Chapter 11 #3
A champion of fucking up, I deserve nothing more than a shit job, and a seat at the crummy local where I’ll drink until I die. Just like my tad.
I drive to the stadium alone, making no effort to complain when Lucy and Cai climb into Gethin’s car. Everyone fucking hates me.
At the turning into the car park, I eye the junction. The A4232 waits less than half a mile ahead. I could get on it, join the M4 and hop a ferry to Ireland. Anything’s better than having to face every fucker’s disappointment in me.
Ah, but I have responsibilities in this country.
Cai and Beth and Tad. I pull off the main road instead of following my fantasy of escape and park my car next to Gethin’s.
It’s empty. I lost them at a set of traffic lights outside of Cyncoed, and they didn’t bother waiting for me.
Not that I blame them. I wouldn’t want to be with me either.
Although I’d like to take my time finding them so I can delay the moment they’ll all tell me how vile I am, I have a job to do. Can’t have Cai running around a venue full of other people, even if he does have the stadium’s security traipsing after him.
The goon at the loading bay doors waves me in after checking my ID, and I follow the quickest route possible out to the pitch. The corridors are familiar. Could walk them with my eyes closed by now. We’ve rehearsed here since the first tour, and it doesn’t take me long to reach everyone.
Today’s the first time we get to see the set.
Dress rehearsals are important. Cai has to learn where all the steps are, where the staging slopes closer to the crowd.
That way, he won’t fall tits over heels and embarrass himself in front of thousands.
And I need to map out every move to make sure someone’s following him the entire show without letting on to all his fans that me and my team are there.
Neither Cai, Gethin nor Lucy acknowledge me when I step up to them.
I take my tablet and find the Operations Manager, a portly guy in his mid-fifties called Huw.
We sketch out gangways and find resting spots while Cai sings through his set.
My estimate of a hundred guards was right.
A catwalk extends half the way onto the pitch that’ll need covering from every angle.
Most shows, I’ll walk alongside him on the floor to provide an extra layer of protection, but each section of staging needs someone’s eyes on it.
Nothing’s too much when it comes to his safety.
I only leave Huw to check the conference suite, and once that’s done, I head to the green room to grab a late lunch. If Richie was on crew, I could take the afternoon for myself – go sulk at home. Instead, I’m forced to pick at a beige buffet while everyone avoids me.
Fucking fun.
I find a seat in the corner and attempt to blend into the sad grey walls. Doesn’t work. Cai makes his way over to me. The pile of food on his plate pokes fun at the meagre sandwich and handful of carrot sticks I can’t stomach.
‘You finished sulking?’ He sits next to me and shoves a mini sausage roll in his gob. If he was a woman, he’d be on a strict pre-tour diet. The double-standards in this industry stink.
‘Not really. I fucked up, man.’
Across the room, Lucy and Gethin sit together, their heads bent over their lunch, talking. So much for not discussing anything without me. I swallow the snark, and it drags down my throat like one of these dry fucking sandwiches.
‘Yeah, you fucked up. It took the whole car ride over for us to persuade her not to quit. Gethin’s still working on her now.’
I place my plate on the table, my appetite gone, and drag my hand through my hair. ‘Bloody hell.’
‘Heard Gethin told you both off. Sucks to be you.’
‘Yeah. It’s shit.’
‘Look.’ He puts his plate on the chair next to him and pivots more towards me.
‘I need you to try with Lucy. Please. I like her. My follower count has increased since she started, and we sold out our first venue yesterday. Not only that, but she understands everything I stand for. I kind of need it all to carry on.’
‘I want to apologise, but I’m not sure she’ll talk to me again. I don’t blame her if she doesn’t. But I’ll do my best.’ If I can’t get her to speak to me, I can break the ice with an email, or a text, or send her an invite to a meeting somewhere public where she can’t scratch my eyes out.
‘You better, butt. Me and you, we’ve been solid since we were kids. But you know I don’t tolerate bullies.’
Bully. Like my tad. Sits heavier on my chest than anything else. I don’t want to be like him. Never.
The fact Cai can call me out on my shit means a lot. He’s here, even though I’ve royally fucked up. It’s how we’ve been since we were thirteen. But we’re not kids anymore. I’m a grown ass man, picking on a woman because things aren’t going my way. I’m no better than my old man.
My head drops to my chest, but my pathetic-ness doesn’t scare Cai away. He pats my shoulder, snatches my sandwich then says, ‘Better get grovelling, mate.’