Chapter 52
The closer we get to Times Square, the busier the streets become.
A street artist draws a caricature of a woman with a huge nose.
I hope she has a sense of humour. A man sells hotdogs on the corner; the smell takes me back to my last trip here.
I shake the memory from my mind. Times have changed.
I’ve changed. I look at the faces around me, friends I didn’t know I had. This is my tribe. These are my people.
Though my hands are shaking with nerves and despite the chill, I’m convinced that even my sweat is sweating.
‘This is it.’ Soumia points to a sign that’s spelt out using the cord of a microphone: Drop the Mic.
Manhattan’s very first karaoke bar.
‘Is he inside?’ I ask Soumia.
She checks her phone. ‘Not yet. He’ll be here though, don’t worry.’
The gang pile through the door and disperse themselves to the bar. There’s a woman wearing a cowboy hat doing a very good impression of Dolly’s Jolene.
The back of my throat has turned to shards of glass. ‘If I’m going to do this, I need a Sambuca.’
Like magic, the barman puts two shots in front of us. I go to pay. Soumia beats me to it, tapping her card on the machine.
‘Bottoms up,’ she says. We chink glasses and glug back what tastes like petrol. ‘Back in a second.’
The bar has a country and western theme. All the staff are wearing lumberjack shirts, cowboy hats, and are chewing straw. The hats are pulled so low you can barely see the faces of the staff.
Soumia’s back. ‘I’ve put your name down. You’re next.’
‘But he’s not here yet.’ I scan the faces sat at tables for Olly.
‘Don’t worry, he will be.’
OK Callum, time to face your fears. You’ve got this. There’s a beautiful man waiting for you on the other side. Why did I tell him this was my biggest fear? Why couldn’t I have said something else that I could do quite easily like being forced to eat five Mars bars in two minutes?
The music cuts and the DJ talks. ‘Welcome to the stage our next star, all the way from little old England, Callum.’
My feet are cemented to the floor.
‘I can’t do it.’
I can feel eyes on me. My mouth is as dry as a dry thing.
Soumia’s offers me encouragement. ‘Do it, or I’ll kick you in the dick.’
It works. I take slow steps to the stage like I’m a lamb to the slaughter. I pull down on my crop top to hide my love handles but the fabric’s stubborn and jumps back up.
Jason shouts from the bar, ‘What would Britney do?’
It makes me laugh, because if she was as terrified as I am right now, she’d shave her hair off again.
The static of the microphone sends a little shock through me.
The first notes of Queen’s I Want to Break Free beat from the speakers, and a tv screen facing me is counting me down to come in with the lyrics.
I crouch to the floor and put the rubber duck Olly won in Blackpool in front of me.
Nothing remotely weird about a man singing to a rubber duck, but Olly’s nowhere to be seen.
This isn’t the plan. He’s supposed to be here, witnessing my debut and final performance.
‘Louder,’ a man’s voice drowns out my mumbles.
I register his instruction as I stand stiff as a board in front of the half-pissed crowd.
I’m not singing. At best it could be described as talking loudly to music.
I take the room in, trying to spot Olly.
He’s missing me facing my fears for him, my declaration of love.
Soumia’s checking her phone, she lifts it up to record me.
She’s talking into it at the same time as if she’s Face Timing someone.
There’s a cheer as I get to the chorus. The crew sing along with encouragement.
I can’t help but smile as I read the lyrics to the second verse and think Freddie must have written this song for how I feel right now.
But the person I’ve fallen for isn’t here to see this, and I can feel my plan slipping away the closer I get to the end of the song.
I’m a fool in a crop top, singing to a rubber duck in a karaoke bar in New York.
The instrumental music plays and I offer a wiggle of my hips. I’ve got all the rhythm of a corpse. The music feels like it’s been playing longer than I suffered with mpox. I can’t wait to get off this stage and disappear.
There’s a huge ironic clap when I finish. I contemplate making my planned apologies to Olly into the microphone even though he’s not here, but the DJ announces the next singer, forcing me to hand over the mic and leave the stage.
