Chapter 1 #3
I pop my head out of the doorway, but she’s long fucking gone.
A phone number’s scrawled on top of the paperwork, but when I ring it, nobody answers.
I look to the team of stylists and helpers Cai drags everywhere with us, but none of them meet my gaze.
Fucking cowards. I can’t leave him here unwatched, and I didn’t bring any of my crew with me.
Gethin told me not to book them since the venue has a massive team of security guards spread all over the place.
Richie’s parking the car fuck knows where and hasn’t caught up with us yet.
I’ve got to do everything my-bloody-self.
Lucy’s where I left her in the middle of the room.
I storm back over. ‘Move it all back. This is Cai’s room.
He shouldn’t have to swap because some newcomer decided to throw his oar in.
Cai’s been doing this concert for five years now.
He’s the longest returning artist. He’s earned the best room in the stadium. ’
‘That newcomer knocked Cai off the top spot three singles in a row. Topaz is the better artist.’ She steps closer until the toes of her shiny heels touch the front of my battered trainers.
Her voice loses its professional tone and her eyes ready to put me six feet under with one scathing look.
Doesn’t matter that they’re green normally – the fire in them has me dead and buried.
An answering heat licks down my spine, pulling my back straighter.
I crumple the paperwork in my hands. ‘Cai’s been around for a lot longer than Topaz.’
‘Doesn’t mean he’s better.’
Nothing beats years of experience, actually. ‘Whatever. This is Cai’s room. Leave.’
She mumbles a half-swear, like I’m the biggest blight on her day, and pulls a mobile out of nowhere. Two jabs at her screen then she thrusts the device into my face, just shy of whacking me on the nose.
‘There. Since you need evidence. This email confirms it all.’
‘What? I… Anyone could have sent this.’ Fuck. My address is at the top of the message. I was copied in. Gethin too. Dammit. The only person who didn’t get the memo was Jessica. For fuck’s sake.
‘We’ll leave.’ Cai steps around me, squeezing himself between us.
He pastes his biggest crowd-pleasing grin onto his face and keeps eye contact with her.
‘We’re sorry we bothered you. It was all a big misunderstanding, and I’m sure Rhys will deal with it when we find the right dressing room.
We’ll leave you to finish getting this place ready for Topaz.
It’s great to see you, Lucy. It’s been way too long. ’
‘You too.’ Her smile is back to warm and friendly, and I add it to the list of all the things I hate about my best friend.
Stupid, charismatic bastard. ‘Room two is nice, I promise. A little bit smaller, and a little bit further away from the backstage area, but it has the best shower. According to Topaz, I should add.’
‘Oh, perfect. I love a good shower. And the walk will do me good. I need all the exercise I can get. I don’t have a fancy-ass PT like Topaz. Come on, Rhys, before the jet lag sets in.’ He clamps a hand on my shoulder to steer me away from the fight.
‘Good luck for later, Cai,’ Lucy calls. Stupid interfering cow.
I don’t say goodbye but let Cai push me out of the room, and I definitely don’t look back. Okay, maybe I do glance over my shoulder but her smug grin boils my piss. Next time, dressing room bloody one is ours. And Lucy better be prepared for a proper fight.
When Cai’s performing, my place is on the stadium floor, directly in front of him and staring at the crowd. I’m not allowed on stage with him cos apparently my ugly mug scares off the fans. Probably something to do with gingers not having a soul.
I’m the last line of defence. They’ve got to get through the metal barrier and a row of luminous yellow jackets first, but it doesn’t hurt to be extra safe.
It means spending hours in rehearsals learning his movements, his choreography.
I mirror every step he takes without even watching him cos I’m that fucking good at my job.
It helps that I’ve been at a thousand of his performances by now, and the chords of his songs are as familiar as my own pulse.
I keep my attention on the crowd blossoming along the metal barricades.
It’s hard to see past the first row of crazy teens and into the darkness beyond, but I use the flashes of light from the rigging to help.
Nothing’s ever simple looking after him, but I tackle each hurdle as it comes.
He strums his last note on centre stage, and I shake the hand of the steward next to me. ‘Great job, mate.’
‘Yeah, cheers, man, any time.’
Pleasantries out the way, I jog around a towering speaker stack, flash my event ID to the guard standing watch and meet Cai at the bottom of the steps leading from the stage.
The cheers continue to shake the stadium, even when the lights flicker back on and pre-recorded songs fill the space between acts. The crowd adored him, as always.
‘I fucking love playing Wembley.’ He passes his guitar to Colin, our guitar guy, then loops an arm around my neck. I walk beside him for a moment, a best friend encouraging his mate, rather than a guy who’s supposed to take a bullet for him.
The backstage area bustles as workers use the break to prepare for Topaz to close out the show.
Finishing the night used to be Cai’s job, but if he’s mad about being knocked off his headline spot, he’s not once complained about it.
We duck under a metal shutter that’s only half open to stop the light from bleeding into the stadium and find his allocated spot in the space between backstage and the endless corridors.
A square of masking tape hosts a plastic tub that we shove his mic and all the damn wires into.
These sorts of events always have a DIY edge to them.
There’re too many celebs to sort out and not enough hands on deck.
Next to the bucket waits the cool bag I stashed earlier. I unzip it and pull out his post-show beer – a tradition we’ve honoured since his first gig in the corner of a dodgy pub in Llanelli.
‘Great show, mate,’ I tell him after his first swig. No beer for me. I’m on shift until forever. ‘Topaz’s gonna have to bust his balls to top it.’
I don’t have to inflate his ego. Having ninety thousand people screaming his name makes it tricky to get his massive head through the door as it is. But the happier he is, the easier my life is.
‘Diolch. Bloody great having them sing it back at me. Bydd fy nghalon yn eiddot ti am byth. Touches me right here.’ He taps the neck of his bottle to his chest, beaming.
‘You wanna hang about for Topaz’s show?’ I cross all my fingers and toes he’ll say no. My bed’s calling me, right at the end of a three-hour trip home. I’ve fucking missed Cardiff, it’s shitty weather and my now-dead house plants.
The asshole takes a long swig, swishes it around in his mouth and swallows, dragging out my misery.
Topaz’s music is the worst. Pop isn’t my thing, but at least Cai’s songs could be called indie if you tilt your head the right way and listen to it backwards.
Topaz’s tunes are the sugary-sweet shit that blows teeny boppers’ minds.
‘Nah. Let’s head back. The sooner we get on the road, the sooner I can sleep. My nap earlier did nothing.’
‘Bet it would have done more good if you slept on the sofa in room one.’
‘Rhys,’ he warns.
‘I’m just saying. That sofa’s bigger, comfier. Bet you’re dead on your fucking feet. Just like me.’
Dressing room two is miles away, and I hate Lucy even more for making us drag ourselves further than we have to.
Okay, the shower was good, and there was more than enough space for Cai and his team.
In the room, that is, not the shower. But it took me an extra half hour to double-check it was safe for him before I let him put one toe over the threshold. Again, the room, not the shower.
We reach the end of our long fucking walk, my bones aching like I’ve done a hundred marathons in one damn day. All I want to do is get my head down and sleep for years. I’m so tired, I fumble for the key in my pocket.
Something’s wrong.
We’re five steps away from the room, but I spot the light shining into the corridor in time. The door’s ajar, a crate of beer propping it open. I step straight in front of Cai and stop. ‘Wait here.’
‘Did you leave these here for me, mate?’ he replies, too tired to realise he might be in danger. He steps around me, arms grabbing for the present. ‘Aww, you shouldn’t have.’