Come Back
(The District Line #3)
Excerpt
August, 2008
The crowd went wild.
Which was just the way Seb liked them. The screams, the whistles, the thunderous applause, not to mention the outbreak of a fight that added to the hedonistic thrill of the moment. A Drops gig would never have been complete without the security guards working for their money by breaking up a mosh pit brawl or two. Or three, or four.
Seb stood, front centre stage, modified and custom designed metallic red-wine Gibson hung at hip height and slung over his neck by a strap. Fifty thousand or so people swarmed to the front, separated by the gated fence, arms flailing over to reach him but batted off by dozens of fluorescent jacketed men. The hammering summer rain hadn’t scared the fans off, so the beefy guards weren’t going to either.
Seb’s heart thumped in synch with the pounding of Hunter wellington boots stamping in the soggy mud. He chuckled. Crouching, he swung his guitar behind him and leaned forward to grab a few hands to shake. Leaving them all to swoon, faint and whatever else they did after touching their idols flesh, he settled back to his starting position.
Martin Chang to his left, jet black hair spiked up with streaks of deep blue gleaming off the spot lights, tinkered with his Jaguar bass. He blew out a puff of air, then winked. Noah Fitz, dirty blond hair shaved down to just a buzz cut and new bolt eyebrow piercing, lifted his sticks in the air behind his burgundy red SJC full custom drum kit. Shaking his head, he stuck his tongue out and waggled it―the usual starting ritual to kick off a Drops gig. The three-piece emulated the live version of their album cover, except Seb couldn’t hold his usual morose expression he plastered on for press photos. Instead, he grinned. Widely.
Because this wasn’t any old standard live gig. This was their largest one to date. This was the main stage at V Festival. His three-piece indie band had been relatively small scale compared to this, only getting on the John Peel stage at Glastonbury back in June. But the release of their third album had rocketed, jetting Seb, and the Drops, firmly to the top of the UK charts. They’d stayed true to their image, but now had the backing of a UK label that allowed Seb free reign to manage the band how he wanted, regardless of any critical fallout. Two years hard slog, and Seb’s dream had come true. The screams, the cheers, the throwing of bottle caps through the crowd were all for him. And he fucking loved every second of it.
He kept the fans waiting, though. Shrugging, teasing his fingers over his guitar strings, adjusting the microphone, then finally turned his back on the crowd. Let them work for it. Seb smiled, nodding to the others. Noah struck up with a symbol crash that elevated the shrieks from the mosh pit. The kick drum thumped through Seb’s feet to vibrate the tips of his fingers and Martin plucked his strings, rocking the introductory bass line that rumbled through Seb’s entire body.
Seb swivelled, his lips finding the microphone. He opened his mouth, but the whistles from the crowd drowned him out. Laughing, his breath blew through festival sound system as if it were the gale force wind predicted to hit Chelmsford, Essex, in the next few hours. He stopped, stepped back and checked his watch. Slapping his arms down to his side, the metal wriggled back over the Chinese symbol tattooed on his wrist.
“Anyone know the score?” Seb’s voice boomed around the nine hundred acres of field land.
Screams. Whistles. Catcalls.
“No?” Seb fished his phone from his skinny jeans back pocket. A couple of swipes and the brand new iPhone illuminated his face. Sighing, he leaned into the microphone. “Nil nil.” He lined up his chords to fill in tune with Martin’s bass line, then strummed the A chord. “Come on, Rutters!”
The crowd roared. And Seb awarded them with the latest tune to have hit number one in the indie rock charts. This was as good as sex.
Well, almost.
Other books by C F White
Responsible Adult Series
(Pride Publishing)
Misdemeanor
Hard Time
Reformed
St. Cross Series
(Loose ID)
Won’t Feel a Thing
The District Line Series
Kick Off
Break Through
Come Back (Due 2018)