by Lily Morton
The other boys are as welcoming and funny as ever and our bond gets stronger all the time, but even they seem puzzled by him. All except Charlie, and he just seems watchful. Mind you, he’s been a bit distracted himself because Mabe hasn’t been here. She flies back and forwards to see him but doesn’t stay all the time and when she’s gone he seems a bit lost for such a big character. I like it when she’s here too, not just because she’s become a good friend and it’s lovely to have another girl, but also because I love to see Sid’s face around her. He’s open and warm with her, and he loses the guarded hostility that he shows me and becomes the man that I’m sure he really is.
I shiver violently bringing me back to my senses. Tour buses are terrible to sleep on at night. The air conditioning is always on and it’s always freezing. I brought warm sleepwear with me and a hot water bottle, but nothing seems to warm me up on this bus. I wonder if it might be due to the fact that I’m very thin now compared to when I last toured. There’s hardly anything on me and I always feel cold anyway. I nestle deeper into the duvet but suddenly the bus slows down and I brace myself as it begins to turn. Giving up on sleep I thrust my feet out of my bunk searching for my Converse, and then make my way down the bus allowing my body to sway with the movement rather than trying to fight it. Coming up to Dave the driver I pat him on the shoulder. “What’s happening?” I call above the noise of the engine and he chuckles.
“We’ve got to go back to the service station that we stopped at for petrol.”
“Why?”
He starts laughing. “The boys’ bus left Bram behind.”
I laugh out loud. “How is that even possible? He’s so loud.”
“The twat got off the bus to get cigarettes and forgot to tell Pete so of course he just set off.” This is said very affectionately. I’ve noticed that all the men on this tour get on really well with the band. The boys treat everyone who works with them like they’re mates rather than employees.
“Why are we going back though?”
“The other bus is quite far ahead of us and Bram’s on his own with no security.”
“Are they worried?” I ask, surprised. “Is he in any danger?”
“Nah, Bram can handle himself. It’s just Paul fretting.” Paul is the head of security and a lovely bloke but very intense about his job, which thinking about it must be a total nightmare because all the boys do exactly what they want regardless of any consequences.
We pull into the brightly lit forecourt of the service station but there’s no sign of Bram, and Dave hesitates. “Do you want me to look for him?” I ask, seeing his dilemma because as a coach we’re not supposed to park here.
He looks uneasy. “I don’t know about that Nell. It’s late at night and there’s no one around. I don’t like the idea of you wandering around on your own.”
“There’s always someone around in service stations.” I bend down to tie the laces on my Converse. “I’ll be fine. I’ve been in too many of these places in the middle of the night to be bothered. Shall we meet you back at the coach park?” He nods and releases the lock on the door which opens with a pneumatic wheeze. Stepping out into the frigid coldness I shiver and walk quickly to the doors. Once inside I cast my eyes around. Typically there are a few people around – tired looking truckers dosing up on caffeine and even a family, the children’s faces creased with sleep, but no Bram. I work my way around to the toilets with still no sign of him, and then I spot the back entrance which must lead to the coach park.
Taking a chance I stick my head around the door wincing at the coldness and then smile triumphantly as I see his unmistakable figure leaning against the wall sheltering from the wind. He’s tapping away on his phone his face very serious, and I hesitate because he looks troubled and completely unlike his normal self. However, the squeak of the door alerts him to my presence and looking up he smiles and shoves his phone back in his pocket. He’s wearing a pair of plaid pyjama shorts teamed with a bulky hoody and a pair of disreputable looking Converse.
“Nelly!” he exclaims in delight and I sigh.
“Really?”
“Yes really.” He swings me around before dropping me and ruffling my hair. We seem to have settled into a brother and sister relationship and he enjoys playing the irritating sibling. I love it because it reminds me of the way that Sam and I used to be.
“You are a twat,” I say affectionately. “Why didn’t you tell Pete where you were going? Isn’t that the number one rule in the book of tour bus etiquette?”
