The Rattlers were one of the main reasons for me to move to London; they were an up and coming jazz band and my mate from college, Paul Schofield had given me invite to join the oddly named band. I saw this as an opportunity; to flee, more than anything from the old foes, familiar places and the ailing loves. My childhood had left impregnable marks on me that forced me to stay away from any form of commitment. I’d voyaged to a new place, seeking to find new people, and to ignite my music career. We started out playing jigs at small pubs, and it was at one of those jigs that I’d met her. She would arrive at all of our jigs, wherever we played. ...
We started chatting, first about music, then poetry, and about life. I was a struggling artiste and she was a scholar of music, we would talk through the night and into the day and it wasn’t long before both of us pledged our affection for each other. Kaydence was born to an Italian father and an Irish mother. Her dad was a part time musician and her mom was someone who adored music and musicians. Her mom’s relatives were active members of the IRA which had forced her to grow up under very gruesome circumstances. This had transformed her into a tough woman with an ardent love for music.
I felt trapped inside my own body, I wanted to be liberated. I wanted to fly, just once, but all I could see were closed doors. My body had become considerably weak. I had trouble even lifting my head up. And watching over me carefully was an angel. She was the kind of sight that could even melt someone as emotionless as me. “Mom” she called out, “he’s awake”. Kay stood right beside her hubby, his face as cold as stone. The little angel and Kay’s husband left us both to catch up.
“Why are you here? Why have you come back?” enquired Kay’s frail voice.