Page 68 of Wish You Were Here
‘Okay, Dad. I can do it.’
‘Of course you can, love. You are the most talented girl in the world, and there is nothing you cannot do.’
‘I can’t fly, Dad.’
‘True, you cannot fly.’
‘Or eat shellfish because I’m allergic.’
‘Or eat shellfish because you’re allergic. But apart from flying and eating shellfish, there is nothing you cannot do.’
‘Okay, Dad.’
‘Say it,’ said Dad, looking at me with that slightly crooked smile of his.
‘There is nothing in the world I cannot do.’
‘That’s right, love. Now go out there and break a leg!’ said Dad, before he kissed me on the top of my head. As soon as he was gone, Miss Wootton told me it was time to go on, and I did. Mum and Dad were in the front row, and whenever I was nervous, I would look at Dad and I knew it was going to be all right. I went out there and gave what Miss Wootton described as ‘the best performance of her teaching career’, which to be fair, had only lasted two years because she was quite new.
I am standing backstage waiting to go on, and I am nervous again. I wish Dad were here just like he was before ‘Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs’. This is it, the biggest gig of my life, and what am I thinking about? Ben, of course. I couldn’t believe itwhen he told me we couldn’t speak to each other anymore. Don’t get me wrong, I understand, and if I were in Jemma’s shoes, I would have done the same thing. I don’t blame her, but that didn’t stop it from hurting. I have felt the pain of it all day, coursing through my veins like it was on a drip, and whenever it started to lose some of its intensity, another wave of it would shoot through my body. I know this is it, the gig that could change everything, and I should be ready to go out there and put on the show of my life, but I am struggling. I need Dad again.
Beyond the curtain, all my friends and family are there, and somewhere in the audience, Fudge Cake are watching me. I look to my left and I see Joe Thompson, and he gives me the thumbs up. I imagine this means that Fudge Cake are in the building. It’s time. I have to put Ben out of my mind. I hear my name being called, and then I start walking out onto the stage. I hear claps, cheers, and there is a single light in the centre of the stage. I walk into the light, pull the microphone a little nearer, and I look out at the crowd. It’s bigger than usual. I see Mum, Brian, Jess, Aaron and Brad, and I am looking around, but I don’t see Fudge Cake anywhere. Maybe they are watching from the wings with Joe. They probably don’t want to draw attention. This is it. I’m thirty now. No excuses. I launch into my first song.
I do the best gig of my life. I give it everything, perform my best songs, a few covers and for thirty minutes, it feels like I have the audience in the palm of my hand. They clap and cheer every song, and it feels like Dad is standing next to me the whole time. If this is my big chance, I know there is nothing more I could have done.
‘Thank you and goodnight!’ I finally say to huge applause, and I walk off stage, sweating, emotionally drained, and I just hope it’s enough.
‘That was awesome, Sas!’ says Joe as I walk past him. ‘Best gig of your life!’
‘Do you think Fudge Cake liked it? Where are they? I had a look around the audience and couldn’t see them, so I thought they’re probably backstage somewhere.’ The adrenalin of the performance and of what it might mean is still coursing through my body.
‘Yeah, no, so actually, Sas, they couldn’t make it.’
‘What?’ I say, suddenly feeling the ground moving beneath my feet, and all the blood that seconds ago was surging through my veins, spurred on by the adrenalin of my performance, is gone from my face and I feel sick to the stomach.
‘Yeah, something came up, eh. Last-minute.’
‘So, that’s it? My one chance to perform in front of Fudge Cake and they couldn’t make it?’ I say, my voice cracking with emotion.
‘Sorry, Sas. You look devo, and I get it, yeah. Let’s get a drink and we can talk about it,’ says Joe, stepping closer, reaching forward and trying to hold my hand, but I push him away.
‘What the fuck, Joe? Can I perform in front of them again?’
‘Yeah, no. I heard they already filled the support act slot. Some band from Darwin.’
‘You already knew?’ I feel waves of anger and sadness crashing through my body, and I know I am going to cry. I hate that I’m going to cry in front of Joe Thompson.
‘Didn’t want to ruin the night. Come on, let’s get a drink,’ says Joe, trying to grab my hand again, but I push him harder this time. ‘What the fuck, Sas? On your period or something?’
‘Fuck you, Joe!’ I scream at him, and he just smiles.
‘If you want to know the truth, they were never coming. I just wanted to get in your fucking undies, eh.’
‘What?’
‘It was all a setup,’ says Joe, and this is when I lose it. I punch him square in the face as hard as I can, which feels amazing – momentary thoughts of my conversation with Brianabout Yvette breaking that guy’s nose shoot through my mind – and then I walk away towards the green room, my whole-body trembling in shock, anger and sadness. Joe stumbles backwards, holding his face.
‘You were shit in bed, anyway! Fucking bitch. See you around … oh no I won’t because I’ll be on tour with Fudge Cake!’ shouts Joe, but I don’t look back.
