by Nicky Wells
Once at Heathrow, we checked in my suitcase, but I held on to my hand-luggage, which, in addition to the essential toiletries, also contained a laptop, the camera, and a brand new mobile phone—paid for by Read London—that would work abroad and enabled me to send emails to Rick from wherever, whenever. Hundreds of people were milling about but nobody paid us any attention, and the band was waiting for us in the lounge. They were in full rock-star garb for the journey and for the photos that I would be taking, and they had commandeered an entire section of the lounge. Dan, Darren, Mick, and Joe, plus Jack, the manager, Richard, the sound man, and other new faces. The roadies, however, were already on the road with the trucks and equipment and would be setting up in The Hall by the time we touched down in Edinburgh.
Rachel and I got a glowing reception and immediately found little glasses of champagne pressed in our hands. It suddenly occurred to me that there had been rather a lot of champagne in my life lately, and it was a lifestyle feature that I could easily become accustomed to. Get real, Sophie Penhalligan, I told myself, but I enjoyed the treat nonetheless. The guys were in high spirits, confident in the success of the upcoming tour and excited to be together and on the road again. Jokes and reminiscences flew through the air as I took notes and pictures and Rachel listened in wide-eyed wonderment. All too soon the time came for the band and I to board the plane and for Rachel to return to the drudgery of the news desk. We hugged and held each other closely, as though we would never see each other again, and all of a sudden I was very afraid and very lonely.
“Atta girl,” she murmured into my ear once again. “You’ll be fine. Just stay strong as long as you can. And if you can’t, go with the flow. I’m always at the end of my mobile phone.” And then she was gone and I had to face the next three weeks on my own. I had a feeling that whatever happened, my life wouldn’t quite be the same again afterwards.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Whether by chance or by booking, we had business class entirely to ourselves. It was marvelous to lounge in the big comfy seats rather than squeeze into the cramped economy buckets, and we spread out gratefully. Surprisingly, Dan kept his distance from me. He wasn’t unfriendly. On the contrary, he was his usual funny self. But there were no intimate hints or gestures, no allusions to things that had been or might be, and that was a great relief. I actually ended up sitting next to Joe for the flight and had a chance to ponder how events were turning out.
Perhaps, I considered, Dan’s more distanced behavior wasn’t such a surprise after all, particularly if he had another girlfriend—I was slowly making my peace with that notion. I wasn’t sure whether the rest of the band was aware of our little dates, and it was possible that he had kept those developments to himself. If that was the case, it would be perfectly logical for him to behave toward me like he had always behaved: friendly, cheerful, glad to see me, mildly indulgent of a star-struck girl now turned their chief tour reporter. I relaxed tremendously, gladdened by the thought that everything might work all right in the end. For my part, I was wildly overexcited at being there for the ride. Even if my heart still started skittering when I got too close to Dan, I felt in control. Where once I had spent six hours on the train going up, and a few more on the coach coming down, the plane took just over an hour to reach Edinburgh and the flight was over before we really knew it. A limo picked us up to take us to our hotel in the city center, and the twenty-minute journey through the sunshiny hills was beautiful. If possible, our collective spirits lifted even further.
We arrived at the League just before midday, and although this time I was mentally prepared for a stay in a five-star hotel, the luxury and grandeur of the place still took my breath away. The band grinned and looked around appreciatively, too, and it occurred to me that the last time we had all seen each other in Edinburgh, they might not have stayed in quite such extraordinary accommodation. Jack had booked us all suites rather than mere rooms, and I was keen to go exploring. The first thing I noticed about my suite was that it had outrageous views over the city. The League had recently refurbished, and the suite was modern and sleek with clean lines and vast expanses of white wall space. The effect was sumptuous but quite different from the Royal. Listen to yourself, Sophie, I chided as I wandered around the room, you are already comparing hotels like some kind of Michelin guy. Are you still in the real world?
