“Really?” His face lit up for a millisecond before dropping into a confused grimace. “But she spent the whole of our school-leaving ball kissing this dickwad from the football team.”
“Maybe she was just…”
But I was interrupted by a band coming up onstage. Everyone whooped and cheered louder than ever. I glanced up to see what all the ado was about, and it was hat boy from the music room and his band. Reese. He clutched the microphone and flicked the brim of his trilby. “Hi, everyone, we’re That Band,” he announced, self-confidence lacing his every word. They launched into “Welcome To Nowhere” and it was pretty seamless. The song was tight, the melody catchy. It rose and fell in the right bits. Charisma hurtled out of Reese’s voice and crackled through the mike. It was impossible not to look at him. He didn’t have the best singing voice, but his air of arrogance carried the song so perfectly I was surprised he didn’t spit up lightning.
Hannah found us among the dancing smush. “How did I do?” she yelled.
I reluctantly looked away from the stage. “You were great! When can I vote for you to be prime minister?”
We all hugged – her, Jack, Liv and me. As we broke apart, Hannah looked up at the stage.
“Oh god,” she groaned. “All aboard the Dickhead Express.”
That.
That was my first red flag. Right there. There’s a whole long line of them, punctuated through the mess that was us. Every single one ignored.
Did I stop at this flag and think, Oh, I wonder why it’s so red and flaggy?
No, I did not.
I leaned in, excited she knew who he was. “Who are you talking about?”
She pointed him out. “Reese fucking Davies. The singer. Otherwise known as King Of The Bell-ends. He went to the other school but we were in the same Stagecoach growing up.”
“Why is he such a bell-end?” I asked.
The band skidded into a slow song and it was hard to talk over it without being overheard. The slow song wasn’t as good as the opener and I edited it in my head as I listened. They didn’t drop the chorus soon enough and some of the lyrics were slightly clichéd, but still, with the way he sang it, I think every girl there fell a little bit in love with him. Apart from Hannah.
The rest of the set whizzed past in a haze of me staring at him too much. The lights went up. The judges awarded them some nines while everyone clapped, and suddenly it was almost my turn.
“You’re up next,” Hannah called as my eyes followed him offstage. “You’d better go get ready.”
Liv and Jack cried “GOOD LUCK, YOU’LL BE AWESOME!” down my ear. I wobbled my way to the side of the stage, where Alistair was waiting.
“Amelie!” he exclaimed, reaching out to high-five me. His face was flushed pink, clashing with his hair. “I’m excited to hear what you’re going to do for us.” A stand-up comic was on, currently pacing the stage in a suit.
“Have you ever noticed how long people take at cash machines?” he asked, to no laughter at all.
I involuntarily screwed up my face. “I’m a bit nervous,” I told Alistair. Understatement of the entire kingdom. A musi-tech student handed me my guitar and I swung it on, feeling slightly more confident – it acted as a wall between me and the world.
Alistair smiled kindly. “I have to say, I was surprised when I saw your name on the sign-up sheet. You barely speak in form time.”
“Everyone’s surprised when they find out I sing,” I admitted. “I don’t know why I do it to myself.”
An awkward ripple of polite laughter ran through the crowd.
“Uh-oh, someone’s flatlining out there,” Alistair said, before noticing the stress on my face. “Don’t worry! From what I’ve heard, you’re going to smash it. Mrs Clarke says you’re very talented.”
I tried to let the compliment dissolve in to give me strength, but it didn’t work. All the vodka was making me whirry, and the lack of a message from Alfie was making me anxious, and the sound of the comedian dying was making me sick, and… Why the hell do I do this to myself? Before every single gig, I ask myself that question. Much too quickly, there was lacklustre applause and the comedian climbed down the steps leading off the stage.
“You’re on.” Alistair gave me a double thumbs up as all the usual horrid thoughts rushed in. You’re going to be rubbish. You’re going to humiliate yourself. Everyone’s going to hate it. Why didn’t you go to the toilet beforehand? What if you’re sick?
I still found myself climbing the steps, wobbling in my cowboy boots, and pulling my cardigan further over my dress. I sat down on my stool and was so terrified it took me for ever to hook up my guitar.
“Wooo, go, Amelie!” Hannah called out to punctuate the terrible silence, and that tiny act of friendship was enough to get me together.
“Thanks for that,” I murmured into the microphone to titters of laughter. The crowd relaxed, helping me relax enough to get my tech sorted. Then, before I had time to think about what the hell I was doing, I leaned into the mike again. “I’d like to sing you a song I wrote called ‘Worth The Risk’.
“If we do this,
we can’t undo,
what it does,
to me and you…”
I went straight into the piece I’d written for Alfie – my favourite song. The room around me hushed as my music caught them and landed. I closed my eyes and felt the meaning of each word, the story I was telling.
“Only time knows if this is a mistake,
if we are worth the risk we’re about to take.”
My voice climbed and hit the notes it needed to, and I could tell it was good. I was good. I opened my eyes and saw a crowd transfixed. I held them all inside my heart, my song, my story. A surge of euphoria took me over. I was here. I was doing it. I was singing my songs and people were enjoying them, and moments like that make the nerves worth it.
I sang about Alfie and me. About how we’d tiptoed around our feelings for so long, both of us terrified of losing our friendship. Both convinced the other only thought of them platonically. I sang about all the almost-moments and only managing to finally get it together a few months ago, not realizing that we didn’t have much time left to be together.
This is the first time I’ve sung this without him in the audience, I thought. My voice caught and I blinked hard, thinking of the lack of Alfie in the crowd and the lack of a message from him on my phone. It was almost a relief when the song finished.
The audience stood patiently, captivated. I checked my tuning before launching into an easier song. This one was my crowd-pleaser – “Ain’t That The Way It Goes” – an upbeat folk number with a catchy chorus. I felt my confidence regrow as people smiled, a few of them dancing and twirling one another around. I smiled back and even managed to lose myself in the song a bit, tapping my foot, laughing at the funnier lines. Everyone applauded hard when I was done.
“This is my last song,” I told everyone. The song I’d started to write overlooking the railway track. “It’s new, so I hope you like it. It’s called…‘Home’.”
Just the word home set me off a little. Saying it out loud felt like being kicked in the stomach – the part of my stomach that used to feel safe and good whenever I walked through my old front door. Into the home that was snatched from me.