she read a book, others she’d just lie on the floor and listen to them play, banter and laugh. Rabbit could listen to Johnny sing all day. He had such a cool, clear, sweet, sorrowful voice, and despite her brother’s many attempts to get rid of her, Johnny always stood up for her.
‘Let’s take it from the bridge. One, two, three . . .’
Rabbit loved it when her brother counted in before hitting the drum. She loved the bass and guitars kicking in, then Johnny’s voice, giving her goose-bumps and making her spine tingle.
Rabbit spent half her childhood in that garage, listening to her brother and his band rehearse and dream. They were going to make it. After all, one of the lads from U2 had grown up down the road and they were filling stadiums in the USA. It was a sign and, like the lads often said, soon Kitchen Sink would make U2 look like a bunch of bleedin’ amateurs. And Rabbit had been there from the beginning, lying on her duffel coat on the cold hard floor while Johnny Faye sang just for her.
Now the past was so real it sometimes felt more real than the present. It might have been the opiates or perhaps it was because Rabbit was so tired when she was awake that her mind only became energized in sleep. And when she was awake she had to face the truth of her situation. Two weeks ago she had been living with cancer; now they were telling her she was dying and would leave behind her twelve-year-old daughter.
Nah . . . I’m just tired. I need a few days to rest and I’ll feel better. I’m not leaving Juliet. No way. Not happening
. She couldn’t face it. She couldn’t talk about it. She couldn’t accept it. Instead of forcing herself awake and into the present, she remained in the past, listening to Johnny Faye sing his heart out.
Davey
Davey hadn’t slept for more than four hours straight in at least twenty years. That meant it was easy to talk to the family on the phone or Skype, no matter what time zone he was in. He had been playing poker on the tour bus when his mother had called four years ago to tell him his sister had breast cancer. He came home just after her mastectomy when she was hopeful that it had all gone. After chemo and radiation it
was
gone, but only until the second call had come three years later. He was just about to go on stage when his ma had told him tearfully that it was back in the other breast and in her liver. He’d flown home immediately. Things were bleaker, but Rabbit Hayes was nothing if not a fighter. She would get better, and if she didn’t, the medication would help her manage the cancer. That time, he’d stayed for three weeks, until Rabbit had demanded he go back to work.
‘I’m not going anywhere,’ she’d promised. Besides, he couldn’t let his drum tech step in for ever. ‘What if they realize he’s better than you?’ she asked,
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