Page 29 of I Knew You Were Trouble

When the lights go up, and the opening beats to “Gangnam Style” begin, it almost takes the crowd a moment to realise what’s happening. Cal is alone on stage wearing only a pair of white boxer briefs and miltary boots. He wears sunglasses, in a direct recreation of his viral video as a ten-year-old boy. The scream from the crowd, when it happens, brings tears to my eyes. Pyrotechnics shoot up from either side of him. When he performs in fluent Korean, I’m able to capture the looks of pure elation on the fans’ faces. When the rest of Rebel Heart join in – also in fluent Korean – there is a huge, inexplicably big grin on my face.

When the opening number is over, and the noise from the crowd has dipped a notch, Meredith’s thumbs are skimming across her phone screen. She is wildly concentrated, a look in her eye that I don’t recognise. When she sees me watching her, somewhat oddly, she turns her back to me.

‘Well, that was something,’ Duncan says, raising his voice over the din.

‘Did you get it all?’

‘Aye, think so. Got Cal in his kecks at least. And the rest.’

‘And what about downstairs? In the huddle. Did they say anything profound?’

‘Not sure you’d call it profound,’ Duncan responds in a shout, holding up his right hand in demonstration. ‘But they did all give you a one-finger salute.’

In a toilet at the ground floor of the stadium, I help Duncan fix a hidden body camera into place in his black jacket.

I heard from other crew members that Ziggy banned any kind of after-show party, instructing the boys to take it easy and get some rest. He’s banished the dancers to our hotel.

‘No filming, okay?’ Ziggy ordered me when I managed to catch him after the show had come to an end. I was still irritated that I’d been granted a middle finger. Or five individual middle fingers, to be precise. ‘You can come to the Four Seasons, but for a single drink. No cameras.’

‘You sure this is a good idea?’ Duncan asks, locked with me inside a cubicle.

‘I’m being pushed into this,’ I grumble. ‘I refuse to make a documentary that has no value or meaning. If Ziggy won’t let me film, I need to get creative.’

‘Lex. You can shout it from the rooftops that you were pushed into this thing. No one’s expecting you to make an insightful documentary about a boy band. Why don’t you give the creatives at Silverpix what they’re asking for?’

I shoot him a look. ‘Which is what exactly? They have the highest expectations of me, but right now, creatively, thanks to Aidan McArthur, I am asitting duck. I refuse to produce ninety minutes of banal, trivial material only to see my reputation being flushed down the toilet.’

Duncan rolls his eyes. ‘Look. I know you’re raging. But I don’t think you need to take it all so seriously.’

‘You know me,’ I hum, finishing up, patting the lapel of his jacket in which a tiny camera is concealed. ‘Remember… I have no sense of humour. Now, please, come to the Four Seasons for acasualdrink.’

I feel his hand at my elbow when I go for the lock. ‘Why are you pushing this?’

I turn back, grind my teeth. ‘I want authentic. I can’t bear some pre-rehearsed PR stunt. That’s not how my mother raised me.’

‘Lex,’ Duncan sighs. ‘One day you’re gonna have to let it go.’

‘Let what go?’

He looks pained, like he doesn’t want to say it. ‘Some of that emotional baggage you’re carrying around.’

I stare at him, tears pricking me eyes. Sometimes I hate that he knows me as well as he does. I yank my elbow away. ‘We need to go,’ I mutter.

‘Fellas! We officially broke the internet!’ Caleb Whitlock announces, standing on a chair and holding his phone aloft.

At the Four Seasons suite, the mood is buoyant. The band and some limited members of the crew have gathered on sofas in the centre of the suite. Each one of them is looking at their phones, watching grainy concert footage of their performances, ignoring the impressive spread of food in front of them. The performance of “Gangnam Style” went viral before their concert even came to a close.

I linger at a sensible distance with Duncan and Meredith, a drink in my hand. I feel like an imposter, because deep down I know I haven’t built their trust, and none of them want us here. Duncan and I are now both hooked up with hidden cameras, as it’s the only way I can capture footage right now. I feel guilty about it, because looking at the boys’ mood tonight, it feels like I’m invading their private moment. Meredith, on the other hand, seems distracted. Like the boys, she also seems lost in her phone. These past few days, my new assistant has been less talkative than usual.

‘#RebelHeartGangnamis currently the top trend on Twitter,’ Cal then adds with glee.

‘The stans are losing it,’ Ravi grins. ‘You seen Heartlife’s page? “This performance will live rent free in my mind til the day I die.”’

‘Show me,’ J.B. says as he leans over. Whatever Ravi shows him has him cackling.

‘You watched the Rebelles’ official TikTok?’ Miller says with a grin. ‘Holy fucking insanity. They are losing it. “Never doubted ’em, my captains fucking nailed it tonight.”’

‘Listen to this one,’ Aidan chimes in, quoting from social media. ‘“I’ve always hated Rebel Heart, I’m literally converted after seeing them perform Gangnam Style in Seoul tonight, in Korean.”’

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