a sprightly eighty-two-year-old, started singing ‘Lily of the Lamplight.’
Steve, looking disappointed, then asked. “Do you know any rock ‘n’ roll?”
Charles looked at the three. “No, sorry, I know some older tunes, but mainly classical music and opera.”
Steve frowned and he, Wayne, and Elvin stood back and talked amongst themselves.
Charles again tinkled on the piano keys and played a short Mozart piece. He stopped when Mabel came over and interrupted him. She barraged him with requests, so he played, ‘White Cliffs of Dover’ with Mabel shrieking along.
Steve then put his hand on Charles’s shoulder and with a mischievous grin, and through Mabel’s toneless warbles, said, “Don’t worry Charlie boy, me and the lads still have high hopes for you.”
Charles watched as Steve, Elvin, and Wayne went over to a room, unlocked the door, and went inside.
With Charles trying to match chords with Mabel’s screeching, the three emerged from the room several minutes later.
Steve carried a beaten-up guitar, a small Marshall speaker/amp, and a microphone stand. Elvin had a large double bass, and Wayne carried over two round drum cases.
Mabel stopped screeching and gasped.
Charles saw a look of horror on the faces of the residents in the recreation room as the three came over to him. Steve plugged in his microphone and set up the stand. Wayne set up his drums, while Elvin tuned his old double bass.
The room plunged into panic as Steve adjusted the microphone stand. He tapped the microphone, and after a dull thump came from the speaker, he stood with the devil’s glint in his eye and snarled. “Right you old fogeys,” he paused for effect as the crowd trembled and he growled. “Strat’s back!”
Mabel shrieked and Ethel ran around trailing toilet tissue, while boring Bill headed for the door. Wally, another resident, made a desperate plea,
“Somebody get Chewy... and hurry!”
Steve plugged in his guitar and took a plectrum from his wallet. “Here’s my old faithful,” he said, showing Charles the old plastic plectrum with an ‘S’ hand-painted both sides.
Elvin stood to the side of his large bass and Wayne sat behind his drums, all smiling as the panicking residents rushed out of the room.
Charles sat at his piano looking confused as Mrs Chew rushed in and hurried over to the four.
She glared at Steve and shouted, “I told you not to set up again after the last incident. Don’t you remember our previous conversation?”
Steve smiled and said, “Just making our new friend feel at home, besides, the rec room’s empty, so we aren’t disturbing anybody.”
Mrs Chew became exasperated and yelled, “It’s empty because you scared everybody away, the same as before.”
Steve chuckled and told her. “This time it will be different. We are playing along with Charlie’s classical shit.” He turned to Charles and said. “Play her some of your music, Charlie boy.”
Charles, looking dumbfounded, played Debussy’s, ‘Clair de lune.’
Mrs Chew stood with her hands on her hips and listened to Charles play the melodic tune. She knew Steve was manipulating her yet again, but he was the boss’s father, so she couldn’t say anything.
Glowering at the smiling Steve, she snapped, “You have one hour and then be out of here.” She glared at the four and stormed out of the recreation room.
“Good, now Chewy’s pissed off, now we can start,” said Steve and grinned at Charles, “Okay Charlie boy, you can stop playing that crap and we can get down to playing serious music... Rock ‘n’ Roll.”
Steve sang and pouted like a bald teenager as he played, ‘Johnny ‘B’ good.’ He rocked away like a space-hopper on steroids.
Elvin struggled to pluck his double bass because he hadn't put on his ‘little falsies.’ Wayne rocked back and forth, thumping out a beat on his drums, but unfortunately not for the same song.
Charles sat at his piano while they banged out their rendition of the rock ‘n’ roll classic. He grimaced as he listened and thought he could feel his eardrums bleed. This wasn’t music to his ears; it sounded more like cats being murdered. He understood why the others had panicked in the desperate need to escape.
Fortunately, Charles’s torture only lasted several minutes as the three finished and looked at him.
“Well, what do you think Charlie, could you add something to make any improvements?” asked Steve, looking pleased.
A shotgun came into Charles’s mind as he looked at the smiling faces of the proud wrinkled rockers. He recalled what Mary always told him about not being good or bad music, only music that people either liked or disliked.
“Hmm, perhaps you need to all come together with a little more harmony. You need a little structure.” He replied.
The three nodded and smiled at each other.
“Can you ‘elp us with that?” Elvin asked.
Steve interrupted, “Yeah Charlie boy, you can help us and join our band. We will give yer a cool stage name.”
Charles knew this would be a challenge but relished having something to keep him interested with this motley band of geriatrics and thought it could be fun. He smiled and said, “Maybe I can help, but please don’t call me Charlie.”
“What do you want us to call you?” Steve asked.
“My name is Charles, so how about you call me, Charles.”
Steve laughed. “I’m known as ‘Strat’, Elvin's ‘Chippers’ and deaf boy over there,” he said pointing to Wayne, “Sticks, so we can’t just call you boring old Charles,” said Steve.
“‘Ow about Nobby?” interrupted Elvin.
The three looked at Elvin and asked, “What?”
“Nobby,” repeated Elvin, and explained, “In the military, anyone with the surname, ‘Clark,’ was always called ‘*Nobby’ Clark.”
Charles remembered from his childhood how he had heard people refer to his father as, Major ‘Nobby’ Clark, although unsure why.
Charles pondered, looked into the faces of the excited old rockers, scratched his chin, smiled, and said, “Okay, Nobby it is then.”
The three cheered and patted Charles on the back. “Welcome aboard, Nobby,” said Elvin, and walked back to the small room.
“He’s gone to get his falsies,” said Wayne as Elvin returned carrying an old holdall.
Charles watched Elvin fitting homemade prosthetics to his digitally challenged hands.
“I
