Chapter 16
Bws Taith - Tour Bus
Lucy
Rhys steers his SUV into the industrial estate parking lot, slowing to a crawl as he weaves around the hubbub.
Crew members wearing green t-shirts push huge flight cases towards waiting lorries, a group of five workers slings suitcases into the bus’ hold supervised by others who check things off on lists, making sure we have everything.
‘Was it this chaotic loading with Topaz?’ he asks, rolling to a stop in a white-lined space and winding up his window.
‘I never got to see it. It was my job to stay by Topaz’s side, make sure all his bags were packed then to travel with him.’ I would have loved all this working, all this playing Tetris with boxes and crates and bags.
‘Ah, well, sorry I dragged you here early, but someone needs to supervise me.’
‘It’s okay.’ I flash him a smile and slide out of the car.
It’s unseasonably nice for the middle of March and I roll the sleeves of my jumper up so I can bask in the early-spring sun.
It’s the only glimpse I’ll have of it for most of the day – what with being crammed in the tour bus and then busy getting Cai settled in the manor house I rented outside of Manchester for us. So I have to make the most of it now.
‘Don’t worry about your bags.’ Rhys tosses his key to a crew member. ‘Someone will grab them and load them onto the bus in a moment.’
‘Are you sure? Because—’
‘Luce. Let someone else do all the heavy lifting. You have other work to do. Now go and do it.’
‘Yes, boss.’ I salute him and he responds by flashing me his middle finger. But he smiles as he does.
We’re a dream team now – me and Rhys – according to Gethin.
We’ve been getting along like a house on fire for the past few weeks since the cyber attack.
Together we’ve found new places for Cai to stay in eight different cities, vetted them and made sure the security rotas cover everything that needs looking after.
Nobody’s getting anywhere near him with us in charge.
Rhys wanders towards a group of people wearing black tops with Security emblazoned on them.
No press or fans linger at the gate to the lot – nobody knows where we are – but you can never be too careful.
The crew widen their circle to draw Rhys in, then still as he talks to them.
One of the hundreds of briefings we’ll have to complete over the next few weeks.
He’s good with his team. His smile is wide and genuine, and all his crew lean in.
He catches me staring, but instead of scowling or shooing me away to do something else, he winks without breaking stride in his speech.
He’s a flirt and I’m not mad about it. We work hard, and there’s no harm in having a little fun as long as it doesn’t cross a line.
I linger for a moment longer until an alert on my phone shakes me out of my stupor. Time to get to work and prepare the bus for Cai before my voyeurism turns from interest to obsession. I have to switch into PA mode. My job is to get him settled, not ogle the bodyguard.
The sun catches on the shiny tour bus, the glare making me squint.
I slide my sunglasses out of my hair and over my eyes.
The bus is well looked-after, polished within an inch of its life.
No bugs lie dead on the windscreen, and when the doors open with a soft woosh, the scent of an entire forest of pine trees wafts out.
‘She’s a beauty, isn’t she?’
The tallest person I’ve ever met steps off the bus.
If he were put back-to-back with Rhys, this guy would win.
His pink hair is short on the sides and curly on top, his green dungarees and blue top stained with oil.
Chipped red nail polish finishes off the eclectic look.
Despite his size, his highlighter-yellow trainers whisper across the cement without a scruff.
Wisps of a black moustache grow above his smile, nowhere near as strong as Gethin’s bristles.
‘Of course,’ he continues in a thick West Country accent, ‘we could have taken bus eight. It’s bigger, but number five’s my baby.
I’ve not met you yet, have I? Name’s Deryn, they, them.
I’m your driver for the next month or so.
Been driving Cai ‘round for the past eight or so years now. Never had an accident yet.’
They make the sign of the cross over their chest then extend an elephant-sized hand towards me. I shake it. There’s absolutely no way they’re old enough to have been driving that long. I must get their skincare routine.
‘You’re the secretary, are you?’
‘Personal assistant.’ There’s a world of difference between a secretary and a PA. My role is more than taking calls and answering emails, but it’s understandable why people make the mistake. ‘Lucy. She, her.’
‘Nice to meet you, Lucy. Make sure those boys don’t drive you crazy. Lost count of the number of people who got cabin fever from being stuck on this bus, no matter how beautiful she is. And those two are the worst.’
‘Can’t believe you’d lie about me, Der. Me and Cai are angels. Rwy’n ddieuog.’ Rhys appears at my side, blotting out the bus’ smell with coffee and mint.
