Chapter 5
My phone screen goes dark for a second, before clicking through to the official Fable website.
The countdown clock which got everyone at school so excited is gone, replaced by a video with the words “live stream” flashing in the top left corner of the screen. There’s a live chat window on the right, and at the top it says “6,907,9871 watching now”. The numbers change before my eyes, and within a few seconds it’s over seven million and rising. The comments in the chat stream are going too fast to read, racing by in a blur as hundreds of thousands of Enfablers type out futile messages to the band, in the hopes that somehow the boys might see their words. I turn my attention back to the video. It takes me a moment to figure out what I’m seeing.
At first the shot is blurry and out of focus - it looks like a pale star-shape in a slate grey sky. Gradually, the scene comes into focus, and I can make out an aerial shot of seven streets converging on a central point - a traffic circle with a sort of monument or statue in the centre. The seven cobblestone streets seem to radiate out from the monument, creating the star-like design. The shot is hovering at birds-eye-view, the tops of buildings laid out like a patchwork quilt of mossy green domes and oaken grey shingled roofs and sunlit glass, glimmering in the morning twilight. It looks like it’s somewhere in Europe, or maybe the UK - but definitely not Portland.
Whoever or whatever is filming the scene - a drone probably - suddenly swoops down, closing in on the traffic circle, until it’s hovering just a few meters above the central monument. The camera slowly pivots around the magnificent structure, giving me a 360 degree view.
It’s so beautiful that I gasp and bring my phone closer to my face.
The monument looks like something out of a fairytale. Upon a stepped stone dais crowded with people, a stately column stretches into the sky, higher than the treetops, bearing six periwinkle blue sundials and topped by a slender spire glowing fiery white in the morning light. At the very top of the spire is a lovely gilded ball, bright as a harvest moon.
There’s a murmur of background sound, like the soft buzz of a waiting crowd. Distant cars, traffic, birdsong, commuters on their way to work. The gentle whispers of the waking city.
Amongst the stream of live chat messages racing past on the side of the screen, one phrase seems to be repeating over and over.
Hannah R: That’s Seven Dials in Covent Garden I went there last yr
Lilli Heart: 7 dials
Enafbler4eva84: Seven Dials London!!! :D
Ben is Mine99: NOTICE ME SENPAI! BENBENBENBENBENBENBENBENBENBEN
Alastaire’s Angel: Camden West End Seven Dials
Lyall’s girl: SECRET CONCERT
L Celli: OMG fml they are in the west end i’m in the east end ;( how can i get to seven dials?
I turn my attention back to the video. The camera pulls away, and the crowd of people pulls back from the monument to reveal a strange set-up - a sort of makeshift stage set up on the stone steps. I can just make out a tangle of electrical wires and cables snaking all over the ground, leading to two huge guitar amps. A white electric guitar, embellished with two silver angel wings on the scratch-plate, is leaning against one of the amps; a grey base guitar is propped up against the other one. There’s a dark green electric keyboard, a bright red drum kit and a mic stand front and centre.
I’d know that set up anywhere.
This is Fable’s stage. And they’re about to play.
Fable.
I let out a little shriek of excitement, probably loud enough for my parents to hear from their bedroom. I quickly hide my phone under the covers in case one of them comes to investigate. It wouldn’t be the first time I scream out at something on my phone in the middle of the night, giving them both a minor heart attack in the process. I listen out for footsteps, but the dark hallway beyond my bedroom is dead quiet.
Of course. It’s Friday night. Or, actually, super early Saturday morning. It’s not unheard of for them to be home from the restaurant well past 1am after the big Friday night rush, depending on how much help they have with closing up.
I’m alone.
For now.
By the time I turn my attention back to the phone screen, the boys have taken to the stage. A quick shudder of some unwelcome emotion - Fear? Grief? Excitement? - runs through me like a chill.
I feel my eyes prickling with tears as I take it all in.
There’s Elliot in sporty cargo trousers, a tan leather jacket and a plain white t-shirt, looking serious and stoic as ever, watching Ben fiddle with the high hat cymbals on his drum kit. I’m surprised to see that Ben is wearing a red hoodie emblazoned with a cartoon straw-hat-wearing skull and crossbones, the emblem from one of his favourite animes. He told me that the band’s manager at BYG Records was adamant that he should hide that “geeky” pop-culture loving part of his personality, so as not to mess with his cool bad boy image.
I guess the bigwigs at BYG realised that it’s actually possible to be both an anime fan and a bad ass? Good for them.
There’s a flash of rainbow colour, and I spot Lyall leaning over his keyboard in a ridiculous kaleidoscopic tie-dye t-shirt, denim jacket and skinny jeans combo, his wild mop of messy cinnamon-reddish hair pushed back in a headband. The hairstyle would look sporty on any other guy, but on Lyall it just looks stupid and adorable.
In contrast to Lyall’s decidedly unstylish (but super cute) outfit, Alastaire is looking as chic as ever in an elegant ivory two piece suit and tan oxford shoes. He lazily strums a few chords on his electric guitar, blowing a half-hearted kiss out into the small crowd of fans. His wavy golden hair looks longer in the front and shorter on the sides than I remembered it. A memory of some girls at school freaking out recently over pictures Alastaire’s new undercut springs to mind.
And in the middle of it all, staring directly at the camera, is Felix.
He’s dressed head to toe in black, wearing Dr Marten boots, skinny jeans and some sort of long hooded sweatshirt thing. As the camera moves, his gaze follows it, and a lock of his dark hair falls in front of his eyes for a moment. My fingers itch to reach into the screen, into that small lit-up world thousands of miles away, to push that lock of hair back, tuck it behind his ear, stare into those hazel eyes again and...
No. I can’t do this. I have to stop.
I’m about to fling my phone across the room when suddenly a familiar voice pipes up.
