The Darlings

The Darlings

So, I was seeing this woman for a while who was in and out of the music business. She once married a man who was in a band who will forever be our second favourite reprobative darlings. She had kids by him, two. A boy and a girl. Nice kids. Their marriage ended with a smashed glass of whiskey and that was that. 

She sang herself and had a fair voice. A warm drawl that was too syrupy to cut through with the required drama. She knew how to wear a cowboy hat though, how to disarm us with her Florida white teeth and “You ain’t going nowhere.” eyes. Our relationship was light, nothing serious. I was a meek cowbell player in the scheme of things, and she was always looking for someone who could put their boots on the monitor, kick some of their shit around the stage with ferocious feedback. I was a rock and roll nobody. I knew my little place.

She called one Friday summer morning, said that we were going to see her friend’s band who were on the bill at Hyde Park. I knew of the band. A one hit wonder from down under who somehow managed to keep their cultish cool for s few years. We arrived, hung out backstage for a while and then went to a restaurant with them. A Greek place near Whitehall. It was ok for a bit, I kept quiet and just listened to the conversation about a possible tour of Canada. Her phone bleeped, she looked at the message and said she had to go, which she did within seconds. She left me with this bemused band and the plates of pitta, olives, and hummus. The boys and me had nothing to say to each other. I asked them about a new album, and they just stared into the middle distance, nursing their non-alcoholic beers.

The next day she called me again. She said that last night’s text message was from the bass player of our forever first favourite reprobative darlings, and because of this, she had to go on a mercy mission to a mansion in Kentish Town. There was no apology except to say this was the way things were for her. She asked would I like to go to hers for dinner tonight. To be there at about 8pm. It would be text dependent though. She went on to say, "Whatever happens, my kids could do with the company."