‘Angels, my arse.’
‘Had a tour of the bus yet, Luce?’ he asks. ‘Or has Deryn been too busy yapping your ears off? They can talk for the whole of the UK, not just Wales.’
‘You watch it, Rhys Pritchett.’ Deryn jabs a finger at Rhys’ chest. ‘Or I’ll take a sharp turn when you’ve a hot drink in your hands.’
They wander off, chuckling to themself. I can’t help but watch them as they round the side of the bus then disappear.
‘They’re so tall,’ Rhys comments, leaning next to the door.
‘If I believed in fairytales, I’d ask if they were a giant. Or at least half of one.’
‘So you don’t believe in the giants and unicorns in your smutty little books, then?’
I close my hand around my tote bag, where my current read waits for the long journey to Manchester. A four-hundred-year-old fae king accidentally kidnaps a perimenopausal woman from her desolate village and ends up biting off more than he can chew. Poor thing. ‘No.’
‘Well, Deryn ain’t a giant. Or half of one. Little rough around the edges, sure, but a good worker. They mean what they say – bus five’s a big deal. When Cai started touring, we rode around in a minibus with all the kit and our bags. It was gross.’
‘That’s why you and Cai are close, then?’
‘Yeah, and the fact his parents took me and Beth in when we were teens.’ He shrugs, like he didn’t toss me a nugget about his childhood, then starts up the steps.
I file the information away then follow him.
Past Deryn’s seat are rows of booths and tables before the floor space opens into a kitchen area.
It doesn’t matter which company you hire them from, tour buses are all the same – houses on wheels.
This one has glittering black linoleum on the floor, but the spots are brighter, making the entire place warmer.
It feels more lived in, a place I could settle into easily.
Which is good. If we’re not in a venue or a hotel, we’ll be holed up on this bus.
‘There are sixteen bunks upstairs, two sitting areas and a fully functioning kitchen down here. Der’s fussy about what we cook in it. No fish. No mushrooms.’
I wrinkle my nose. ‘Who’d dare cook fish in such close confines?’
‘Richie. Should have known then he wasn’t a good guy.’ He leads me up the spiral staircase. ‘Cai gets the actual bedroom since he’s the pop star. I’ve argued with him plenty of times it should be mine. I work a lot harder than he does.’
‘Yeah, but without him there’d be no tour.’
‘I guess.’
The bunks are tiny, like coffins stacked on top of each other.
Darkness bleeds out of them from the blacked-out windows.
Although we sleep in hotels and rented houses, being on tour is tiring.
I never nap, usually, but after late nights coordinating everything, it’s good to have somewhere to grab some quiet. Or to take a break from everyone.
Rhys squeezes past me to the end of the bus. He pats a top bunk on the end of the row. ‘This one’s mine. No stealing. Closest to Cai and far enough away from Gethin and Deryn, who love nothing more than a snoring competition.’
‘Oh, like you don’t snore?’
‘How’d you know?’ He leans against his bunk, arms folded and eyebrows raised. ‘Been sneaking a listen when we stay at the house, have you?’
‘No!’
But there may have been times when I have slept there and the odd creaks and shifts of the house have scared me enough to creep downstairs to check the security console.
Not that I make a habit of staying over.
I prefer my own flat. There was one time when his bedroom door was open, and I poked my head in to find his long body stretched out on top of the duvet, his t-shirt wonky enough to give me a glimpse of his stomach and a trail of ginger hair that dipped low under the waistband of his pyjama bottoms. The calm of his face contrasted with the sawing noise coming from his open mouth.
I was surprised the foundations of the house weren’t shaking.
He slings his rucksack onto the bunk to claim it, and I pivot away from him to fan myself. All this close proximity’s no good for my blood pressure.
‘You should find a bed now before the best ones get nabbed,’ he says. ‘You can’t nap with Gethin-the-freight-train lying opposite you.’
I assess my options. I could take the bunk under Rhys’, but the last thing I need is the others teasing me for sleeping ‘under’ him.
Picking another bottom bunk with a different crew member on top doesn’t fill me with confidence either.
The fear that the structure will fail and I’ll get squished is too high.
All that worrying doesn’t help you get a decent rest.
I’m overthinking it. It’s most important that I’m close to Cai, too. I slide my bag onto the top bunk opposite Rhys’ and pull out the blanket and pillow I brought from home. No harm in having a little extra comfort.
‘You do enjoy watching me sleep then.’