The first sign that Jenneration was preparing to go on stage was when Erica unbuckled her belt. ‘Can you hold this for me, Tamz? It scratches my bass.’
Marty dug his money and his phone out of his pocket. ‘Yeah, do you mind? All this crap gets on my tits.’
‘And my phone,’ said Rob.
‘And mine.’
‘Sure.’ Tamzin threaded her arm through the belt, tucked the money in her pocket and held the phones, still warm from pockets.
The promoter materialised. ‘You guys ready?’
‘Yeah, yeah.’
And suddenly they were streaming away from her through a door beside the bar, reappearing a minute later on stage with instruments around their necks or drumsticks in their hands, green strobes playing over the audience while the stage flashed silver. It was veryAlice in Wonderland– they’d stepped through a looking-glass and become a band.
A cheer, whistles, whoops and much of the audience surged raggedly towards the stage, glasses hastily abandoned on tables. Immediately, Tamzin saw that the number abandoning their stools and pressing the stage was four times what the other bands had attracted.
Guitars plugged into amps with athunk. George and Erica said, ‘One-two,’ into the microphones. The guitars and bass tuned up briefly, the drums rolled experimentally. Rob moved the snare drum closer to him, flipped a drumstick in the air and caught it. Waited.
Tamzin began to catch something of the expectancy of the crowd edging around on their toes and gazing at the band.
The promoter jumped onto the stage, having to tiptoe to shout into George’s mike. ‘And about time, too! This. Is. JENNERATION!’
The drums bangedone, two, three, the guitars raged in onfour. George closed his eyes and opened his mouth and the dancefloor exploded as it was hit with a wall of sound.
Tamzin stared at the heaving bodies. And at the band. Whoa! They were good enough to be inthe charts! Excitement burst inside her.
With fumbling fingers she fastened Erica’s belt – pulled in a lot – around her waist, forced all the dosh and phones into her pockets and pushed her way into the crowd. It was hot and difficult to keep her feet as the dancers bounced wildly into her from all directions.
It was delicious.
She let loose her hair, threw her arms in the air and whooped as the crowd tossed her around like a cork on a stormy sea. It was wicked.
Chapter Seventeen
Diane stood on James’s doorstep, feeling like an idiot. ‘Tamzin’s out? I’d forgotten it was tonight that she was going out with George.’
James leaned on the doorframe and raised lazy eyebrows. ‘Tonight it is.’
She groaned. ‘I should’ve rung first. I just thought I’d surprise her with her final fitting, with time dragging while I wait for Bryony to come home. And I was so pleased with the tops when they were finished.’ She waved the hangers, sighed and turned away. ‘I’ll ring tomorrow.’
It wasn’t until she was unlocking her car and hooking the garments above the back door that she realised James was right with her, pulling on a wolf-grey fleece. ‘How about a drink at The Old Dog?’
She glanced across the green. In the softening summer evening the windows of the pub glowed yellow. Homely wooden tables stood between tubs of marigolds and children dodged among them while their parents tried to relax.
‘Let me buy you dinner,’ he added, persuasively.
‘I’ve eaten,’ she admitted, sadly, thinking of the sensible but not very interesting chicken with jacket potato and a book propped open for company.
‘You can watch me eat, then. Come on! There’s something I’d like to talk to you about.’ He was very close and warm.
She fiddled with the car door. It wouldn’t do any harm, would it? Bryony’s room had already been given the welcome-home treatment and the freezer filled with her favourites. Alone, Diane would probably spend the evening unable to concentrate on a film or a book or even her sewing while she waited for the clock to tick around to the day after tomorrow, the day that Bryony’s plane landed.
And she hadn’t eaten dessert …
They chose to sit outside with the midges and the kiddies. Both were a nuisance but it was a still evening and Diane liked the idea of letting the dewy twilight close peacefully around them, rather than be seated inside in the cheery but artificial light, washed by roars of approval or groans of dismay according to the fortunes of the darts players.
The creaking pub sign sported a beagle with an erect tail. ‘I call him Frank,’ said James, following the direction of her gaze. ‘He’s a randy old dog with an eye for pretty ladies.’
