Page 5 of Wish You Once More
“Honestly, I have no idea. Plus, I don’t care.” I crossed my fingers underneath the table so Callie couldn’t see me. “If he’s only coming back for the festival, it can’t be more than a couple of days. So tell me, how am I going to avoid him?”
“Honestly, I have no idea.” Callie mimicked my response. “You’re going to have to get used to the fact that you’re going to see him again.”
I hated it when she was right.
3
Mat
The night before returning home for the Dart Sundowner, Trash Gun played a low-key gig at The Matchbox to test out our new material. After Scott’s prolific creative session, we had plenty to try out. Beforehand the PR team released some info via our various social media channels, to make sure our hardcore fans would show up and wax lyrical about the fresh songs.
Scott prowled about the backstage area, seemingly more hyper than he’d been in a long while. A part of me wondered whether he’d taken something, as was his pre-show habit. Although that had been pre-Rosie too, and given his calm reaction to my news about going home, I put his jitters down to new song nerves kicking in.
I got a rush of adrenaline just thinking about our new stuff. In spite of how quickly it all came together, there were some absolute gems in there.
About twenty minutes before we were due on my phone rang. My brother’s face flashed on the screen. “Alright? Just checking what time you’re getting here tomorrow?”
“Hang on a sec.” I took the phone from my ear and double checked the time on the confirmation email for my train ticket. “About quarter past three. Why?”
“If you want picking up from the station, Melinda needed to make sure it didn’t clash with getting Henry from nursery.”
My four-year-old nephew, Henry, had recently started at a new pre-school. Jonny and Melinda, his partner, constantly updated me with how he was doing, and his latest progress in everything. It surprised me they didn’t send pictures of his latest poo, given how open they were sharing all the other things.
“Don’t worry, I’ll get a taxi.”
“At that time of day? You’ll be lucky to get one. All the drivers will be off on the school runs.” Jonny scoffed. “We’ll pick you up.”
Scott tossed one of Bobby’s drumsticks at me, narrowly missing poking my eye out. “You ready?” he hissed.
“Look, I’ve got to go,” I said. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Okay. Text me if the train’s running late, and make sure you’ve looked at the setlist.”
I screwed up my eyes. Jonny had sent me a setlist for Sunday’s gig, consisting mainly of popular, crowd pleasing covers. I’d teased him there weren’t any Trash Gun tracks on there. I needed to do some serious homework to make sure I knew what I was doing, the majority of tracks were ones we used to do when we were younger - which kind of told you everything you needed to know about Jonny’s ambitions for the band. I ended the call, flexing my shoulders out.
From domestic real life to rock star life in the space of a few seconds… not.
“Guys, come here.” Scott beckoned me, Bobby and Declan into the centre of the room and pulled us into a huddle. “I don’t know about you, but I’m shit scared about this gig. It’s been a long time since I’ve felt so nervy showing new stuff off.”
He had every right to be nervous, although the new material was epic, off the scale, it was mostly Scott’s soul laid bare in three or four minute songs. He’d never written anything so personal before, something which showed his true feelings.Adjust My Reality,the song he’d been inspired to write about Rosie, already had the hallmarks of a total classic. I’m pretty sure the record label execs came in their pants when they heard it.
“It’ll be fine,” I reassured him. “You know this shit is good.”
“Good is an understatement,” added Declan. “Even without my guitar parts, the songs are amazing.” He gave us a lopsided smile, never one to shy away from blowing his own trumpet.
Scott jigged from foot to foot, raw nerves making him restless. He really had nothing to be worried about though. The gig tonight was a tame audience, fans who would love whatever we did, even if it turned out to be covers.
“Scott, they’re going to eat it up,” I reiterated.
“I wish I had your confidence.” Scott cast his eyes towards the floor.
“Well, let’s go see what they think.” I slapped him on the back and pushed him towards the dressing room door.
From the stage we had a clear view of the hundred or so fans waiting for us. An audience similar to the size we used to play to when we first started out. Definitely more intimate than we’d become used to. Suddenly I understood Scott’s nerves.
I settled myself on Scott’s left-hand side, my familiar spot, Declan on his right, Bobby behind us. We may be doing new material, but there were some things which would never change.
Scott took the mic. “Evening everyone, thanks for coming down.”
