Page 93 of Did My Love Life Shrink in the Wash?
‘I just want to see you happy, B.’
I shrug. Am I happy? Who knows? In these situations, I tend to compare my happiness to the lowest alternatives and by that measure, I am OK. I love Lucy checking in to see how these levels can be topped up though. My phone beeps with a message from Giles.
QR codes and VIP passes attached for the after-party too. Looking forward to seeing you xx
It’s not just any night out tonight. We’re off to see Special K do a guest segment alongside one of the biggest rappers in the country. I was in two minds about accepting the invitation as I’m not sure I have the energy for a full riotous rap gig, but Lucy persuaded me otherwise.
Lucy peers over my shoulder.
‘VIP drinks, bitch. It is going to kick off, you know, right?’
‘Just make sure the socks don’t fall out of your bra.’
‘Cow.’
By the time we get to the venue, there’s still a queue outside the large white building but we manage to flash our codes around and the security guard ushers us in kindly even when faced with an excitable Lucy, who grips on tightly to my shoulders.
‘You’ve missed this, eh?’ she whispers into my ear over the roar of the music, the intensity of the crowd.
Missed is an understatement. Gigs were my thing. Actually, they were mine and Will’s thing and with a jolt, I think about how it should be his arm hooked into mine, not Lucy’s. He would love this. From large stadiums to small jazz venues, we used to hunt down listings and camp in queues. We were experts in balancing pints, knowing where to stand for the best sound quality and how to navigate the trek to the toilets. As we walk into the hall, hundreds of flashbacks hit me, from the touch of his hand around my midriff (Ben Howard) to Will starting sing-offs (Stevie Wonder, Hyde Park) to trying to get to the front of the mosh pit (Red Hot Chili Peppers; it was a mistake, I got kicked in the face). Rap concerts are always a different crowd though, everyone looks younger and much cooler in a sea of black sportswear, midriffs or the waistbands of their underwear showing.
Lucy manages to drag us around to the VIP area and another bouncer looks at me suspiciously. I know my jeggings sag a bit around the crotch. ‘Do you know who she is?’ Lucy asks.
I cringe as she says it. The security guard doesn’t look too impressed.
‘Her baby is on the album and stars in the video. This is his mum.’
He doesn’t look totally convinced. Lucy gets her phone out and shows him a photo, meaning this is the second time I’ve shown a security guard baby pictures in an attempt to prove a point. He smiles but still looks at us like we’re mad. That said, the passes I have on my phone help matters and he lets us through a roped area where everyone stops to look at us. I use Lucy as a shield and she struts in with all the confidence I’m lacking. It’s a small bar area but the crowd is naturally trendy – music people and press here for the freebies, sipping at champagne. To my relief, it’s not overly rammed so we weave our way through the crowd to find the alcohol.
‘Beth?’
Giles. Thank hell for that. I launch myself at him in an awkward fashion. ‘So glad we bumped into you. This is Lucy, my sister.’
‘Oliver, my husband.’ There’s a trade in greetings and air kissing. Oliver is lean, and towers over me with designer glasses and a trendy undercut going on. And they’re both in matching black; so they got the memo about the dress code.
‘We’re glad you came,’ replied Giles. ‘Kimmie was keen to have you on the list, to say thank you. Joe was a big part of the covers, the video.’
‘Was I supposed to bring him?’
‘To a rap gig, maybe not.’ He and Oliver laugh at me in what I hope is an affectionate way.
‘Are you both British rap fans then?’ I ask, trying to break the silence.
They both give me a strange look. ‘Not our usual genre of choice. We’re not sure if we’re supposed to be dancing?’ Oliver whispers.
‘I wouldn’t,’ I reply. ‘Rap concerts can be quite intense. Like good intense. It’s mainly jumping and the young ones will take their shirts off and run in circles at the front.’ I point to the main stage where the crowd throbs in time to the music. ‘I’d stand there, firm head nod…’
‘Or a co-ordinated shoulder move, one hand in the air, it’s all in the pout,’ Lucy says as we both demonstrate. Both Oliver and Giles look at us curiously. It’s a sister thing. But give Lucy an hour and a few beers and she’ll have choreographed a routine. Oliver and Lucy seem to start some sort of strange dance-off as Giles comes over to stand next to me.
‘Do you know those two?’ he asks. I laugh. Our attention is suddenly turned to the screen as in amongst some strobe lighting and dry ice, Special K emerges.
‘Look at our girl, eh?’ Giles whispers.
She strolls up and down the stage. The crowd bay with immense volume and her face is projected over dozens of screens, the lyrics pouring out of her double time and thousands of people spitting out the chorus with her. It’s a young crowd – they look like they belong in my school. The girl commands the space, her star quality shining through. Why do I feel like a proud parent?
‘Can I ask what the lioness means in the video? What does it signify?’
‘It was just based off a conversation I had with her. She likes nature shows and in the wild, lionesses do all the work. They own the pride, they’re the real stars of the show. So we threw that in as a nod. And all the other symbols reflected that: youth, birth, female power. I knew the spotlight was going to be intense so I wanted people to look at the right things.’
