Chapter Twenty-One
Twisting and bent at the hips, Jay warmed up his muscles. The tunnel swarmed with people, footballers, managers, mascots, not to mention the press cameras that focused on his face as he lined up behind Bruno and the rest of the West Ham team. He tried to zone out, concentrate on getting onto the pitch unscathed. Home game, home crowd. If he received a frosty reception here, then he knew it would only get worse as the season rolled out. The press conference might have gone well, but they were all just journalists, and had asked simple questions that the PR team had vetted. This, this was where it would really matter. The fans, the opposition. They were the ones who could make or break a player, or a team.
Jumping on the spot, his gaze drifted to the Sky Sports camera crew zooming in on him. Perhaps they were waiting for him to say something, do something. Bolt? Swear? Some poignant speech? Whatever it was, he wouldn’t do it. He was sticking his ground, the ground beneath his studs that led onto the freshly cut grass and perfectly tended to Upton Park football pitch. Where I belong.
A tiny hand curled into his. Jay glanced down. A little girl. Full West Ham kit with bouncing blond bunches, she smiled. Her rosy cheeks flushed and her lips trembled. The noise from the crowd roared louder, startling her.
Jay crouched. “You all right?”
“Loud.” She slipped her hand from his and covered her ears.
“Yeah, it is. And none of them can hold a note, right?”
The little girl sniggered, her arms erupting in goose pimples and pink lips tinged blue.
“You cold?”
She nodded. Jay stood, zipped off his training jacket and wrapped it around her shoulders, then squeezed her in close under his armpit.
“Stick with me, this’ll be over in a minute. Then you have one heck of a story to tell your mates back at school, right?”
The girl smiled, and tucked under Jay’s arm. The camera never left him. The match officials ran out first, with both captains leading their teams onto the pitch. Bruno jogged to the front line, clutching the hand of his mascot, and Jay hugged the girl close as they bounded onto the pitch together. He waited, drawing in a breath. Only the usual I’m Forever Blowing Bubbles rang through the packed stadium. The little girl delighted in trying to catch the floating bubbles as they drifted from the stands and onto the pitch.
Jay stood in the line-up, waiting for the officials to do their stuff and shake hands with the other team’s players. Suddenly, the entire stadium hushed. Silence. No words, no mutterings, no hollering and no chanting.
Then, clapping. First one, then a few, then more until most of the fans were slapping their hands together to boom around the stadium. Jay had no idea if that was for him. He couldn’t think of any other reason, if there had been an announcement of some tribute to a fallen legend then he would have been made aware before stepping out onto that pitch. He peered down to the little girl clutching his hand and she beamed up at him.
“It’s all for you, sweetheart.” He winked.
She giggled and soon the clapping merged into whistles, chants and the more accustomed boisterous singing for a match day start. As the opposition’s players all walked the line, Jay shook hands with each, and every single man met his gaze and squeezed his arm. Nothing but acceptance. How could Jay have thought there would have been anything else? This was where he was brought up. He shouldn’t have listened to Bruno, or any of the other minority who thought he had to hide who he was to play football. He knew this place. He knew football. He knew the fans. And he knew players. Because he had been all of them.
The mascots were ushered off the pitch and the little girl called out to him. “I need to give his jacket back!”
“Keep it.” He winked, then jogged on out to the centre circle.
Bruno awaited him there. After a brief pause, Bruno nodded. The whistle blew, and Jay kicked off.
* * * *
“This is ridiculous. They can’t all fit in here, surely?” Martin poked his head through the backstage curtains.
Seb, tuning his guitar centre stage in front of the microphone stand, hummed a nonchalant response. He needed to check all was in working order with Wendy number two, having not been able to take her for a test drive before now. She needed a better name, that was for sure, but his mind hadn’t been able to think of anything for the past week other than this gig and Jay’s first football match after Jay having outed himself in the media via the pre-prepared press conference. Since then, they’d remained indoors, away from prying eyes. And that hadn’t been a particularly bad thing.
The bubbling in his gut wasn’t all for the gig they were about to play. Having tracked down Rosalind, the previous owner of Twinnie’s, Seb had discovered she now owned and ran an exclusive nightclub in Camden, the Haunt, a live music basement venue that had some of the top indie bands signed up on the bill for the next couple of years. It was exclusive only to those who were paving the way for independent music. She’d, of course, opened a slot just for Seb and the Drops, and it happened to land on Jay’s first home game. Seb would have turned down the opportunity, believing there could be plenty more if that was the sort of joint Ros now owned, and would have been at the match to cheer Jay on. But Jay had insisted that it was better he wasn’t, just in case of any fallout. And that made Seb worry more, not only for the fact that his guitar wasn’t his trusty Wendy. But Jay had promised he’d be there, after the match, unless disaster struck him. Seb was doing his best not to think of the possibility of gazing out to that crowd and not seeing Jay.
Seb had managed to pay for all the other equipment the band needed from the UK bank account his mother had opened for him. It wasn’t anywhere near the amount Seb was used to seeing come up in a bank statement, and even less so now he’d bought a van to gig in, but it had achieved the task of getting them set up and back on the gigging trail.
“How many we got?” Seb propped the guitar into his stand and rushed over to the curtain. “Shit!”
“Did you seriously put this up as a free for all on My Space?” Martin’s voice elevated.
“Yeah. Works, doesn’t it?”
“They’re stopping them from coming in!”
“Seriously?” Seb poked up the spikes on his hair, then jumped up and down on the spot and straightened his shoulders. “We good? We’re all good?”
Noah bounded up from the back, reeking of the lingering smoke that Seb, somehow, didn’t miss. Not a cigarette had touched his lips since living with Jay. Not that Jay had asked him to quit, or would frown upon him if he sparked up, but considering his boyfriend was a health freak, and a professional footballer who treated his body as a temple, Seb had thought it best to quit. And he hadn’t even noticed that he had.
“Packed does not cut this one.” Noah slipped into the stall behind his drum kit. “And, never guess who’s out there.”
“Who?” Seb flipped his guitar strap over his shoulder and settled her at his preferred hip height.
“Tarquin’s uncle.”
“The music producer?” Martin plucked his bass strings, the deep vibrations bursting from the amps around stage.
“He exists?” Seb elevated his voice along with his eyebrows.
“Yup. Just been chatting to him in the smokers’ corner. And, he isn’t the only one out there. Gents, we got our pick of the bunch here tonight.” Noah grinned, then whacked his symbols to pound the clatter around the bar.
The curtains drew open, revealing the most crammed and scariest mosh pit Seb had ever seen. Everyone had clambered to the front and were already screaming, yelling for him. For them. The Drops. With a slight tremble in his hands, Seb curled his fingers around the microphone and stepped up to speak.
“Hi.” Seb laughed at the continued screaming from the crowd. “We’re the Drops.”
Full-on roaring pelted from the leaping front few rows.
“And we’re here to rock your world.” Twisting, Seb smiled, nodding to each of his band mates. This was it. This was where it all began. Pressing his forefinger to bar the whole first fret, he strummed from the A to D chord and the invigorating chainsaw tone blasted over the cheers. The bass and drums burst in to join with the song’s introduction and Seb twisted, pressing his lips to the microphone. He roamed his gaze along the crowd and, just as he was about to launch into the first line of lyrics, he noticed Jay. Right at the back, watching, smiling. Like all good boyfriends do.
Jay winked. Seb returned it. Then he sang his heart out.