A novella in 30 chapters
Stingaree Bay: Chapter 5
Al Fresco
‘Can you move over a bit, Anna? The sun’s starting to get to me.’
He stood up and stretched while she rearranged herself.
‘That better, Hugh?’
‘Great, thanks.’
‘Let’s get into it, then.’
‘I feel a bit exposed here,’ he complained.
‘Nonsense. There’s hardly anyone around. I come down here and play all the time. Anyway, the easiest way to get used to playing for an audience is to practise where the public can accidentally hear you.’
It made sense for the band’s greenest member to be coached by the most experienced, and Anna had been pleased when Hugh had asked for her help. She liked him very much.
He really was a little out of his depth, though. She wondered if he was just trying to please Nigel, taking this on. Hopefully, it wouldn’t end in disappointment for him.
‘Right. Shall we do Blackberry Blossom, then? In C?’
‘I’d prefer it in G.’
‘Alright. Banjo players, psht …’
The Dell was a natural amphitheatre, a half-moon shaped bite out of the cliff line formed by an ancient land slip. The little wooden gazebo where Hugh and Anna sat clung to the steep, wooded slope, largely hidden from passers-by but offering a grand view out over the Bay.
A false start, then the music lifted and soared around the Dell. Only for the banjo to falter, the tune to fall into a heap of disordered notes, then stop entirely.
‘Ow! Bastard!’ Hugh rubbed at his neck.
‘Mozzie?’
‘Yes, another one. Why do they always go for me? I’m a bloody mosquito magnet.’
‘Sometimes we have to suffer for our art, Hugh. You’ve got to carry on to the end of the piece. Ever been at a concert where there’s one fly in the room and it’s trying to crawl up the soloist’s nose? You’ve just got to soldier on. Might as well get used to it now.’
‘To hear is to obey, Maestro. Or whatever the female equivalent is.’
‘Good. Let’s try that again. A little faster this time through, and try not to lose the beat when you go into part B. You’re holding that E minor too long. Tapping your foot will help you to keep time.’
At length, Anna was satisfied. ‘Okay, now Cripple Creek. In F.’
‘F? How am I going to capo that? I only know it in G.’
‘Just detune from G down to F and play it as normal. No capo needed. Thinking outside the square, you see?’
‘Okay, but why?’
‘So I can sing it.’
‘Are you sure that’s a good idea?’
‘Are you criticising my singing now?’
‘Perish the thought, Anna Morton! You have the voice of … an angel. Or something. No, it’s just that some of the lyrics are very hillbilly.’
‘It’s a song about a Kentucky brothel. What do you expect? Don’t worry: I’ll leave out the verse about the “half-grown girls”. That was … of its time, shall we say.’
‘It’s really a man’s song, though, don’t you think?’
Anna was still surprised sometimes by how old-fashioned Hugh could be.
‘Gender boxing, Hugh? From a gay man? Besides, why shouldn’t I have a little love whose lips are sweet as cherry wine? Why shouldn’t she cling to me like a sweet potato vine? Why wouldn’t she make my gun shoot straight and true? I don’t see why men should get to have all the fun in bluegrass — and the saucy lyrics too. All the women get is murdered by a jealous lover and buried in a cold, cold grave.’
‘Fair enough, but I’m not sure the good residents of Stingaree Bay are ready for this …’
‘Oh, I think they’re as ready as they’ll ever be.’
‘As you wish.’
The late summer afternoon progressed, the music swelled and echoed around the Dell, the sharp metallic patter of banjo arpeggios intertwined with the bittersweet song of Anna’s fiddle. Shadows lengthened and a small, curious knot of walkers gathered at the Lookout, craning and peering in vain after the hidden musicians.
Thank you for reading! Next week in Stingaree Bay:
Chapter 6: Rock My Boat
Tony’s new project starts to take shape.
All chapters of Stingaree Bay will appear in this list when published.