“Is that daft thing even recordin’?” Lyall whispers, leaning furtively over to Alastaire and staring fixedly up at the camera, which by now I’m certain is mounted on a drone. “Jeremy said they’d do the film on a crane thing-a-ma-jig, not some bloody creepy flyin’...”
Alastaire rolls his eyes and points to a small black microphone clipped to his lapel. He mouths out something silently, and I know exactly what he’s saying.
“We’re mic’d up, idiot. Remember? THEY. CAN. HEAR. YOU.”
Lyall’s big brown eyes go wide for a moment and he mouths “Oooops”, his cheeks flushing red as he smiles sheepishly up at the camera.
There’s some giggling and applause from the crowd, and then Felix steps forward, grabbing the mic. As he begins to speak, I notice that rather than looking down at the crowd, he’s looking up at the hovering drone. Straight into the camera. Straight into my eyes.
“Welcome to our secret unannounced unofficial concert,” he says, pausing as a roar of excitement rises from the crowd. “We’re only going to play one song for you. You haven’t heard it before. It’s the eighth song off our new album, Silversong, dropping on iTunes and Spotify at this very moment,” he says.
He shifts uneasily, continuing to stare up into the camera.
“But that’s not…” Here he pauses, and something dark passes over his expression, a moment of pain perhaps, or maybe regret. “I needed to reach you, and your phone is never on, and I want you to know…”
Alastaire suddenly looks alarmed and tries to wrestle the mic away from Felix, but Felix pushes him away.
“I want you to know…” he continues, “that I miss you.”
There’s a collective murmur of confusion from the crowd as they try to figure out whether this is all part of the show.
“WE miss you,” Alastaire interjects, grabbing the microphone from Felix and shouting into it way too loud and forcefully, even though he’s already mic’d up, causing a few seconds of screeching audio feedback. “We all do. Me most of all, obviously. In fact, if you would just answer your phone once-in-a-goddam-while Cupca-”
Felix literally snarls at him, forcing the mic out of Alastaire’s grip while muttering something about “the insufferable peacocking manslut',' the very existence of the waiting audience and the millions of lifestream viewers watching every moment apparently forgotten.
After a confused moment of silence, the crowd erupts in cheering, not knowing what the hell is going on but not caring.
“Are we doing this or not?” Ben shouts, raring to go as he lifts his drumsticks high in the air above his head.
“Let’s do it,” Elliot says, readying his base guitar.
“This is From the Ashes,” Felix says, shooting one final dirty look at Alastaire as Lyall begins to play the first notes of a hauntingly beautiful tune.
Elliot’s base joins the song, and the sombre rhythm of Ben’s drums flutter below like a heartbeat. Alastaire’s guitar wails a forlorn melody, giving way to the lifeblood of the band - Felix’s bewitching voice.
My arms prickle over with goosebumps as he begins to sing.
Why, my love, are your eyes so red?
Have you been crying again?
Do drowning ghosts blaze in your eyes
Or is that fire in them?
Do not cry, it won’t be long
’Til we’re joined as one
Though the flame is burning low
Our journey’s just begun.
Like a Phoenix
Rising from the ashes
This love lives forever
Every lifetime, our flame grows stronger
This love lives forever.
You’ve had more pain and cried more tears
Than most people have in all their years
You’ve shed more tears than the whole green sea
Don’t drown in it love - swim to me.
At this point in the song, the other boys join in and begin to sing - something totally unheard of for Fable. I didn’t even know the others could sing.
Their voices rise in harmony as they sing the final verse together as a group.
Like a Phoenix
Rising from the ashes
This love lives forever
Every lifetime, our flame grows stronger
This love lives forever.
This love lives forever.
There are a few seconds of stunned silence as the final note fades away, followed by raucous cheering from the crowd.
The final song I recorded with the boys for their new album before they left Portland was Shadowbound, the seventh song. Between now and then, they wrote this one. And I have no doubt to whom the song is addressed.
A light prickling hums in my chest, over my scar, pins and needles, a memory of pain resurfacing.
The crowd has started to chant “FABLE - FABLE - FABLE”, growing louder and louder. Felix is still staring straight into the camera, ignoring the fans. He speaks into the mic one final time.
“Answer your phone,” he says.
At that moment, the live feed ends, and the video is replaced with an advert for Fable’s new album.
With shaking hands, I drop my phone onto the bed, and I realise that I’m crying. I try to stifle the silent sobs, but I can’t. The grief pours out of me like an ocean of sadness.
The loss of what I had, what I’ve given up, finally hits me in full.
I have to stay away from them. It’s the only way to save Fable, and to save myself.
But life without them… I might as well be dead.
I bury my face in my pillow and sob into it until I hear the faint, insistent buzz of my phone, the silvery glow from the screen flickering in the darkness out of the corner of my eye.
Someone’s calling me. It doesn’t matter who.
I can’t answer it. I won’t.
I turn away, trying to ignore it.
The phone continues to vibrate. On and on, relentlessly, until I can’t take it anymore.
I turn around and pick it up to turn the damn thing off. Looking down at the screen, I see that the call is coming from a private number - probably the same person that sent me the link to the concert live stream.
I’m about to reject the call, but a moment before my finger touches down on the little red phone icon, I get this feeling.
Just like the feeling I got the first time I felt Felix’s eyes watching me from the back of the room as I performed at The Night Owl, the night we met. The same feeling I got before I agreed to help the band with their album, and before I stepped into that mysterious cabin in the forest.
A feeling of dread, and trepidation, and fear - but more than that - a feeling of resolve. Steadfastness. Fate. Destiny. Things falling into place.
The silvery threads of starlight pulling me back into the net, the web, the vast timeless tapestry.
I know what I need to do.
I answer the phone.