‘OK. That’s the headline band, Jenneration. Can we have Average Spoonful, please?’
A new band hopped up onto the stage as the members of Jenneration stowed their instruments in the band room and, with Tamzin, were soon stepping outside into a rapidly cooling evening.
Tamzin trailed the others past big houses made into flats and small houses made into shops to the steamy warmth of a pizza parlour beside a laundrette, wondering how she’d keep her end up in conversation that was all about music and performance.
She knew all about being excluded.
Memories of uni crowded in. The elite kids who had been known as the Coven, with their sly grins and sarcasm, their pointed silences. Their remorseless ability to make her feel stupid and rejected. Her breathing began to hurry.
But at a booth of slippery red seats and a scratched plastic table Tamzin found herself dragged from the back of the group and wedged between the wall and George. He grinned at her. ‘Gotcha!’
The Coven faded from her mind. She realised that she was grinning goofily back when Erica had to flap a laminated menu to get her attention. ‘Tamzin, are you up for sharing a pizza?’
Tamzin was relieved and disappointed to break the eye contact with George. ‘Um, yes; I can’t eat a whole one.’
Erica sighed. ‘I can. And it goes straight to my bum.’
Marty laughed. He’d put on silver-framed glasses as soon as he got off stage and they glinted in the strong overhead light. ‘Don’t let her eat a whole one, Tamzin, or there’s not going to be room on the stage for the rest of us.’
Erica snorted. ‘Oh, right, Mr Strange Hair! If you use any more hairspray –’
‘It’s nothairspray, it’sstraightener, don’t tell Tamzin I wear hairspray. And what about your skirt, then, Erica? Man, it’s a parachute –’
Tamzin giggled, hardly daring to believe that the members of George’s band might be … friendly.
‘Hey.’
‘Yes?’ She glanced up at George. Immediately, he kissed her. His lips were like velvet. Gentle. When, tentatively, she kissed him back, he kissed her harder, giddily. Her heart began to patter.
‘Tamzin, do you like Hawaiian?’ Erica interrupted, as though nothing extraordinary was happening, as if the world was just the same as before George pressed his hot lips to hers.
Tamzin, who felt as if she’d just woken up after a hundred years, couldn’t even remember what a Hawaiian pizza was. ‘Whatever,’ she agreed, breathlessly.
The others took their pizzas much more seriously and embarked upon a summit meeting over the extra toppings and garlic bread possibilities.
George put his lips to Tamzin’s ear, so that his voice buzzed through her hair. ‘Sorry. I got a bit juvenile, there, in front of everyone. I got an urge.’
‘It’s OK.’ She tried to sound casual, as if men were always losing control of themselves over her. A place behind her breastbone was filled with enough fairy dust to set her entire torso tingling.
‘Really OK?’
‘Really OK.’ Tamzin had once had a Tiger’s Eye ring and the stone had held just the golds and browns of George’s eyes.
He grinned. ‘So I could do it again?’
Trying to control her inanely grinning lips, she nodded.
And while the others argued about whether Pepsi Max was better than Cherry Coke, George did it again.
And Tamzin fell in love.
Back at Danny Boyes the place was filling up with teenagers, the bar was busy and two girls with kohl-rimmed eyes, studded noses and sequinned cheeks had taken up station behind a cash box at the door. Tamzin realised instantly that she should’ve bought a dress or skirt. All the girls wore hiked-up skirts or clinging dresses. She was, like, nearly theonlyone in jeans. Like,noo-oo…
But, before she could be totally swamped with anxiety, she was enchanted to find that not only did she not have to pay £5 to earn an entry stamp of wiggly lines on her hand but that when George said, ‘Tamzin’s with me,’ she received a stamp that declared in thick green ink, BAND. Instantly, she felt sorry for all those who not only had to pay but also received the stamp that marked them out as audience and not as BAND. She was BAND. How cool was that?
One of the other bands was on stage. A portion of the audience stood directly in front, watching, heads nodding. Conversation was impossible, the bar staff must’ve been reading lips as George managed to procure a Breezer for her. She felt pleasantly part of everything with Jenneration around her like minders around a rock star.
Between sets it was possible to talk. That was when the band members slapped palms and linked thumbs with favoured acquaintances – unless the acquaintance was female, in which case they hugged – and discussed the previous band.