Then I had a double shock that put tiny little cracks into my composure. The first indication that Dan wasn’t quite as distanced as I had thought was a massive bouquet of flowers on one of the casual tables. I hadn’t paid it too much attention at first, assuming that it just came with the room. But when I sniffed at the roses, I noticed a little card tucked in at the top in an envelope that carried my name. The flowers were from Dan. And his note said: Sophie—so glad you could come. Looking forward to seeing you…later. Love, Dan.
Resume the emotional rollercoaster! My heart responded in predictable fashion, beating wildly and loudly. My hands were clammy and I was a little dizzy with excitement. At the same time, panic also reasserted itself and my mind struggled to come up with an interpretation of Dan’s note that would be at once flattering and harmless. However, the only interpretation that really made sense was—you are in trouble. His mystery girlfriend notwithstanding, he appeared to have designs on me. Then came the second shock. I had resumed my tour of the room, this time examining cupboard spaces, looking into drawers and opening doors restlessly. I had located a massive built-in wardrobe, the minibar, the bathroom, and storage space for my luggage before I opened the final mysterious door. I didn’t know what exactly I expected, but I certainly didn’t expect to come out in Dan’s room. I had noted earlier that our suites were adjacent—unavoidably so, as all the band stayed on this corridor—but I hadn’t reckoned with a set of connecting doors between the rooms. As it happened, I opened the door and stepped into a tiny enclosure, like a mini-vestibule, which gave onto another door. Opening that, too, now thoroughly curious, I found myself face-to-face with a stark naked Dan who didn’t even have the grace to blush.
“Hey there,” he greeted me cheerfully. “Like your suite?”
I averted my eyes as I tried to make sense of the scene. Had he undressed and been waiting for me? But no, I quickly realized that I had merely caught him in the act of changing into different clothes, and I let out a little sigh of relief. At least his plan hadn’t been to entrap me, just yet.
“My suite is fine,” I blundered, blushing deeply on Dan’s behalf. “Sorry, I didn’t know this door gave into your room…I’ll see you later.” I backed out quickly, only just hearing him shout, “Sophie, wait…”
Back in my suite, alone, I examined my part of the connecting doors carefully. There didn’t seem to be a lock on it at all and certainly no key. I couldn’t imagine that the hotel wouldn’t provide some kind of locking mechanism—after all, they might not always hire the suites to people who were comfortable practically sharing a room. Then I grasped how things worked: there was a little button inside the doorknob that, when depressed, would engage a bolt of some description. I touched my hand to the doorknob tentatively, feeling compelled to ensure my privacy. But then I dithered. Would Dan be able to hear me lock the door? Would that be rude? Last but not least, there was the little tingling sensation in my tummy that suggested that it might be quite enjoyable, a bit of a thrill, to leave my door unlocked. Perhaps I was eager to see if Dan would come and venture in during the night… Perhaps that might be…nice?
A knock on my door—the proper door, not the connecting door—absolved me of the need to make a decision. When I opened it, Dan stood outside, now fully dressed and with a slightly apologetic smile on his face.
“Sorry,” he began, “I didn’t know the door was unlocked, and I didn’t expect you to barge in like that. But I didn’t mean to startle you.”
He sounded quite sincere and looked like a little boy lost, so I laughed and asked him in.
“Thanks for the flowers,” I ventured, “They
are beautiful.”
“Do you like them?” Dan beamed. “That’s great. I wanted you to know how much we all look forward to having you aboard on this tour.”
“That’s very sweet of you. I’m happy to be here,” I stated cautiously, inwardly kicking myself. Here was my chance to let rip some serious aggravation vis-à-vis his cunning, evil ploy to drag me on the tour and vis-à-vis the question of the other woman…and all I said was that I was happy to be here?