“There’s a fucking book on it? Can you buy a Cliffs Notes version?” he asks mockingly.
I shiver. “Come on, it’s bloody cold.”
He smirks at me, running his eyes slowly down my body. “Yet how can you possibly be cold?” I look down my body and laugh. I’m wearing a bulky, old Stone Roses hoody of Sam’s, black tights and over them my denim cut off shorts, their hems ragged with age. My Converse boots and a bright red beanie complete the look.
“Don’t you know I’m a daydream dressed as a nightmare?” I say lightly.
“Did you just misquote Taylor Swift at me?” he asks, distracted at once.
I smile. “I think I did but I’m more interested in the fact that you recognised this.” He laughs and then as if synchronised we both shout out. “Because you know I love the players and you love the game.” Bram punches the air and does an alarming falsetto impression of the lady, dancing around and singing about being young and reckless and taking things too far while I laugh, holding my side. We’re interrupted by an icy voice.
“Did we need to bother turning the fucking bus around and coming back to get you Bram? You look fucking happy enough.”
I gasp and turn around to find Sid glaring at us, a cigarette hanging out of his mouth. He’s dressed in an outfit similar to Bram, although his shorts are red plaid, his hoody has an old Pink Floyd emblem on it, and he’s wearing a pair of Nikes, their laces undone. He looks pissed off and incredibly sexy, his hair tousled and hanging in his eyes.
Bram smirks and throws his arm around my shoulders pulling me closer to him, and it’s noticeable that Sid’s lips thin dramatically at this. “I am having fun mate actually. Nelly’s a lot better tempered than you are at the moment.” He pauses and laughs. “She’s so sartorially put together as well don’t you think?” and then bends over as I punch him in the side.
“Don’t criticise my fashion choices,” I laugh. “It’s bloody freezing on that bus. I’m wearing most of my wardrobe at night at the moment.” Bram laughs but Sid shoots me an undecipherable look seeming to be composed of one part concern to two parts irritation. But then the irritation wins and he shrugs.
“Come the fuck on you two. Let’s get back to the buses.” I trudge behind them feeling dismissed like a little schoolgirl called to the head’s office, and I scuff my boots along to irritate him. He shoots me a look but then ignores me resolutely. Once we’re on board we set off again and I manage to fall back to sleep wearing another hoody and cursing Sid.
However, the next afternoon when I come back to the bus to change I find a parcel sitting on my bunk. There’s no label on it but it’s wrapped in expensive looking gold tissue paper and tied with a large, black silk bow. Opening the paper I gasp. Inside is a set of black cashmere blankets, and a comforter which is incredibly thick and soft and in a beautiful sand colour with cream and black flowers on it. Catching sight of a label I gasp as I see the Ralph Lauren logo. Clutching it to my chest I run the fabric against my face. It will be incredibly warm at night and it feels terribly expensive. It’s only when I hold it near to my face that I smell the faint trace of citrus and spice that clings to the blanket, and I smile hugging it to my chest. I don’t need a label to know who bought this for me.
Seven
Hours later I sit in the late afternoon playing poker with Rob and some of the other boys. All the men are very nice and have settled easily into having a rogue woman amongst them. They give me first dibs in the bathroom and lo
ok after me, and in return I cook occasionally and clean up after them. Most of them are married and I’ve been treated to endless photos of their wives and children and grandchildren so it feels a bit like a big, extended, travelling family.
We’re currently in Hamburg waiting to play the gig. I’m changed and ready, dressed in a very short, flippy, black lace skirt teamed with a black and white pinstriped vest top and boots provided by Vanessa, who follows us in a big van fitted out with rails of clothes and everything that she needs to keep them ready. She tends to stop in motels rather than sleep on the bus which I have to say is a welcome relief. I know she doesn’t like me because of Sid which is silly because she really doesn’t have to worry about him. She’s also been very temperamental, especially since the other night when she put me in a red and white striped t-shirt with tight black capri trousers, and Bram asked her if she’d got a string of onions and a beret to go with the outfit.
