Fossils. Robert A. Webster

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 will sound better playing with these on,” said Elvin, waving his small Edward Scissorhands-Esque attachments. One had an index finger and a thumb-shaped object set at various angles, which Charles noticed was the perfect shape and design for plucking the strings of the double bass. His left-hand prosthetic was just one small tube, which looked ideal for covering the fret strings at the neck of the instrument. 'Ingenious,' thought Charles.

      Elvin, noticing Charles’s interest, said. “These are me little falsies. I made a few of these for different occasions. These are my ‘bass falsies’. I also have me 'eating falsies,' 'card-playing falsies,' 'lady pleasing falsies,’ and many more, which I will show you in the fullness of time,” said Elvin in his cheery cockney twang.

      Charles looked at Elvin’s tatty old instrument and asked. “That’s a Flores, isn't it?”

      Elvin, impressed by Charles’s knowledge, told him, “Yeah, a Flores Midnight double bass, which I bought many years ago when I saw it advertised for sale. Although dilapidated and 'eld together by woodworm holding hands, I fell in love with the tatty old instrument, so I got it restored. I always loved playing the double bass and learned to play years ago before I lost me fingers.” He again held up his hands displaying his falsies and proudly announced. “And fanks to these, I still can.”

      Charles winced and hoped Elvin would not play again.

      The four old musicians stood by the side of Charles’s piano and Steve said, “Well lads, we still have thirty- minutes before Chewy finished ironing her wrinkles and chases us out, so what shall we play?”

      The others chuckled and Elvin replied. “Perhaps Nobby could suggest somefin.”

      Charles cringed. He looked at the eager trio and suggested. “I suppose our first step would be to find something that we can all play together. I don’t know any rock music and I don’t imagine you have sheet music for me to follow, so maybe we start with the basics.”

      “Sheet music,” said Steve. “I don’t reckon that any of us can even read sheet music,” he laughed.

      “I can,” said Elvin sounding wistful.

      “Me too,” said Wayne. “I have also written a few songs.”

      Steve looked shocked; he had known Wayne for almost two years and never suspected that this old Canadian had any musical education.

      “You’re a dark horse, Wayne Logan,” said Steve and grinned.

      “Perhaps I could look at your songs, Wayne. We may as well learn them,” said Charles.

      “What?” asked Wayne.

      Charles repeated his request but spoke louder.

      “Okay,” said Wayne “They are in my room, so maybe tomorrow.”

      Charles wanted to find out more about his new friends, partly because he was interested, but more importantly, because he wanted to fill the remaining time to stop them playing more awful, eardrum-bleeding noise.

      “Are any of you married?” Charles asked.

      “No,” said Elvin, and sighed. “My wife passed away four years