Cardboard Cowboys by Brian Conaghan

Author:Brian Conaghan [Conaghan, Brian]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781526628619
Publisher: Bloomsbury Publishing
Published: 2021-02-16T00:00:00+00:00

Inside Bruce’s cardboard gaff I practise with my back to him. Down on my hunkers. Staring at the ground, imagining that I’m alone in my room. Doesn’t work, I know he’s behind me.

He strums our first number. What’s coming out my mouth sounds strange though, not me.

‘Stand up and stretch your diaphragm,’ he says. ‘It’ll make things easier.’

I climb to my feet, delighted with myself that I know what a diaphragm is, and what it does. Listening in school comes in handy sometimes.

‘And best to face me as well, just to see what I’m doing.’

He doesn’t look at me when I sing, which helps with the embarrassment stakes.

Bruce has diamond fingers, the man can play anything I ask. And I mean anything, even songs he doesn’t know. If I sing or hum the tune, he just follows me; the guy’s a jukebox, a walking YouTube.

He makes me do breathing exercises.

‘In through the nose, out through the mouth.’

It’s all a bit of a red neck for me, but you know what? It works. My voice sounds animal. It’s desperate to sing.

‘In for five, out for five,’ he says. ‘Shoulders back. Chest out.’

Wonder if Patsy Cline, Loretta Lynn, Billie Jo Spears or Johnny Cash had to do the in/out five-second breathing challenge? I’d wager not.

‘You’ve a voice in there, kiddo.’

‘No joke?’

‘It’s stunning. Believe me.’

SHUCKS!

Blush.

Finger twist on cheek.

One foot pivot.

It’s hard to know what to do with a compliment. Feels lush on the inside but weird on the outside. Do you say Thanks? Or Oh, shut up? I’d like to say, Can you say that again, Bruce, ten times in a row please? I file his compliment away for a time when I’ll need it most; bring it out when someone yanks the rug from under my feet again.

‘You should be proud of yourself,’ he says.

My face flushes; it’s roasting in his gaff.

‘Think we’ve enough songs?’ I ask.

‘More than enough.’

‘I’m nervous now.’

‘I’ll look after you out there.’

‘OK.’

‘Right, all set?’

I do one final in/out five-seconder as he’s packing his guitar in the case.

‘All set,’ I say.

‘OK, let’s go make ourselves some fast cash.’

We’re ready, not exactly T in the Park ready, but enough to hit the Main Street.

‘What do we call ourselves, Bruce?’ He gives me the confused face. ‘As a band name, I mean?’

‘Oh, that’s easy.’

‘It is?’

‘It’s simple, look where we’ve been practising and think about the songs we’re going to be playing. Our band name is easy.’ He pauses and clown-wiggles his eyebrows up and down. ‘We’re called Cardboard Cowboys.’

I let it sit. See it in lights. On billboards. Online.

‘Cardboard Cowboys,’ I mutter out loud.

‘That’s us.’

‘Cardboard Cowboys,’ I say again. ‘I like it, makes loads of sense.’

Bruce friendly-slaps my shoulder. ‘Let’s do it, kiddo.’

‘Let’s do it, Batman.’

YOU WANT SOME OF THIS, MAIN STREET?

YOU WANT SOME?

COME ON, WHO’S WITH ME?

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