Becoming aware that the other men are waiting for my hand and that I’m once again thinking about Sid I throw my cards down. “I’m going to walk across,” I say. It’s nearly time anyway for the openers to go on. There’s a round of agreement and ten minutes later we all tumble out of the bus and start the walk across the car park. Normally, the bus drops us off outside the gig and then parks some way off. The drivers pick us up afterwards and then we either travel to the hotel for the night, or they drive through the night taking us to the next destination on the itinerary. Tonight it’s the latter.
The coach park that we’re in has been scrutinized thoroughly before being deemed to be suitable by security. They’re stringent but then they have to be because the amount of groupies surrounding these boys is extreme. They wait everywhere - outside the doors of the gigs, near the tour buses. They haunt the hotels and everywhere on the itinerary including service stations and public toilets. The boys seem to take it in their stride and humour them without going too far, although from some of the tales that the guys who’ve been with them for a few years tell, they haven’t always been angels and have had more than their fair share of groupies.
Now however, Seth and Charlie are taken, Charlie more than Seth I think, and that leaves Bram and Sid as the single ones. Bram is a total player but a selective one, and his conquests seem to be comprised of models and actresses to the extent that Seth reckons that he’s making his way through the books of the European modelling agencies. Sid doesn’t seem to bother but I’m bracing myself for the day that he does because I know that it’s going to hurt like fuck when he does. I know this because the girls only have to put their arms round him and I get a tense sick feeling. I watch him all the time, but so far he’s more concentrated on the music than anything else. Shrugging my thoughts off I huddle into my coat and make my way towards our venue.
Two hours later
We’re playing in a crazy old rococo theatre with acres of red velvet and gold trimmings and it’s been a brilliant night. The crowd has been fantastic, full of a huge energy and the boys have been brilliant and on top of their game. Charlie prowls the front of the stage like a blonde god holding everyone’s eyes as he exchanges banter with the audience and his voice seems to fill the theatre with its gravelly, powerful sound. He’s much happier tonight because Mabe and Mick got here a few hours ago and she’s staying for a few days.
It’s Sid as normal though that captures my eyes. He took his shirt off a few songs back and stuffed it in the back of his jeans to the accompaniment of much female screaming to which he responded with a bow and a smirk. He’s not moving much unlike Bram, who wanders around the stage joking with whoever he’s standing next to like a very hot social butterfly. Sid though, well Sid just stands still staring out at the audience with a half-smile playing around the edges of his full lips as his long fingers move over the strings fluidly. His tattoos glisten with sweat on his olive skin and his hair is a sweaty mess standing on end from where he’s pushed his hands through it to get it out of his eyes.
He looks like nothing more than that he’s crawled out of some woman’s bed in the middle of the night, and I can’t help it anymore because I want that woman to be me. I want it so badly I have to clench my inner thighs together which seems to make the throbbing worse. He must sense something of what I’m feeling because his head suddenly shoots up and his eyes seem to spear me. They clear rapidly of the hazy enjoyment that they are always filled with when he’s on stage, and instead they darken with a visceral response. Our stares tangle and that distance that’s been between us abruptly vanishes and everything else suddenly becomes just background noise. I see him gasp and wet his lips and I can’t help but show everything that’s in my mind, and almost as if he’s moving through treacle he starts to come towards me.
It’s at this point that the night takes a bad turn. We’ve just been getting ready to sing the encore which is going to be The Cranberries’ ‘Linger’ and have just started the intro to a wave of applause, when Charlie who has been shooting his normal sidelong glances to where Mabe stands off stage, suddenly gasps and drops his microphone with an appalling screech before darting off stage. I look up just in time to see Mabe collapsed in a heap, her dress billowing around her. Charlie moves so fast that he’s on her before I can blink, pushing Mick out of the way and cradling her head in his lap frantically.
