“Think of it as charity,” she says with a smile.
“That doesn’t make me feel better.”
But after a few rough nudges from them, I find myself in the ridiculous queue to meet Gus. I remember him saying he hadn’t even read this damn book. I doubt, from the excitable conversations I’m overhearing, that many of the people queuing plan on reading it either. It’s more of a memento for meeting him.
The queue moves slowly. My sisters message to tell me they’ve gone in search of a pub and to keep them updated. Once we’re in the building and up the first staircase, I finally regard the book with the band’s faces on. They look younger here, up on stage at a concert. Gus always had the signature hair, but he’s gotten better at styling it as he grew up. It looks sexier now than it did back then.
I open the book and peruse through the images. There are photos of them at Madame Tussauds next to their wax figures. On the London Eye. Performing at Glastonbury. There are photos of Gus and Jax together, hugging. Iwonder if they skirt over their fall out in the book or pay reference to it.
There’s a whole section about ex-girlfriends which I choose to skip. Then there’s that performance at the Kid’s Choice Awards – the one that made them famous in the US. The cover of “Girls Just Want To Have Fun” lit up the room. I’m ashamed to say I’ve watched it almost every day since I arrived home. Gus stands at the edge of the stage in only denim dungarees, leaning into the crowd and getting them to sing along.
His aura is unmatched. He wonders how fame happened to him. He says he never understood it. But just one look at him and it’s obvious.
He’s a superstar.
It must be an hour before I spot him and I’m still twenty or thirty people back. There’s at least a few hundred after me. I have no idea how long he’s agreed to sit there and sign books.
He doesn’t see me. Or at least, I don’t think he does.
He’s dressed casually, in an unbuttoned shirt with a plain white t-shirt underneath. His hair has been left to its own devices but it’s hard not to see the exhaustion in his face. Of course, he works hard not to let any of this onto the fans. But I can see it. His smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes like it did on the cruise.
It suddenly occurs to me, with only one more girl ahead, that this is unfair on him.What the fuck am I doing?I try to turn around but the event staff usher me forward.
“If you want your book signed you have to go now. We have lots of people to get through,” the woman tells me, exasperated.
She’s fed up. I don’t want to be her problem. I’ve worked retail and it sucks. Especially when customers are arseholes.
I turn back towards the table.
He’s staring at me, lips parted. It takes everything in me to step up and hand him my book.
The notch between his brows tells me this was unexpected.
I get it.
“Hi,” I say, breathless.
“Hi.” He blinks then glances at the book. “Shall I make it out to you? What’s your name?”
I swear I feel my heart dislodge in my chest. He’s playing it like he doesn’t know me. This is so much worse than I thought it would be.
Everything suddenly hurts. I want the floor to open and swallow me whole.
I decide not to let him know how affected I am. He glances behind me at the people waiting. He doesn’t want to see me or be seen with me. I knew I shouldn’t have come.
“Make it out to Millie,” I say.
His eyes catch on mine, confusion bubbling across his features. “Sure.”
He writes quickly, closing the book and handing it back to me before I can so much as smile. “Did you want a photo?” he asks.
But I’m already stepping away, whiplashed and fucking embarrassed. I shake my head before I hear him ask the same question to the woman after me.
I swear I don’t take a single breath until I’m back outside the building. And then I’m marching away, gasping for air, trying to force the impending tears away with painful gulps.I don’t know where to go. All I know is I can’t get away quick enough.
What a fucking idiot.
Why did I let my sisters persuade me this was a good idea?