‘It’s over,’ I tell her. ‘He didn’t show.’ I clutch at straws. ‘Did you tell him the right place?’
‘Another shot please,’ Alex asks the barman.
I’ve made a fool of myself in front of all the crew for no reason at all. As soon as Galley FM gets hold of this, my life won’t be worth living. I want to go home, not to the hotel, I want to get back to Manchester right now.
Soumia’s attention is on her phone. ‘You were really good, babe.’
‘It’s OK, you don’t have to lie, I know it was bad.’
Alex and Soumia both laugh.
‘It was fucking awful,’ Soumia laughs.
Alex passes me a shot glass. ‘Go on, get that down you. The night’s still young.’
Their enthusiasm doesn’t match my humiliation.
‘I’m not going out now, I need to go.’ I look for the exit.
‘Nonsense, you need some air. Let’s get you outside.’
As Alex and Soumia lead me out the bar, I notice the other crew aren’t showing any signs of mortification at what’s just happened to me. They’re all smiling like I’m about to go on and do an encore to completely shame myself.
Outside the cool air is refreshing from the stuffy bar. I haven’t noticed Alex and Soumia are linking me and sweeping me along until my heart pace slowly returns to normal. The rest of the gang have followed behind. My outfit is still attracting strange looks from passers-by.
As we enter Times Square, the whole area is alive with art.
A man dressed as Elvis takes pictures with tourists for a small fee.
Every nationality you can think of is packed into this tiny space, all here to visit the city that never sleeps.
The second shot of Sambuca has slightly lifted my embarrassment, but the mortification is still there, and disappointment consumes me.
‘Sit down on the steps Callum, let me get your picture.’ Soumia says.
‘I’m really not in the mood for pictures.’
‘Just one, for me.’
‘I’d rather not.’
‘Just sit,’ Soumia barks.
I give in and take a seat. The metal staircase is cold on my cheeks. ‘Everyone else get in,’ I say.
‘No, I want one of you on your own for my frame,’ Soumia says.
I grin awkwardly as the whole crew stand in a huddle to watch me pose. I realise they all have their phones out to take my picture. I didn’t realise I was that popular, or maybe they just want a picture of me in this moob-tube to upload on social media.
Soumia’s raised her camera. ‘Come on, give me the biggest smile you’ve ever made. Let’s count him down.’
All the crew have got their cameras pointing at me and countdown in unison, stressing each number.
‘Three, two…’
‘Excuse me.’
There’s a tap on my shoulder, I turn around to face whoever is poking me.
‘Hi, Freddie.’
My eyes can’t believe what they’re seeing. Sat behind me in a very smart blue blazer, looking every bit as beautiful as I remember, is Olly.
‘What the fu...’
‘Do you mind if I sit with you for this pic?’ He jumps down one step so he’s on my level.
‘I don’t.... What are you doing here?’
‘I heard about your little plan.’
‘How?... What?’ I’m exasperated.
Soumia jumps in. ‘Don’t be mad, you know I can’t lie.’
‘You really can’t be mad at her,’ Olly says. ‘She tried to lie, but her face started to blow up like a puffer fish.’
‘When?’ My head is darting between the guilty pair, looking for a clue.
‘Onboard,’ Olly smiles. ‘And whilst I really liked your plan, I decided to make one of my own.’
‘But I’ve not apologised.’
He stands up and he takes my hand and pulls me to him. ‘There’s no need, Callum. I shouldn’t have said what I did.’
‘You had every right, I was completely in the wrong. I’m so sorry. I had this whole thing planned to apologise and…’
‘I know, Freddie.’ He flashes me his perfectly carved smile. ‘I was very impressed with your performance.’
‘You were there?’
‘Kinda. Soumia held the phone up so I could watch. It’s not every day you get a man singing with a rubber duck. Good song choice.’
‘You told me I’d make a good Freddie in Blackpool.’
‘I know, you bloody idiot.’ He’s chuckling and swinging my hand.