It all happens in slow motion and at first the boys don’t realise what’s happened, and they carry on playing for a few seconds before it dawns on them that something is wrong. Sid turns just in time to see Charlie get to his feet carrying Mabe in his arms, and he makes a choked noise and starts to take off his guitar and go to them. Charlie shakes his head and motions to carry on but Sid stands stock still as if he doesn’t know what to do.
I edge towards him and then Seth, Adam and Bram descend on us pushing us into a tight huddle at the side. We’re out of view but in the background I can hear the unsettled shouts of the crowd. They’re going to get really agitated soon if we don’t take control of the moment. Bram is muttering to Sid and I can hear snatches of what he’s saying, urging him to get it together and that Mabe will be fine, but it’s obviously not going well and he gives me a helpless look which doesn’t sit well on his normally confident face. “Tell him Nell,” he urges. “We’ve got to get back on and quickly.”
It dimly occurs to me that it’s odd that he looks to me to look after Sid but the moment is too urgent, and I do what I always want to do whenever I see that worried look cross his face. I go on tiptoe and curve my palms around his high, broad cheekbones. His eyes are worried and focused on the side of the stage where Charlie disappeared, but at my touch he seems to come to and he focuses on me. “Get it together sweetheart,” I urge him and he blinks. “Mabe will be fine and we need to finish up so that Charlie doesn’t feel that he has to come back on and leave her.” It’s this that gets through to him and he nods determinedly and the other men breathe a sigh of relief. “Can you sing?” I ask him but Seth interrupts us.
“You’ll have to do it Nell.”
“What?” I ask in disbelief, and a fair amount of panic. “I can’t do that. I’m just the backing singer, they’ll never accept me doing it. Sid can do it.”
“He can’t sing like you sweetheart,” Seth says gently. “You’re it honey and you know it. You’re no more a backing singer than I’m Ginger Rogers.” I smile slightly at that image and look uncertainly at Sid who surprises me by sliding his arm around my waist and drawing me to him. Feeling him touch me after the last week of Cold War makes me shiver.
“Only do this if you’re okay with it,” he says intently. “I don’t want you feeling uncomfortable about anything, ever.”
“What do you think?”
“I know you can do it.” He has absolute certainty in his eyes and I feel strength seep back into me along with a dose of high adrenaline energy. I know that I can do it and I know it’ll feel so good to be front stage again. Something of what I am feeling must get through to him because he rubs my shoulders briskly and steps bac
k. “What are we going to sing?” he asks, looking at the other three.
“Not ‘Linger’,” Bram says staring into space thoughtfully. “That sounded different with Charlie singing it, but Nell’s got a similar voice to Dolores so we need something else.”
“Elbow’s ‘One Day Like This’,” Seth offers and Sid grins.
“That’s it. Nell sounded fucking fantastic doing that during rehearsals. Imagine what it’ll sound like on stage.”
“What about the violin?” Adam queries.
“Sid can do it,” I say turning to him and he grimaces.
“I’m not sure about that sweetheart. You’ve only given me a few lessons.”
“Sid, you played it through perfectly the other day.” I pause and then swallow hard and reach for my violin from behind him. “Take it,” I say holding it out to him.
Sid looks startled. “I can’t sweetheart, your brother bought you that. You don’t let anyone else touch it.”
“I can when it’s you. I trust you.” I push the instrument into his hand gratified to see him cradling the violin like it’s his baby and with reverence. “You’re brilliant with instruments.”
Bram breaks the moment when he makes gagging noises. “Fuck off, don’t say that Nell. He’ll be going on about his looking after your instrument for the rest of the night.” Sid laughs outright at that, pushing him playfully and then the four men snap into place and focus. “So we’re decided? I’ll introduce you?”
I gulp. “Yes go for it,” I say firmly, moving towards the front of the stage as if I’m in a dream.
Sid
