Dreamcatcher

Kraig

Kraig the Keys had just given a final chromatic flourish on “Toxic in the style of Debussy”. A toddler had arabesqued around the square, pulling at her family until they did the same, whilst three millennials stood by, gripping each others’ arms, as if he was transmogrifying into Britney Spears herself. Success.

He saw Suzanna edge into his periphery - he’d known he was pushing it with the last couple, all right, several songs.

‘I think that’s four encore’s worth,’ she said with a smile. She was drinking mint tea from a mug with an onyx set in the side. That meant resilience.

‘Fair’s fair, he said, closing the piano lid. He motioned to The Dreamcatcher Cafe, behind her.

‘You shut up shop for today, then?’ She nodded.

He patted the piano stool. ‘Heading my way?’

They both knew there was only really room for one more bum cheek on that seat, but they also both knew she’d done the necessary squeezing in the past, and autumn had just about enough warmth left in it to be a pleasant escort home.

The eponymous Keys were not just any old street Joanna, just like Kraig was not just any old busker. The Keys were motorised, and they provided the only way Kraig could take his legendary act on the road. The Keys were no tour bus, so they limited him to being strictly, and happily, local. He mostly set up shop outside The Dreamcatcher. Kraig didn’t do bells and whistles, he didn’t do card payments, and he didn’t do toothpaste, but what he did do was keys on wheels and note-perfect fusions on request. Whatever the people of Finchester wanted. The only outgoings from his bank were for Keys maintenance and his Spotify account - you can’t send up Pink Pony Club if you don’t know the words.

He picked up his collection pot. Two coins fell out, rolling down the pavement. He decided not to chase them. They were gravity’s now.

'Maybe I’ll take a pew,' she said, her wrap skirt skimming the ground as she swooped for the coins, successfully. 'Tell me, what was the wildest request today?'

‘Wildest?’ He puffed his cheeks. ‘One lad wanted Baby Shark in the style of Metallica, for his nephew. I rammed up the volume and by the end it didn’t really seem like they were “safe at last” so I changed it to “munch munch munch, ha ha ha ha ha ha”. Then I drove The Keys at him. They loved it.’

Suzanna winced. ‘And - your tips?’

‘Pretty good,’ he said, but as she took the bag to pop in the escaped coins, he could see she was testing its weight, eyes narrowed.

‘All right Ebenezer,’ he said. ‘You know, it’s a fact that in the ancient Egyptian afterlife, they weighed their hearts and wanted them light.’

‘A light collection pot doesn’t keep you in ham sandwiches,’ she said.

‘You know me, Suz,’ he said, taking back the tips. ‘I get paid in stories, smiles. In the grand scheme of things, that’s what matters, innit? I’d rather make the days of the whole of Finchester, rather than make a mint.’

She said nothing, instead taking a sip from the onyx mug.

‘Oi! Kraig the Keys!’

When Kraig was younger, young men trying to impress somebody used to walk funny, like they were trying to keep their trousers up without a belt. He never noticed when they’d stopped doing that. This kid had a bag strapped round him like a Boy Scout sash, and the swagger was nonexistent - but something about him still wore the need to be impressive. He’d been hanging around all day. He hoped he wasn’t chasing a loan.

‘I’m Maz,’ he said, holding out his hand. He did not introduce himself to Suzanna.

‘I’m just down for the day, and I got some clips of you earlier. Slipknot but done in like, old-timey, er -’

‘Ragtime,’ said Kraig.

‘Ragtime,’ he pointed, as if he’d known it all along. ‘Already flying on my socials. Proper blowing up.’

‘Who’s that with, then?’ asked Suzanna, raising an eyebrow. ‘I’m guessing it’s not just your mum and your nan giving it a like.’

He snorted.

‘I’m Maz Tings,’ he said, then paused. ‘Lifestyle stuff. Twenty thousand followers. And they’re going nuts for you.’

He held out the phone for Kraig, scrolling through his comments, endless hearts and flame emojis.

Kraig whistled. ‘Twenty thousand?’ He tapped Suzanna’s shoulder. ‘Watch out, Suz. I don’t think you’ve made enough matcha cookies for this kind of crowd.’

‘Listen,’ said Maz. ‘If you’ve got a sec, I think there’s something in this. You up for a drink? Weathervane?’

Suzanna gestured to her café door. ‘Or you could sit in here.’

Maz wrinkled his nose. ‘Thanks, but … not my scene.’ He looked at Kraig. ‘I’m paying.’

Kraig considered this. ‘Go on then, son,’ he said. ‘Haven’t been in the Weathervane since I was a choirboy. Lead the way.’

‘Hold on,’ said Suzanna. ‘Let me get my amethyst.’

Maz

The Weathervane had the right look for a guy who’d seen better days. It was a converted church, now a bar, with the original features - cross, altar, organ - lit in neon. Mashup, just like Kraig himself - Maz was pleased with that one. His brand management channel of choice, Mimi the influencer’s influencer, said you had to have a good mise en scène. He’d mised this scène, and some more.

‘What you drinking, bruv?’ he asked.

‘Lime and soda,’ Kraig said.

Suzanna ordered a decaf cappuccino with noisette syrup - ‘the sugar free version, and chocolate dusting on top’ she added.

