Chapter 1 #2
Paul had finished his tea by the time Spook knocked on the window to let him know that food was ready.
The three of them sat down together around the tiny kitchen table Alle had previously been bent over.
He didn’t ask about sanitiser. Spook was a stickler regarding consent.
He appreciated that Alle sat next to him too, rather than them both sitting opposite like some sort of symbiont.
He followed the conversation for a while until they drifted into a discussion about tech stuff.
Ulf, their usual sound guy, had taken a leave of absence to deal with some sort of family crisis at home, so Alle was filling in during the festival, and for a couple of the subsequent tour dates.
“You okay, big guy?” Alle nudged him with her elbow, having caught him staring out of the window.
The mist had already lifted some.
“Yeah. Fine.” He offered her a smile until she tucked into her food again. Her boyfriend took more convincing. Spook wasn’t looking directly at him, but Paul sensed his attention. Insightful bastard never missed a trick, but he didn’t probe. He knew how to be circumspect and respect privacy.
“We’re celebrating tonight, right?” he said hoping that’d dial back the scrutiny.
Spook gave a nod, followed by a head toss to send his swathes of blond hair back over his black T-shirt-clad shoulders.
Paul scratched his scalp. The summer had been brutally hot, so he’d buzzed his scalp short and decided he kinda liked it, both from an ecological perspective and a less stressful personal grooming one.
He didn’t want to be contributing to the hole in the ozone layer every show.
Well, he still was, just not as much. They all were, just by virtue of existing and being part of modern society.
It was fucking hard to avoid it, but if they all at least tried to minimise their impact, maybe the planet would stay green and blue a wee bit longer.
“Celebrating? What are we celebrating?” Alle put down her knife and fork and pushed away her plate.
“Shit! It’s not someone’s birthday, is it?
Whose? I still haven’t recovered from Xane’s.
That was frickin’ wild. Not helped by the fact that someone forgot to mention that we were supposed to bring gifts. ”
“Gifts. Birthdays. Kind of a given,” Spook muttered around forkfuls of scrambled eggs.
“If they’re your bestie, sure. When it’s your lover’s confidant and sometimes bit on the side, it’s not quite such an obvious call.”
“Presents, always,” Spook confirmed. “And he’s not my bit on the side. We’re just… comfortable with one another.”
“He’s totally your bit on the side. Pass the juice, Paul.”
He did.
“Are either of you going to give me an answer as to what it is we’re celebrating?”
“Mabon,” they both replied.
“And what exactly is that?”
Paul stabbed the last of his mushrooms. “The autumn equinox. The middle of the three harvests.”
Alle considered this with her lips pressed to the edge of her glass. “Are you actually Pagan, Wiccan? Sorry, I don’t know if they’re the same thing or different, or if there’s another term I’m supposed to use. Please tell me if there is. Are you?”
“No.”
“He just follows the old ways,” her boyfriend said, throwing him a glance. “Blame his folks and his upbringing. It stems from the same place as his almost vegan, outdoor loving, mushroom foraging hippy traits.”
Like Spook was any less of an adherent to the old ways.
“It’s the point in the year when day and night are in perfect balance.”
Point made.
“It’s also when the door to the underworld opens,” he added. That bit always made people sit up and pay attention. Sure enough, Alle cocked her head and made an ‘ah’ sound. “So, it’s a celebration similar to Valborg in Sweden?”
“Ish,” Spook replied. “Not really.”
“Fewer fires, I hope.”
“There’ll definitely be a campfire,” Paul said. Campfires were one of the best bits. “And as we’re not performing until tomorrow night, there’ll also be weed, booze, and naked mud wrestling with an orgy to follow.”
For a moment, he swore she took his deadpan delivery entirely seriously, then she gave him a friendly shove.
“Oof!” he complained as his shoulder collided with the window. “Okay, okay… scratch the mudwrestling.”
“Xane’s a one-man orgy in waiting. I don’t think you need to encourage him. And I’ve never seen any of you smoke or even vape. What’s the actual plan?”
He and Spook exchanged glances. He cracked first. “Foraging, campfire, cider, and storytelling, in precisely that order.”
“Damn.” Spook got up and knocked the kettle on for another round of brews. “I was really psyched for the mudwrestling. It’s good for the skin, you know.”
“I’d totally mudwrestle you.” Alle’s gaze followed her boyfriend’s movement.
Paul leaned into her ear. “That’s because you’re obsessed with getting him naked.”
She grinned broadly. “Have you seen him? Of course I’m obsessed. He’s fucking gorgeous. He’s my elven prince.”
“More like your cruel prince.”
“Not a prince,” Spook muttered. “Same again?” He nodded at the now boiling kettle.
“Not for me.” Paul nudged Alle, so she’d rise and let him out from the table. After two cups of tea and a pint of orange juice, the thing he needed most was a piss. “Reckon it’s safe to venture through and use the facilities?” He pointed towards the rear of the bus.
Spook glanced at the microwave clock. “Odds aren’t in your favour.”
“Fine. I’m going to find a bush.”
“There are Portaloos.” Alle pointed towards a blue plastic box in the middle distance.
“Yeah, no thanks.”
Not even on day one of a festival.