‘Have you spoken to Luc?’ Jess asks.
I shake my head.
‘He’s not messaged?’ Mimi probes.
I shake it again and mime a zip over my lips. They both laugh.
‘Well… I’m sure he will. You want to talk to him, don’t you?’
I hesitate for a fraction of a second before my head nods. I don’t remember giving it the signal to do so, but we are where we are.
‘See you after.’ Jess kisses me on the cheek.
And then Dennis is here with the cloak and it’s time to go.
Two hours. Six complete outfit changes, more outfit adjustments. Twenty-eight songs – some full length, others shortened. Let’s go. I am ready. Ready as I’ll ever be.
My dancers are on stage performing their opening routine to the backing track we start with, and I am huddledunderneath the stage in a lift that will pop me up in the middle. The dancers will gather around a hole in the stage and then I’ll come up and be in the middle of them. When they disperse, all the fans in the stadium will see me.
The opening bars ofKind Regardsstart as the stage starts pushing me upwards. The crowd is screaming so loudly that I can hear it through my in-ears. The monotone metronome keeps me in time and a robotic voice counts me into the first verse. My body reacts automatically after weeks of rehearsals.
The crowd is screaming the lyrics to the song which, in the grand scheme of things, hasn’t been out all that long.
The next song starts –Ballpoint Pen– and I readjust my position, my dancers clipping a long, black, sheer skirt around my waist, right at the top of the shorts’ waistband. Look number two.
In A Head Spin, a bonus track offYour Email Didn’t Find Me Well, merges onto the end of the song. The choreography comes through my body without me even trying to think about it, my limbs following the moves I’ve rehearsed over and over in rehearsals. Like muscle memory.
When the song ends, I stand back on the spot on the stage that I came up through and it brings me back down under the stage. I jump on the slide, and it takes me all the way back to the start, where my crew help me get into the next look. A floor-length, pink dress with a high slit and a feather hem. It’s not the most comfortable to dance in, but it’s for the act with acoustic numbers, so I don’t have to move in it too much, and it makes me look amazing. Even I can see that. My crew are adjusting my mic pack, my dancers still on stage to keep the crowd entertained with a short video on screen.
‘Sienna.’ I recognise the voice immediately. It slides down my back, a flood of goosebumps drowning my skin.
‘Luc,’ I gasp. ‘How did you get back here?’
‘Mimi.’
I open my mouth, my crew struggling to attach my micpack and in-ears to the new costume. I close my mouth again and try to help them out, but they tell me to be still.
‘I couldn’t miss your show,’ Luc smiles, and then the doors start to open at the top of the stage and I’m back in front of the crowd. Literally ‘In a Head Spin’.
I mess up a few of the lyrics, a ‘we’ instead of ‘me’, a ‘face’ instead of ‘space’. I hope no one notices. I make a quick enough recovery every time. I get through the next five songs, settling back into the stage more and more as each intro beats. The fans are wild, screaming as soon as the opening notes tell them what I’ve decided to include on the setlist, and then shouting the lyrics alongside me.
At the end of the second act, the halfway mark of the show. I had decided to singSeeing DoublefromParty Pooperacoustically. But, after seeing Luc, the only song at the end of my tongue, at the end of my fingers ready to flow through my voice and a piano isI’m Sorry– a niche track from my fourth albumSweethearts Inside at Night.
The original album about my first relationship with Luc.
Songs written over the two months before I ran, before I started to feel myself getting too comfortable.
I’m Sorrywas the last song I wrote for the album, almost an apology to both Luc and myself when I realised what I was about to do. I wrote the song at two o’clock in the morning, when Luc was upstairs sleeping. We’d had a really chilled day hanging out with each other, and I wasn’t nearly as big then as I am now. Don’t get me wrong, I was successful, but I could do more things without being chased through the streets. So, we’d been for a walk in Richmond Park, trying to find the deer so I could see nature up close. We’d been to a cute, small Italian restaurant in the evening, and there were only a few other people in there. I think there’s still a photo of us on the wall eating their signature pasta dish. The photo did the rounds on the Internet after it was revealed that Luc and I were back together. I felt so settled, so normal. A day like thatwas completely at odds with the rest of my life. I didn’t see how the two could meld together.
I sit on the piano stool, adjusting the microphone so that it’s level to my mouth. I clear my throat. It’s hoarse, but I think I can make it through the rest of the show. ‘I hope you’re all enjoying the show so far, Edinburgh!’
The crowd screams in response, and my voice disappears into the mix of happy cries.
‘It’s so nice to be back on stage with you after all this time, and it’s so lovely to be able to celebrate with you what you’ve done for me over the years. What you’ve done for albums likeYour Email Didn’t Find Me Well.’
More screaming, and then I vaguely start to hear my name coming through my in-ears. Soon enough, the screaming has stopped, and the entire stadium is chanting my name.
‘Oh,’ I squeak, allowing myself to take my in-ears out for a few seconds. My mouth drops when I hear how loud they are. I put my in-ears back in to protect my hearing – and my make-up from the tears which will come – and put my fingers back on the piano.