“Anyway,” Dan broke into my thoughts, “I just wanted to let you know that we’re off to rehearsal in a few minutes. You’re welcome to come along if you want. Or if you’d rather go sightseeing, I wouldn’t blame you either.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t miss rehearsal for the world,” I breathed eagerly. I pulled back hastily, trying to reclaim some neutral ground. “Besides, as official tour chronicler, it’s kind of my job to be there. You know, vital part of the insight and all that.” That was better. A little calmer, a little cooler, and a lot more professional.
“You sure? It might be pretty boring?” Dan looked at me doubtfully.
“Never boring. Plus…” I decided to play it a little cheekily, putting us both at ease. “Rehearsal beats sitting at my desk. Should I wear anything special?”
Should I wear anything special? For a rehearsal? Was I insane? I cursed myself inwardly, but Dan didn’t seem to have picked up on anything weird.
“Probably not to rehearsal, but we’re going for dinner afterwards and you might want to… you know, dress up a little for that. If you fancy,” he added quickly, lest I should think he thought I wasn’t looking good. “I don’t know if we’ll have time to come back here beforehand so you might want to bring a change of clothes.” I nodded my head in thanks. “Great, I’ll get organized. I’ll see you…what, downstairs?”
Dan shook his head. “I’ll pick you up. The limo is leaving from the catering entrance this time, and I don’t want you to get lost or left behind.” The catering entrance, indeed. Not very glamorous, I thought, but then the true celebrity hide-and-evade tactics were obviously starting and that was thoroughly glamorous in itself.
Rehearsal was great fun. The band did a complete run-through of the show, fireworks, jokes, encores and all. Just being in The Hall again after all this time was exciting and weird at the same time—a little bit like a time warp. The hall hadn’t changed at all, and I even found my way round to the backstage area all on my own—unencumbered by security staff this time and in proud possession of my backstage VIP pass. Joe had explained to me on the plane that Edinburgh wasn’t necessarily an obvious choice for launching a revival tour, but the band had a good nostalgic reason for doing so. They had played their first ever proper gig here together in a tiny little club off Lothian Road. That was where Jack had spotted them, and after that, things had taken off in a big way for Tuscq. Ever since, they had made a point of playing a venue in Edinburgh on every tour, and it seemed poignant to launch their reunion tour here—albeit on a much grander scale.
I reclaimed my seat with Richard in his sound booth and took notes and pictures as the band breezed through the set. Their performance and demeanor was quite unlike at the small gig in Islington that I had seen. There, they had seemed relaxed and at ease. Now, they were working hard at their every move, their every sound, and the result was breathtaking. Dan, Darren, and Mick resurrected their infamous stage walk and I couldn’t help but whistling and clapping loudly in excitement. My applause sounded a little thin all by itself in the vast hall, but the guys heard it and gave me an appreciative grin nonetheless.
Three hours later, rehearsal finished. The show itself was over two hours long and included a host of classics as well as a few new songs to serve as appetizers for the upcoming album. After going through the set, Jack and Mick had puzzled over fine-tuning the light show and the explosives, and the band had launched into the opening bars of a few songs to try out new variations on light and sound. But after three hours, Dan and Mick drew a line—no point in exhausting themselves the day before the Big Gig—and the guys went off to shower and change. I, too, did a lightning change, taking care to look smart enough for whatever fancy restaurant they had chosen, but not too tarted-up to give the impression that…well, that I was trying. I had a vague suspicion that Dan would hope to see me in the Donna Karan number again, and so I had deliberately put on quite a different outfit, but as I was in the process of changing, I found myself wishing that I could go all-out. Not to impress anyone, just to make the most of the situation. But my sleek trousers and the slinky top from Bloomingdale’s—at least I had thought to bring that—would do.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Dinner was at a restaurant in the middle of the Old Town just by the Castle. We drew up to a light show of flashbulbs exploding in our faces. The guys grinned and preened for the photographers, but I didn’t know exactly what to do. I wasn’t really part of the band and didn’t deserve any limelight, but it was awkward just kind of hanging round there like a lost dog. Then Joe and Mick dragged me in the center and I was instantly blinded by more flashbulbs going off, plus now there was a barrage of questions regarding my person. Nobody bothered to answer; everyone just nodded, smiled, and waved and then we were inside.
