Chapter 23
GUY
The Arctic Monkeys
We pull up to The Stadium of Light’s executive entrance in a cab.
Not because I’m trying to be flashy – the tickets were free.
Definitely not because I want to draw even a tiny amount of attention to myself – these social media numbers Dave keeps telling me about are something I’m trying not to worry about.
But because I couldn’t keep my hands off Lyra in that outfit.
I’ve officially lost my mind – that jacket looks exactly like the one I’ve dreamed about for years. I know it’s Lyra’s and my brain is making a fool of me, but damn it, I had to have her before we came out and since she was keen too, there was no holding me back.
We took a cab instead of walking half an hour to the home of Sunderland football club because we’re running late.
I’ve never planned a date. Come to think of it, I’m not sure I’ve ever been on a date, really.
Wining and dining someone was ruled out for a number of reasons.
First, it’s not my thing – posh restaurants and extortionately priced food that leaves me hungry.
Second, at the age most people start dating, on my market-stall wages, I’d have done well to afford a Happy Meal from Maccy D’s.
Third, once I could have afforded something better, the girls who were throwing themselves at me were never the kind of girls a young man has to feed first.
This is different.
Lyra is different.
I’ve called in a few IOUs to get us tickets in a suite to see The Arctic Monkeys.
We get out of the cab and I pay the driver, then autograph his cap.
There’s security on the entrance, which is conventional, yet the memories it evokes for me catch me off guard. Getting off a tour bus, turning up to arena venues with screaming fans lining the carpets that were rolled out for us.
Before I realise I’m doing it, I’ve slipped my hand into Lyra’s, I think as comfort, honestly, but when we step inside the shiny marble foyer of the stadium, it occurs to me she might not want to hold my hand, she might not want the flashes from cameras going off around us to capture her, us.
I glance down at our interlaced fingers, then at her, and I’m rewarded with her smile, sparkling in her eyes brighter than any stage lights ever could, and a firm squeeze of my hand tells me, This is okay.
We’re led through corridors, some people stopping to say hello to me, until we make it to the suite.
Inside, I point Lyra to the balcony, where other guests are gathering – some I recognise from days when the music scene was all I lived and breathed. The countdown to the main act has started.
‘I’ll get us some drinks. What would you like?’ I ask. ‘Beer? Wine? Fizz? They’ll have everything.’
‘Something soft, please. I am literally buzzing right now. I definitely don’t need to add alcohol into the mix.’
‘Are you sure?’ I ask, though I’m really asking, This isn’t just because I don’t drink?
‘Absolutely. Something like lemonade or Coke would be amazing.’
Though she’s as giddy as a kid in a sweet shop right now, there’s a sincerity about her that makes me kiss her, impulsively. ‘Head on outside, I’ll be there in a sec.’
I watch her go, leaning on the bar as the barman pours two glasses of lemonade.
He eyes me as he does – he knows who I am.
In this setting, I guess it’s easier to imagine I was a someone once.
I also know that he’s been told to be on his best behaviour and he isn’t allowed to ask for autographs and pictures from the guests who come into these suites.
‘I can’t believe we’re here!’ Lyra shouts as the lads open with ‘I Bet You Look Good on the Dancefloor’, an absolute classic, a crowd pleaser. ‘This concert sold out in hours when the tickets went on sale. How did you pull this off?’
‘I still know a few people.’
She stares at me for a moment and I see it in her look; she’s thinking about Guy Walker from The Hand Me Downs. I wonder if this was the worst idea in the world. I’m trying to show her that I’m not him any more, then I do the exact opposite, pulling strings that that Guy had available to him.
But she shakes her head and twists her cute-as-hell button nose. ‘Weird.’
I guess it is.
Then she sets down our drinks, raises her arms above her head, and starts shouting out The Arctic Monkeys’ lyrics.
Nah, this was the right decision. If my brother could see me now, he’d laugh in disbelief, because standing on this balcony with a girl I can’t get enough of, I let go of all my usual inhibitions and yell the song words right along with her.
I remember what it feels like to have fun.