Fear

Chapitre 2: Rencontres

Living with my dad turned out to be easier than I thought. I was at the studio most of the time, and my free hours were spent in the field at the end of the street, reading. Katelyne was often over her friend's house, leaving me our tiny room for myself, but I missed the quietness and serenity of my mom's country home, and staying inside the small townhouse had proved to be suffocating. I was lucky there even was this kind of land in the neighbourhood, and I was fully aware that I could never find an affordable flat that would provide me this outdoor enjoyment of mine. London was a very urban city, therefore very populated; far from what I was used to in the countryside.

My new job was much more enjoyable than the one back at home, however. In Gloucestershire, I worked in a small bakery owned by my only friend's parents, Maisy. I was too shy to work as a cashier and was therefore always assigned to baking duty, something that I had grown to despise after a few years. My task in the studio was simple and quite versatile; assist the record producer in his daily routine. Tyler had showed me around before he quit, but due to my experience in the music industry, all from my dad, he didn't have much to say. It was under my skin already, in my blood.

Surprisingly, I was able to make a new friend: Martha. At 55 years old, she was quite older than the average sound engineer, but she was better than anybody else for the job. She was very sociable, loud, and eccentric, but very endearing. The youngest of her three sons had just left her home to live with his girlfriend, and she seemed in need of someone else to take care of, which was perfect because I missed a maternal figure. Although Claire was very nice, she didn't have the kind of comforting aura that made me want to confess anything to her; not like Martha had. I often returned home with home-baked goods and a mind full of wise advises on life. She always tried to make me talk about myself, and include me in her conversations with other employees and artists to break me out of my shell, but not as a psychologist would do. She made my days so much better, and I knew that without her help I wouldn't be talking to anyone in the studio, or really enjoying my job.

"Can I come with you to work today ? Please, I don't have school anyway," I heard Katelyne ask my father, well,more like beg. I immediately raised my head from the box of cereals I was absently staring at to look at the exchange, partly because it was still weird for me to hear my step-sister talk to my dad like that. During the past few weeks, I had had a feeling that Katelyne and him were closer than me to him, something I was still not sure on how to take it. More evidently, Katelyne was still a sixteen years old teenager; why in the world would she find interest in her step-father's job?

He sighed, taking a sip of his dark Colombian coffee and adjusting his tie as he answered:

"You know I can't do that, Kate. It would be very unprofessional of me, plus you know those reunions are kept confidential."

Katelyne let out a deceived breath, pouting a little before addressing my father again.

"I know, I'm sorry" she looked discouraged, and I had the feeling it wasn't the first time that conversation was brought in.

"I will ask an autographed album for you when it's done, alright?" When she nodded, he continued more enthusiastically: "How do you even now they were coming today?"

As she ranted on about what her friend saw on the net, I decided it was time for me to finish my breakfast. After putting my bowl in the dishwasher, I turned to them again.

"Who are you talking about? What is so special at wor-rk to-today-y?" My speech became unclear as Katelyn looked at me, my breath hitching and my voice stuttering. I was still not used to talking to her.

"Robert didn't tell you about it?" Dad asked, startled.

Robert was the record producer whom I worked with. He wasn't a very organized person, and often forgot to tell me important events before they happen, which is sometimes frustrating for me, being an agenda kind of person,