‘Oh God, I’m so embarrassed.’
‘You could probably do with a few vocal lessons before your next performance.’ He’s laughing now, with me, not at me.
‘How did you know I’d be here right now?’
‘I had a little help from our friends.’
As I turn around, a line of smiling faces soak up our New York encounter.
Soumia is beaming, Alex is glowing. Nick and Dave cling on to each other, but their eyes are locked on us.
Ivy, if I’m not mistaken, has just mopped a tear away with her hanky.
Jason and Danielle are linking with their heads touching, taking in the romance, no doubt memorising every detail to report back to Galley FM, and Sandra is using her phone as a mirror, rubbing the lipstick away from her teeth.
I feel like the biggest fool and the luckiest man in the world all at the same time.
My vision blurs from tears. ‘I really am so sorry. I…’
‘Shhh, it doesn’t matter. I understand.’
‘But I was a shit.’
‘Callum, you are not a shit.’ A voice which sounds like Olly but definitely isn’t him playfully tells me off.
‘I told you he was a good judge of character,’ Olly says.
Olly nods at Soumia, who’s holding her phone in the air. Otto’s face fills the screen.
‘Are you going to be boyfriends now?’ Otto says.
Everyone laughs at his directness, no doubt asking what everyone else, including me, what’s to know.
Olly searches in his coat. ‘I’ve got something for you.’ He pulls out a paper bag from his pocket and puts it in my hand. The bag’s warm, inside are six mini doughnuts coated in sugar. ‘And to show you this.’
He stands up and unbuttons his jacket to show me a Kiss Me I’m Irish t-shirt.
It’s two sizes too small for him.
‘But you’re not Irish.’
‘I know that, but it was the closest one I could get to match yours.’
I don’t know if my tears of joy for seeing him, laughter at his t-shirt, the love that I’m surrounded by, or a combination of all three.
‘So, will you?’ He asks.
‘Will I what?’
‘Kiss me?’
If a kiss was ever filled with hope and happiness, this is that kiss. It lifts me up high above Times Square, spins me around, and floats me back down to earth and into Olly’s arms.
The crew startle me with a cheer. I forgot we had an audience.
Olly pulls me into his strong arms and covers me with his love. It feels like home. Safer than any cupboard.
I turn to Soumia. ‘So you sabotaged my plans?’
‘Yes, but with good reason,’ her mascara’s started to run.
The gang smile. They’re all muttering sweet nothings to each other.
Olly places his forehead against mine. ‘Remember Blackpool, I asked you your perfect day?’
‘Yes.’
‘Remind me, what did you say?’
‘I’d like to do something fun with friends, get outdoors.’
‘Does a walk in Central Park count?’
‘How did you know we went to Central Park?’
He gives me a look that tells me he planned it.
‘What came next?’
‘Good food.’
‘We’ve got reservations in Hell’s Kitchen in thirty minutes. Then what?’
‘A show.’
‘Which show did you say?’
‘Wicked.’
‘Thank god.’ He holds up two tickets, Wicked!
‘How did you manage that?’
‘It’s the reason I missed your gig.’ He laughs. ‘I had to queue from the minute we landed to get them, and sell a kidney, but you’re worth it.’
I’m in awe of this man, but he’s not done it alone.
I break away from him, only for a minute because I want to be right back in his arms. And I can’t help it now; my tears are streaming.
I’m a mess, but I’m ok because I know now, I’m not why my mother left.
I’m not bad. I don’t always get it right, but I think I’m good. I wrap my arms tightly around Soumia.
‘Thank you. I love you so much.’
She breaks out of the hug and wipes my tears and hands me a tissue, because that’s just who she is, she always knows what I need.
She whispers in my ear. ‘Thank you for the chocolates. I never doubted you for a second.’ She moves to hold me at arm’s length. ‘Now go and be happy.’
She turns to Olly. ‘He’s all yours. Look after him.’
‘Don’t worry, I’ve got him,’ he says back.
And he has. He’s got me.
THE END