Fran has a tried-and-tested solution for dealing with her problems: run away.
And despite what the self-help books say, it's worked pretty well up until now. "Now" referring to her hiding in the seaside town of Seacombe until the end of summer, and...
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"Hey, everyone," Fran said, shifting slightly on the stool in the centre of the stage. Her fingers tapped against the guitar body, balanced on her knees. Her eyes kept instinctively rifling through the crowd, trying to catch her mum's face, and coming up blank each time.
She'd told herself to sound enthusiastic, but she couldn't muster the energy to make it convincing. This was so typical of her. After getting her hopes up, even after Fran had told her this was important, she still hadn't showed up when it mattered. At this point, Fran wasn't even angry. She just felt hollow, empty, like she'd done everything she could do at this point. She had nothing left to give.
"Um, thanks for coming. I hope you've enjoyed the evening so far. If you haven't, we're wrapping up soon, so bear with me."
A quiet laugh rippled through the crowd. She scanned the audience again. Her fingers hesitated against the strings. Was there really any point in playing if she wasn't there?
"I'm gonna play a song I wrote for...um, someone close to me," she continued. Perhaps if she stalled long enough, her mum would reappear, and everything would work out alright. She knew she didn't believe it, but she had to try and think positive, at least until the end of this song. And then she could find somewhere outside, alone, and cry or scream or whatever the choking feeling in her throat wanted her to do.
Someone in the crowd coughed, jolting her out her thoughts. "Sorry," she said. "Um...I hope you like it..."
She let her fingers work the chords into the strings. She'd only played the song through once or twice, so she still hadn't gotten used to it. It felt a little foreign, which she thought was quite ironic.
"There's a stranger standing where you used to be," she began. Her voice was a little hoarse from the cheering and low with misery. She hardly recognised it. "The reflection of someone once precious to me.
"And you say you don't remember, but I still do.
I'm a locket, keeping the memories safe for you.
'Cause you left a part of yourself when he walked away
And a part of me stayed there with her.
So maybe we're both lost, and maybe you're okay
With that. You always were."
"You say you don't remember, but I still do:
Singing to a room full of people I never knew.
All those times I was really singing for you..."
Her voice wavered a little. She felt like she was playing out all these scenes from the past again, living each old letdown anew. Each memory led to another one, and then another, spilling out over her words. Things she'd tried to forget, to reason away. Why? She thought bitterly. What could possibly be so important she couldn't have come?
