Page 65 of Ex in the City
Mitch glances at his phone for a few seconds.
‘Right, come on, this is our window to sneak in,’ he tells us all.
It’s like a military operation as we all make our way from the bus to the back door, quickly and carefully, making sure that no one sees us. Finally inside the fortress of the venue (have you ever tried to meet your favourite band before or after a show? It’s hard to even catch a glimpse), we all start to relax.
We head through the backstage area, towards the dressing rooms, none of us in need of a tour guide. We’ve all been here various times in the past and it shows.
‘Okay, get yourselves settled in there, get some food – I’ll be back when it’s time for your soundcheck, which shouldn’t be long,’ Mitch says. ‘Don’t get too drunk too quickly, please.’
‘Erm, we are grown men now,’ Mikey protests.
‘You were grown men before,’ Mitch says with a laugh. ‘I still had to wipe your arses.’
‘Fair,’ Mikey replies.
As I follow Dylan into the room, I smile, immediately noticing that it hasn’t changed one bit since the last time I was here. There are still the same tired-looking old leather sofasdotted around – and they were worn the last time I sat on them, so they’re positively knackered now. Over the years, every band that has played here has graffitied the walls with their autographs, the dates, doodles – all sorts. It’s like a rock and roll museum exhibit, although, with some of the drawings and choice messages, it might be for the best that the general public doesn’t see this.
I cock my head and smile as I notice the table of food. The boys in the band might have matured but their tour rider certainly hasn’t. The table is laid out with crisps, sweets, biscuits – honestly, it’s like the buffet table at a kids’ party, although you couldn’t mistake where you were for a kids’ party, thanks to the mountain of booze. There are crates and crates, piled high, all filled with what looks like any alcoholic beverage your heart might desire.
As the others gather around the food, tucking into their pre-show fuel, I notice Dylan slipping away, stepping outside the room. There is something about the look on his face, an emotion I can’t quite decipher.
I slowly back away from the others too, heading out without them noticing, so that I can make sure Dylan is okay. He is uncharacteristically quiet. Back in the day, he would have been the loudest, the one cracking the jokes, the one eating everything on the table and working his way through the crates of beer.
I just about miss catching up to him, as I see him turn the corner at the end of the corridor, but I think I know where he’s going.
I head through the stage door and, just as I expected, there he is.
Dylan is standing at the centre of the stage, a lone figure under the bright spotlights, gazing out over the empty room. It’s a cavernous space when it’s empty, but it won’t stay this way for long. Soon it will be overflowing with adoring fans.
I walk up to Dylan, silently approaching him as he stands there, motionless, frozen like a statue. He’s lost in his thoughts, and at first, he doesn’t notice me.
I clear my throat softly to let him know that I’m here, I don’t want to make him jump.
‘Oh, hi,’ he says as he spots me.
‘Hi,’ I reply as I stand alongside him.
I look at him, offering him a smile, giving him the chance to tell me what’s on his mind.
‘Nic, I never thought I’d be back here,’ he says seriously. ‘I always wanted it, but I never thought it would happen. I somehow feel like I’m at the moment I’ve been hoping for all this time, and somehow completely unprepared.’
I flash him a reassuring smile, trying to calm his nerves and give him a boost of much-needed confidence – something he used to have in bags.
‘Dylan, you have nothing to worry about,’ I tell him. ‘Everyone out there is here because there is a chance it could be you. They don’t even know for sure, and they’re queuing around the block.’
He nods, and gratitude begins to replace his lingering doubts.
‘You’re right. It’s just… it’s been a while, you know?’ he explains. ‘I don’t want to sound ungrateful for the opportunity. I just hope I don’t let anyone down, that they don’t walk away saying I haven’t got “it” any more.’
I place my hand on his arm as I wonder whether lightening the mood might be the key.
‘Dylan, the last time you were on this stage you threw up into Taz’s lap and almost impaled him with the pointy tip of a hi-hat cymbal,’ I remind him. ‘You didn’t have “it” that night, and everyone still loved you. Just imagine when they hear you now, your voice stronger than ever – and since you reappeared in mylife I haven’t seen you be sick once, I’m starting to worry you’re an imposter.’
‘You’re right,’ he says with a grin. ‘Thanks for the pep talk.’
‘I think people are going to love the new Dylan even more than the old one,’ I say. ‘I know I do. I mean, because he doesn’t vomit on me, obviously.’
I’m quick to add that last part on because I didn’t mean that sentence to sound as intense as it does. Way to go, Nicole, batting around the L word like it’s nothing.
