Young Writers Society

#6: RECORD SHOP ENCOUNTERS

The next morning, I was rummaging through the pantry trying to find something for breakfast when I heard a knocking at the front door. I looked down at my pyjamas.

No way was I answering it.

A few seconds later my mobile started to ring from the kitchen table. Picking it up, I smiled when I saw the caller ID. I was in serious need of venting what had happened last night, and Tahlia was always happy to listen.

“Open the door,” she said, when I accepted the call.

“What?” I asked blearily. It was too early for my mind to be able to function properly, especially on a Saturday.

“You know that knocking sound coming from the front of your house?” she asked drily, “That’s me. Let me in.”

“Why are you here this early?” I walked out of the kitchen into the hallway, phone still held up to my ear. “It’s a Saturday. You know my brain doesn’t wake up till noon today.”

“We need to talk. What was with your mysterious texting last night?”

I opened the door and grimaced, taking my phone from my ear. “Long story. Really long, confusing story.”

Tahlia brandished her purse with a smile. “Tell me and I’ll shout you breakfast?”

“Deal,” I replied. “Just let me get dressed.”

***

“So Freddie calls you, you go get him, he acts like a douche and then placidly comes home?” Tahlia asked, as we walked out of the café. I’d spent the meal filling Tahlia in on what had happened last night and scoffing eggs Benedict. I hadn’t mentioned the weirdness between me and Eugene, and I hadn’t brought up my conversation with the strange boy, either. Mostly I’d spoken about Freddie’s bizarre behaviour, because it was – strangely enough – the most straightforward aspect of the evening. At least, it was the only thing that didn’t leave me feeling muddled.

“Pretty much, yeah.”

“He’s got nerve. I mean, he screws over the guys, and dumps Audrey…”

“How is she, by the way?” I asked.

“Audrey’s fine. I mean, we mostly spent last night eating ice cream and being total clichés, but I actually think I’m more bothered about it than she is. I got the impression that she’d kind of been expecting it to happen for a while now.” Tahlia chewed her bottom lip. She kicked at a rock on the footpath as we walked along, her annoyance quickening her pace. “But I don’t get it. Like, at all. Freddie’s a prick, but this is weird.”

“You don’t say.” I shrugged. “Not that he was gonna tell me why he was behaving like a total nutcase.”

“But that’s not all, is it?” Tahlia asked. I raised an eyebrow, still hesitant to go into any further detail. In some ways, I needed to vent, but the conversation I’d had with the boy was starting to feel like I’d dreamt it, and talking about Eugene was impossible until I got my thoughts in order. She returned my expression disdainfully. “Spill.”

“Well,” I began, “This band performed, I guess, and Freddie vanished. They were really good, and, um, there was this guy, who spoke to me.”

Tahlia made a high pitched sound that was in a register that didn’t sit very well with me so early on a Saturday morning. “Details, Liv! What did you guys talk about? What was his name? What’d he look like?”

“Well, um, we talked about the band, mostly. It wasn’t all that long a conversation, really. And I don’t know what his name was.” I wasn’t sure why I was so awkward. I scratched my nose, and tried to get my thoughts into some kind of order. I cleared my throat, and attempted to speak with more assuredness, continuing, “He was about my height. Dark hair. Amazing eyes.”

“You like him?”

“I don’t know him,” I replied, my pragmatic side taking over before I could become as starry-eyed as Tahlia. “But he was interesting, I guess.”

“You guess?” Tahlia shot me an incredulous look. “Liv, in the time I’ve known you, the only boys you’ve spoken about are the ones we’re friends with.”

“So?” I asked. I became momentarily distracted by the window display of the local record shop, and examined the assortment of vinyl they were apparently having a sale on. I’d managed to coerce my way into getting Eugene’s uncle’s old – and usually broken – record player a couple of years ago, and ever since Hartman Records had been one of my favourite haunts. They only seemed to stock music from obscure, never-quite-famous artists, and a few one hit wonders, but from what I understood, they did surprisingly well enough out of it. Well enough, anyway, to pay the rent for a shop in the middle of the main street, unlike the little indie bookshop Audrey loved, or the lolly shop Eugene and I used to stare at longingly, both of which had closed recently.

“So,” I heard Tahlia say, “The fact that you’re bringing him up must mean he’s made an impression on you. So, I want details.”

“Uh huh.” Absently, I realised I’d stopped walking. A figure stepped into the window, holding a stack of records in his arms. A staff member there to rearrange the display before they opened, I guessed. I smiled at him.

“Really, Liv? Could you quit being the epitome of hipsterdom for a moment, please?” Tahlia sighed from a few steps away.

I caught the eye of the boy in the window and froze. The cordial smile slowly slipped from my face. “Fucking hell,” I breathed.

“And you say Theo’s got a mouth on him,” Tahlia muttered, “What is it?”

A pair of hazel eyes looked back at me, under a pair of raised eyebrows. The way the glass had been reflecting the light, I hadn’t recognised him at first. But now that he’d moved out of the glare, there was no mistaking the boy who was looking at me with a shocked expression on his face, one that probably mirrored the one I was wearing.

This was impossible. I’d been in this shop dozens of times. Last night had been the first time I’d seen him, and then he was suddenly gone, now there he was. In my favourite shop.

“It’s him,” I told Tahlia, without tearing my eyes from the window. Impossible. “The boy from last night.”

“You’re kidding me.”

“Nope.” I shook my head, first in accompaniment to my reply, then to clear my head. “Fucking hell,” I repeated.

I didn’t hear anything, but a few seconds later the boy turned around for a moment, and nodded, speaking a couple of words to someone out of sight. He turned back to look at me, his features still pulled into a look of confusion. He frowned, and lifted two fingers.