He nodded, edging away before she’d even finished, knowing that this place hadn’t served a coffee since its previous life - and even then it would’ve been a few sad granules in a polystyrene cup. At the bar, he wondered about what might make an impression. Get them off to a good start. Be fab for a collab, said Mimi.

He returned to the table with a bottle of pink fizz in a bucket, and as many glasses as he could hold. Two. Suzanna grabbed herself a water.

Have a line ready, said Mimi. Even when you’re offline, you’re broadcasting.

‘So yeah,’ Maz said, leaning in. ‘Marcus Aurelius. You know him? Ancient philosopher guy. Said, “A man’s worth is no greater than his ambitions”. That’s the energy I see in you. Big ambitions.’

Kraig squinted at him. ‘Do I look like I went to school?’

Maz laughed loudly. Suzanna gave a flicker of a smile, exchanged with Kraig - who was she? The wife, maybe? Feather earrings and dreamcatcher necklace - probably thought smartphones fried your brain.

‘Are you married?’ he asked, looking between them.

At this, Kraig laughed outright, but she didn’t.

‘Don’t know if you’ve noticed, son,’ he said, ‘but she’s a goddess, and I live in me mate’s garage.’

She met his eyes. ‘I’m a friend, who cares,’ she said.

‘Right,’ said Maz, brushing off his face-plant. ‘What I mean, with the Aurelius thing, is you’re bigger than Finchester. I’m talking viral. Don’t forget - twenty thousand followers. We could blow this up.’

‘Twenty K?’ Kraig sat back, doing the maths. ‘That’s Finchester plus the pigeons.’

Suzanna took a stirrer to the ice cubes in her water. ‘It’s a little less.’

‘You’d just need to be yourself,’ said Maz, warming to the pitch. ‘Do your sick thing - plus stories. That’s where I come in. Matching the music to the stories. Mad stuff, the kind people love to share. The crazier, the better.’

Do your homework, Mimi said. What do you have on your hands? A skit, a heartwarmer, or rage-bait? You don’t want to be on the wrong side of the algorithm.

Kraig took a gulp of the pink fizz and started to regale Maz. The stories were good. The guy had a sense of humour - when he saw the police chasing someone down the street, he’d launch into a bit of what he described as ‘plinky plonk capers’. He’d been asked for all sorts. Papa Roach in the style of Enya for a wedding proposal. Time to Say Goodbye like Mika, sung to by a chorus of students, on their last night in the city. Happy birthday a la Rachmaninoff. Kraig said he’d taught himself to play on a broken toy keyboard while flicking between Radios 1, 2 and 3, and instead of school, he busked with it until he earned enough for a piano. Maz nodded along, hearing the shape of the edit before he’d even finished.

Kraig had drunk so much fizz that Maz knew he must be inching into his overdraft. He regretted keeping it topped up once it became clear Kraig was all over it. Still, he kept it coming. Suzanna just sipped water - thank god - although what kudos she gained for her drinking habits, she lost by being a complete and utter buzzkill.

By the time the bar called last orders he could already see the package: hook, arc, hashtags. Meet Kraig the Keys: the man who kracked a city’s smile. Yeah. That worked. Sure - the heartwarming content wasn’t as clickable as controversy. But this guy was an open book - he wasn’t giving even a hint of hypocrisy, secrecy, outrage. What he did have was talent as neverending as the infinite scroll, and Maz could see the endless opportunities which lay, just beyond.

Suzanna

Before they left, Maz insisted on a photo. He framed Kraig on the altar, the crucifix still in place, glowing pink under the neon. Suzanna stayed at the table, turning her amethyst over between her fingers.

Kraig’s aura had been green all day. Mint green only meant good things for him. She always noticed it when he was at his best: riffing off the suggestions from passers-by, giving the crowd a story and surprising even himself with his own virtuosity.

Maz had offered him all the body language of someone who was listening - wide eyes, lots of nodding - but his aura was the dullest blue-grey. Strange that one who wanted to be a professional observer could miss almost everything.

It wasn’t her place to fill in what Kraig missed out.

She’d seen the flat he’d lost, the opportunities he’d slept through, the women he never slept with, let alone start up anything more serious. She wanted Maz to ask, ‘Why do you live in your friend’s garage?’, but of course he didn’t.

Over at the altar, Kraig sang a verse of “The Lord is my Shepherd” in the style of the Bodyform advertisement, as though Jesus himself had passed down a request.

She’d been so proud of him when he’d ordered lime and soda - and then they got ambushed by the pink fizz.

She liked to have imagined that there was a moment’s hesitation from Kraig before he downed that first glass in one, but had to admit that it was probably a wishful fantasy. Born of some naive hope. If even she hadn’t seen so much as a flicker of a reaction, it was probably uncharitable to expect Maz to see a whole lifetime in an instant.

Kraig was looking at Maz like he was already front page news on the Finchester Forum. Maybe Maz would actually turn up outside Dreamcatcher, to do some filming. Suzanna knew where Kraig would be, tomorrow. She’d make him a little care package and take it round to the garage.

“A man’s worth is no greater than his ambitions” goes the phrase. Some ambitions look small to some - so small perhaps they’re infinitesimal, impossible to be counted in likes, or followers, or lit up in splashy neon signs. It wasn’t even really Kraig’s ambition, anyway. It was hers, for him - just to have the strength to say no.

Am ambition which had gone, fizz and all, from that glass.