text: Alex woke up one morning with a tune in his head. It was there when he took his morning shower, drank his coffee, walked his daughter to school and when he drove to work. He tried to place it, but couldn’t. At every opportunity he would listen to the radio in the hope that the song would come on, then he would be able to file it away in a drawer in the recesses of his mind and just have done with it. Three weeks had passed since the song first entered his mind and its origin was still unclear. He wasn’t only listening to the radio now. When he finished work of an evening, he would dash home, pull his headphones over his ears and trawl through playlist after random playlist. Often Alex would take his dinner in his study and stay there until he dozed off. He forfeited time with his daughter Lula, his wife Lucille and with his bed (which didn’t have a name) until he came to the conclusion that this wasn’t a song he had heard before - it was an Alex original, and a damn fine one at that. After this realisation, he tried to bring himself back into the family fold but couldn’t help bringing the song with him into every interaction. He refused to put his Lula's music on when taking her to dance practice, instead he hummed his audio concoction. When pumping away at Lucille, he hummed it to her throughout. She could bite her lip no longer. “It’s nothing.” She said. “Just a steaming pile of nothing.” This hurt Alex, but it wasn’t her fault that she couldn’t understand. It’s just there was no way he could convey a tune so explosive yet subtle through the medium of humming. Alex had been told his voice was flat and boring on multiple occasions and to his mind, that was the reason behind his wife’s damning appraisal. He had to do something to get his wife, and on a larger scale, the universe, to sit up and take notice. He knew that this song, if done right, would be stitched into the fabric of musical history, much like Beethoven’s *Für Elise* or Olivia Newton-John’s *Physical*. If he somehow managed to create this song and truly do it justice then he could secure his family’s financial future. Sure, he’d have to put in the hard work now, having never picked up a musical instrument in his life. Maybe he’d have to sacrifice time with his family, but in the end, he was doing this for a brighter future together. Alex heard stories from an old high school teacher of his who taught taught Music before pivoting to PE. Tales of how brutal the music industry was, how people steal and snatch ideas. How agents, managers and A&R people are like leeches, each skimming their little bit off the top. Alex wasn’t going to have that. To do this right, he’d have to do this alone. He started to take lessons. Guitar lessons, bongo lessons, flute, accordion, triangle, mandolin; such was the crazy, tropical amalgam of sounds that would make this song a future classic. This took up the vast majority of his free time. He tried to spend at least one evening a week with his wife and daughter but it was worthless. He couldn’t focus on making them happy. His head had begun to throb with this tropical mixture in his head, like a grapefruity headache that would bend his skull out of shape if he didn’t manage to get it out of there. Between the months of lessons and the home studio Alex secretly constructed in the loft, the family savings were dwindling rapidly. He had found it difficult to give his wife plausible explanations about where the money was going. At first he blamed it on car repairs, then the cost of their Lula's dance lessons and then the unpredictable effects of Brexit. But he didn’t revel in lying to his wife, nor was he any good at it, so he ultimately cut down on talking to her full-stop. The following few months were difficult. Not only had he stopped talking to his wife, but he hardly spoke to his daughter either. He had quit his job to focus on the music lessons. He would have loved nothing more than to spend time with them, but the fear of letting something slip was too great. If Lucille knew what he was up to, she would most certainly stop him. He couldn’t jeopardise his family’s future. He had to push on. A matter of weeks later, Alex felt that he was approaching the final furlong. The end was in sight. He would record the track and everything would return to normal. He would apologise to his wife and his daughter for being so distant. He had visions of letting them into his secret studio, where they would gather around, listen and embrace. At that moment, Lucille entered the room. She lowered herself down next to him. He could see the toll that his divine musical quest was taking on her. But it would all be worth it. “I’m leaving.” She said. Alex turned to her in disbelief, sure that this was part of some strange game. She’d never mentioned being anything less than content, not that he could remember anyway. “Where are you Alex?” But then it dawned on him that this was no joke. Her voice was drenched in genuine sadness. “You haven’t spoken a word to me or your daughter in months. You missed her birthday, Christmas, our anniversary...” Her voice trailed off but she somehow managed to find it again. “I’ve lost you. I’ve tried so hard but I’ve *lost* you.” Alex heard the door to his study creak. Lula wandered in with her Frozen suitcase. “Come and say goodbye to Daddy.” Lucille whispered, ushering Lula over. She flung her arms around her father. Alex’s eyes filled up and spilled over. “Let’s go.” Alex’s heart dropped to his stomach. How he would have loved to argue, to explain why he had been so wrapped up, to tell them how much he loved them, their life together and the future they had ahead of them. But then he’d have to come clean about their terrible financial situation, the job he’d left and the state-of-the-art studio he’d constructed just a few feet above them. As he watched the teary blur of his family leave, something changed in him. He could no longer focus on the song in his head. The idea of a life without his family started to turn his mind’s tropical mix rotten. Everything he had sacrificed would be for nothing. It was fading away. He burst out of his study and tugged down the ladder to the loft, his wife and daughter looking on. He went up. They followed. Alex stood there, his wife and child looking on, the song ebbing away. He hit record on the mixing desk and picked up the Black & Decker drill he installed it with. He lifted a finger to his lips and the drill to his head. He drove the bit through his skull. His wife and daughter screamed, maybe for a second or two. But then their jaws dropped as a strange, colourful mist flowed out of the hole in Alex’s head and towards them. The mist danced around the pair of them, and with it, magnificent rich sounds, now unshackled from Alex’s worry. Notes imbued with warmth and hope, sadness and regret, swirling and shimmering around one another with love always presiding over them. Alex’s wife held their daughter close as the music faded away into the microphone. The song didn’t chart, though the family’s screams were sampled in one of the most streamed tracks of the year.