Two minutes, he mouthed. He disappeared, and I was left there, still gaping at the window. I felt the same reeling sensation I had experienced after our first conversation. It was him.

“The shop’s about to open,” Tahlia said. She stood in front of the door, her blonde hair cast paler by the morning light. She lifted an arm and tapped her watch. “It’s nearly ten.”

“Yeah.” I frowned. “Tahlia…”

“What is it?” she asked, moving over to stand next to me. She stared at me intently, her eyes narrowed. I tried to pull my face into an expression that wouldn’t betray the sudden butterflies in my stomach. I clenched a fist, trying to get myself back in check – I was freaking out over nothing. One conversation. That’s all we’d had, and it wasn’t even all that long an exchange. I’d been riled up from trying to deal with Freddie, and still on a high from the music, and all that had somehow been applied onto him. Even as I told myself this, I kept remembering the breathless feeling of meeting his eyes.

“Nothing,” I replied, “I’m just being an idiot.”

“You like him?” Tahlia asked again. Her tone wasn’t as light as it had been the first time she’d asked it. There wasn’t any room for dodging the question, or being less than truthful. It was more than just curiosity this time; there was a pointedness to her voice that required an answer.

I shut my eyes. “Maybe.”

“It’s obvious, y’know.” Tahlia smirked, though not unkindly. “You’re always so practical. Rational, whatever. But when you’re listening to a song you like, you get this look in your eye. Like you’re somewhere else.”

“And so?”

“When you were talking about him before, and when you were looking at the window, after he left, you had that same look in your eye.” Tahlia glanced back at the door. “He must be pretty impressive, to have you looking at him like that.”

“I just met him,” I argued, then asked, “Am I really that obvious?”

“Probably not.” Tahlia shrugged. “But I’ve known you for a long time, Liv. I can tell.”

I sighed, and unclenched the fist I realised I’d been holding since he’d left. Massaging my thumb, I said quietly, “I’m nervous. Why the hell am I nervous?”

Instead of answering me, Tahlia gestured to the doorway of the record shop. On the other side of the glass, a sign had been flipped around to read OPEN.

“Tell me I’m being sappy,” I begged Tahlia, as a grin spread across her face. I felt my heart rate quicken, and I gulped down air. “Tell me that I’m stupid for freaking out right now. I don’t even know him!”

Tahlia took my hand and – forcibly – dragged me over to stand in the doorway. She squeezed my fingers. “Aren’t you going to introduce, us, then Liv?”

We walked into the shop. As always, the slightly musty smell of the old record covers rushed to greet me.

“Is that Liv Fellows I see?” The booming voice Scottie Hartman, the shop’s manager, echoed around the shop. I spotted him standing behind the counter, his usual ecstatic grin in place. “What are you doing, gracing my shop so early on a Saturday morning?”

I couldn’t help but beam back. Scottie’s energy was always contagious, and just being in his presence brightened my mood. He was a daunting figure at two metres tall, with a Hagrid beard and tattoos all up his arms, but beneath all that he was insanely friendly and about as warm as you could hope for. “You know me, Scottie. I’d never walk past your shop without saying hi.”

“How are Eugene and the boys going? What are they calling themselves now?” Scottie asked as I walked over to the counter. Tahlia followed me, her presence a reminder of why we’d walked in.

“Pugnacious Dogma,” I replied. “They’re… I dunno. Freddie’s leaving, he’s said, but I’m not sure whether he’ll follow through.”

“Rough luck,” Scottie said.

“You could say that.” I was about to ask Scottie whether he had gotten any new music in when Tahlia elbowed me in the ribs. I let out a yelp, and swore at her under my breath.

“Sorry,” she apologised, her voice laden with insincerity. She turned to Scottie, “So my mum was talking about this record she had when she was younger, and I thought I’d get for her birthday. Do you reckon you could help me, at all?”

Tahlia shifted so she bumped me away from the counter. I could tell what she was doing, so I muttered, “I’ll just go have a look around, then.”

I wandered down one of the aisles between the racks, scanning the covers of the records that were at eye-level. The ‘display records’, as Scottie called them. They sat on a ledge above the tubs of records, all of which were sorted by a system that I suspected had more to do with Scottie’s personal preferences than any specific order.

On the other side of the racks, I spotted the dark hair of someone on the other side. Tahlia and I were the only customers in the shop, so it was no great leap to work out who it was. He was moving in the same direction as I was, so I kept walking, matching his pace and trying to breath like a normal person, until we both reached the gap between where the first rack ended and the next began.

“Hello again,” I said.

He smiled. “Hey.”

“Since when have you worked here?” I asked.

“Since about a week ago,” he replied. “Scottie’s my uncle. We moved here last month, and I needed a job, and he needed someone to help out here, and this is how it worked out.”

“Right.”

“Sorry I left without warning last night.” He was slightly less intense in the daylight, as though the sun had whittled away the edges. It also seemed like he was less guarded – his smile seemed genuine and he wasn’t wearing that unreadable façade.

“Don’t worry about it,” I replied, taking in the grey-blue t-shirt he wore, and the same leather bands on his wrist that I’d noticed last night. “But it’s a surprise to see you again. And here, of all places.”

“You come here often, then?” A hint of the intensity I’d noticed in his voice last night was back again, but this time it sounded more like curiosity than it had when he was talking about Trifecta.

“Sounds like a pick-up line, when you say it like that.” I laughed. “But a bit, yeah.”

“Enough so that the manager knows your name?”

“Pretty much,” I said. “Which reminds me, actually. I never did get yours.”

“No, you didn’t.”

“May as well do this properly, then.” I straightened up. “I’m Liv Fellows.”

“Nice to meet you Liv,” he replied. “My name’s Hayden Beaufort.”