Chapter 5 #3
He looks down to me and I look up to him, and as ridiculous as it is in the circumstances, all I can think is how much I melted into that kiss. How I’ve never been kissed in a way that completely overwhelmed my senses and took me out of reality.
There’s a whirring deep in my abdomen that’s very reminiscent from the night of the hen party, and a lot like the night of his concert in Newcastle. The night I was supposed to meet him backstage. The night that changed the trajectory of my life.
‘You kissed Guy Walker?’ my sister asks, mostly shocked, possibly a little impressed.
She snaps me out of my trance. Guy breaks our eye contact, then hands Dave his ice pack and, like a professional, resumes his position on stage. ‘Let’s have a special one for Mr and Mrs Reilly, shall we, lads and lasses? Get yourselves on the dance floor.’
My sister glares at me but drags Joshua away to the dance floor. Good.
Dave reacts to a gesture from Guy on stage and I hold my breath, wondering which of his songs he’s going to sing.
But the backing track for Justin Timberlake’s ‘Can’t Stop That Feeling’ comes on, and though I’m disappointed not to hear a track from The Hand Me Downs, I can feel myself grinning from ear to ear as he starts to sing.
Just like that, the wedding is back on. Bodies dance wildly around me, blocking my view of the man on stage.
The grumpy, obnoxious, anti-hero.
The man who got a black eye because of me.
The guy who just saved the wedding.
After snapping shots of people dancing – and gossiping about the commotion – and seeing Guy looking the height of discomfort as he signed autographs during his ten-minute break, I’m standing by the side of the stage.
My cameras are packed away and I’m leaning back against the ornate dado rail, resting one aching foot against the wall, promising myself after each song that I’m only going to listen to one more.
And I am. This is my last one.
I remember feeling like this when I saw him in Madrid. Wishing the bubble would never burst and reality wasn’t waiting for me back home. That I could turn my one long weekend away with Cami into the life of travel and freedom I yearned for.
Once I returned home from that trip, my world felt even smaller than it had four days earlier and I decided after that day not to bother longing for something more.
‘So, you’re the one he copped off with at that hen party?’ Dave asks, coming to rest next to me, hands folded across his middle.
I don’t dare look at him. My memory of the night is becoming increasingly clear. I threw myself at Guy in desperation. So desperate to tick off my sister and change the discourse of the evening. My cheeks heat with humiliation.
‘I didn’t know ya had it in ya, lassie. Cheeky minx.’
Dave is kind and funny, the embodiment of the phrase cheeky chappy, which prompts me to say, ‘Takes one to know one,’ rather than denying the mortifying truth.
He chuckles. ‘It’s been a long time since anyone took a swing at the lad over a woman. It was always Scotty getting in fights over girls.’
‘You knew Guy’s brother?’ I ask, genuinely curious.
‘Knew him? I was the first manager the band had, right at the start, when Scott was still a whipper snapper.’
‘You managed The Hand Me Downs? Wow.’
‘Aye, for three years. Until the record label pushed me out. The lads were too young and caught up in all the hype to see it happening.’ He turns to me and smiles. ‘Anyhow, I’ve got a good business gannin now and that champ up there’ll come good, I’m sure of it.’
I feel my eyes narrowing because I don’t fully understand Dave’s intentions, but I don’t think he wants me to dig any deeper, either.
‘Have ya gotta phone on ya I can borrow for a second, flower?’ he asks.
‘Ah, yeah, sure.’ I take my phone from the pocket of my dress and open it with face ID. ‘Here you go.’
Guy finishes his rendition of Jason Mraz’s ‘I’m Yours’ and I finally push off the wall to leave, yawning as I do. ‘Well, that’s me, Dave.’
He hands me back my phone, the screen locked again. I guess he was looking something up on the internet? Who knows.
‘See you next time.’
‘Aye. Sweet dreams, flower.’
‘You too,’ I say, glancing to the stage one last time to see Guy telling the party-goers, ‘This is my last song tonight, folks, so let’s give it up one more time for the bride and groom.’ But he’s watching me leave, unsmiling.
I hold up a hand and mouth, I’m sorry. I doubt he can make it out.
It’s only once I’m in my car, with plenty of photographs captured, driving to my parents’ house, that I replay my conversation with Dave.
It’s not until I pull through the electric gates and onto the pebbled driveway of Mum and Dad’s house that something occurs to me.
Something that makes me hit the brake on the car too hard, thrusting myself towards the steering wheel.
That Night. The man who came out from backstage to ask me to meet Guy after the show. It could have been Dave. I think maybe it was Dave.
I reach for my phone from the passenger seat and use my face to unlock it, about to search the internet for?—
But I stop. Because staring back at me is a new contact entry.
GUY WALKER
His mobile number.
And in the notes section:
IN CASE U WANT TO APOLOGISE FOR THAT SHINER.