MagiMix had dragged out his old—very old, judging from the fit—punk rocker gear and was now bearing down on us in ripped jeans and a leather-jacket-over-bare-chest combo that was a lot harder to get away with on a primary school headteacher. “You think we just come and go when you tell us to?”
“I think you had your chance,” Saint replied, “and you fucking blew it.”
I quietly explained to the security guard that Rik and Mix were—if you really stretched the point—with me, which freed up Jism to join the party. Because after all, what party didn’t need more Jism? He’d also repunked himself for the occasion, his hair spiked and his piercings—of which there were many—back in. Thankfully, he did have a shirt on. “Wefucking blew it? You fucking blew it, mate.”
“The fuck I did.”
I confronted the Rancid Sputum reunion with what I hoped was an “in charge” face rather than a “screw you” face. “For the last time, what are you all doing here?”
“They,” replied Saint immediately, “are trying to horn in on my big moment.”
“And what big moment is that?” I asked, even though Saint was immune to sarcasm.
He just stared at me. “Opening for Odile.”
“Why would you think you’re opening for Odile?” It felt weirdcalling her that instead ofMum. “The last time we spoke, you told me to shut down the whole festival, and I told you to fuck off.”
Rik Jism was glancing between us like a squirrel at a tennis match. “Hang on. What he said to me was that Odile was playing the shitbug festival, and she’d asked him to open for her and he was going to do it without us.”
“Why would my mum even have heard of you?” I exploded at the same time Saint spread his hands in an infuriating gesture ofoopsand drawled out, “What I actually said was, she’ll want us to open for her.”
“Well, she’ll won’t.” I shut that down with more gusto than grammar.
Saint was still refusing to believe he hadn’t got his way. But MagiMix hadn’t got to be the deputy headteacher of Celvestune Primary School by being slow or stubborn. “Oh, of fuckingcourse. I should have fuckingknown.”
While MagiMix was reserving his anger for Saint, Rik Jism wasn’t so discerning. He got very, very up in my face and poked his finger into my chest. “So there’s no gig?”
I stepped just slightly out of poking range. “No, there’s no gig. You didn’twanta gig.”
“I didn’t want a gig when there was nothing in it for me,” Rik Jism corrected me. “Opening for Odile is something for me.”
“But apparently,” added MagiMix, who I realised was still wearing his glasses, making the old-school rocker-boy look even less convincing than it could have been, “not something we’re getting. Which is a shame because I was really hoping to be able to put this in the newsletter.”
“You want to put a punk gig you played shirtless next to a guy called Jism in a primary school newsletter?” I asked.
MagiMix looked down at his bare torso. “Maybe I should put a top on.”
Saint turned around and put a hand on MagiMix’s chest. “Hold on. The Mix doesnotput a top on.”
“As far as you were concerned, the Mix wasn’t playing the gig at all ten seconds ago,” Rik Jism pointed out. “Neither was I.”
“Also, thereisno gig,” I added.
Sometimes I wondered how Saint didn’t give himself whiplash with how quickly he changed direction. “Hey, we’re here,” he said, “and we areRancid fucking Sputum. If we’re going to do this thing, we do ithard.”
“Not too hard,” clarified MagiMix. “Iamstill needed in school on Monday.”
Rik Jism rolled his eyes. “Fuck me, when did you get to be such a lightweight?”
“When I joined an industry that doesn’t run on cocaine and sexual harassment?”
“Hey, I dropped out of the music business too,” Rik Jism replied.
“I wasn’t talking about the music business. I know what those big-city firms are like.”
It looked like Rik Jism was about to protest, but in the end he said, “You know what? Fair.”
“Nobody isdoinganything,” I tried to explain. “Hard or other—”