“Blimey,” I exclaimed before I could help myself. “How did they know you would be here?”
“They didn’t,” Jack explained. “But this place is a notorious hang-out for celebs. Have a look at their guest book.”
I noticed a leather guest book proudly displayed at reception and took a closer look. Goodness, we were in illustrious company. The likes of John Sephia and Ella McNeele had all eaten here at one time or another. Now I did feel underdressed!
“You see, we thought coming here would be a great opportunity to make our presence known,” Jack elaborated with a broad grin. “I’m sure the pictures will help sell your column beautifully too.” I nodded; he had a good point there.
“You could have warned me, though,” I hissed at no one in particular. “I knew we were going somewhere fancy, but I’m not dressed for this.”
Five pairs of eyes regarded me with surprise.
“You look just fine,” Mick said first, and completely sincerely.
“You look great,” Joe and Darren chorused.
“No worries, love,” was Jack’s soothing comment.
“A black dress would have been a little over the top, don’t you think?” Dan threw in casually. I gasped. Was that a guess? Or could he really, always, read my mind?
Before we could discuss my attire any further, we were led to our table and proffered menus. Once more I found myself in front of starched linen table cloths and expensive silver cutlery. If this continued, I would soon have to discard my humble no-brand eating implements and even Tim would have to work hard at upgrading his tableware to keep me in this kind of style.
With Rachel’s help, I had hit upon a new tack of avoiding agonizing over menus and prices. The trick would be to let the guys order all the alcohol and to take the lead from someone else at the table by way of starters and main course. So for once, I sat back, relaxed, smiled, and spent some time regarding the other diners. Sophie Penhalligan, I told myself, I believe you are enjoying yourself.
Of course, my little ruse had only one flaw—the waiter wasn’t in on it. Thus when he returned, he stood immediately by me and looked at me expectantly.
“Uh, err…,” I mumbled, leafing through the menu frantically after all.
“I believe our Sophie was miles away,” Joe observed with a little smile. “Want some help?”
“Please,” I breathed. “Sorry, I really was on a different planet there.”
“I think you should start with the pumpkin and parmesan soup,” Joe suggested sensibly. Obviously, a married guy was au fait with the dietary agonies of women trying to maintain their waistlines.
“No,” Darren threw in wickedly, “Sophie, try some oysters.” He threw a sly glance at Dan as if to observe a reaction. Dan, however, ha
d his nose buried in his own menu. I shuddered involuntarily. Much as I loved seafood, I had never worked up the courage for oysters, and I wasn’t about to start.
“The soup is an excellent suggestion,” the waiter interceded, sensitive to my discomfort at the thought of slimy, slippery oysters.
“Great, fine, super. I’ll go for the soup then.” I decided quickly. Pumpkin soup wasn’t really my thing, but it sounded infinitely safer than the oysters.
“And for mains,” Dan announced, “Sophie will have the seafood platter.” He winked at me over his menu.
“I will?” I said, astonished.
“She will?” Jack and Mick asked at the same time, also astonished.
Dan hesitated for only a second. “Sure. If she wants to, that is. I think I remember her saying something about adoring lobsters. And prawns.”
“I do,” I began, “but…”
“Great idea,” Jack chimed in. “I’ll have the same thing.”
The waiter scribbled on his pad and I was too embarrassed to cause a fuss. There was absolutely nothing wrong with ordering the seafood platter. I was just confused by Dan’s proprietary gesture here. Like he had a right to order on my behalf. Meaningful glances were being exchanged around the table but nobody commented, and conversation returned to the rehearsal and the upcoming gig.
With such a large group and so much delicate food ordered, dinner took an inordinate amount of time and it was almost ten o’clock by the time we finished our meal. There were yawns all around the table and the general consensus was to grab an early night before the big day.
