Page 5 of Million Love Songs


  ‘I said gullible,’ she stresses. ‘I’m totally immune to Shagger’s charms. I only have eyes for Gary. You know that. It’s you I’m worried about.’

  ‘I’ve met men like him before, Charlie.’ I feel slightly piqued that she thinks I’d be so easily fooled by a bit of flattery. ‘Many, many times. I’m a woman of the world. I know how to handle him.’

  ‘Yeah, so did the last assistant manager. Yet she was on that bar with her knickers round her ankles before you could say “inappropriate”.’

  ‘Oh my God. How do you know?’

  ‘CCTV is a very cruel and revealing thing.’

  ‘Nooooo!’

  ‘Oh, yes. Everyone in the staffroom saw it. Her resignation was on Jay’s desk the following morning.’

  ‘Poor woman.’

  ‘Silly, silly girl, I’d say.’

  ‘Harsh, though.’

  ‘That’s what our Shagger is like.’

  ‘Well, you don’t have to fret. I’ll steer well clear.’

  ‘Chef said he’s coming in again later. I don’t know what we’ve done to deserve two visits in quick succession. We normally only see him once every blue moon.’ She gives me a probing look. ‘There must be some new attraction.’

  Then, mercifully, her phone pings which distracts her. ‘Hey, babe,’ she says and, while she’s busy chatting, I turn my attention to my own phone. I take the opportunity to tap out a text to Joe and, despite my qualms, tell him that I can make the dive outing to Quarry Hill Cove. Anxiety prickles in my stomach as I type. I don’t want him to think that I’m interested in him more than the diving. Not that I’m really interested in the diving, but I can hardly say that I’m coming to check out the talent – if there is any. Before I can think better of it and change my mind, I press send.

  When Charlie hangs up, she says, ‘That was one of my GB Army mates. We’ve scored a bunch of tickets for one of the live shows of Let it Shine on Saturday.’ One of those Saturday night talent shows – this one featuring, of course, Take That. ‘It’s up in London. Do you fancy coming along?’

  ‘Deffo. It’s my weekend off. I’ve just agreed to go to the dive day out on Sunday, but I’m free on Saturday.’

  ‘Perfect. It’ll mean a seriously early start.’

  ‘I can do that. I’ll set double alarms.’

  ‘We should be outside the studio for about six o’clock to make sure we get near the front.’

  I look at her, horrified. ‘Six in the morning? You’re kidding me? I’ve seen this on telly. The show’s not until the evening.’

  ‘I know, but there’s no point going if you’re at the back. Gary can’t see me then.’ She has a point, I suppose. ‘How will he know I’m there?’

  ‘You could text him?’

  She shakes her head at me. ‘You are an innocent in the world of fandom.’

  ‘Does he have to know that you’re there?’ I ask somewhat weakly. I know the answer already. Charlie looks at me as if I am more stupid than Mr Stupid. ‘Will there even be trains at that time of day?’

  ‘I’ll drive in. We can park up at Euston and get a Tube or taxi across to the studio.’

  That sounds a bit more civilised. I glance at my watch. ‘We’d better get back inside, Charls, or Chef and Jay will have our guts for garters.’ Charlie packs away her e-ciggie and I knock back the dregs of my coffee, now cold. We jump down from the bench, glad that it hasn’t collapsed under our collective weight. She links her arm through mine as we walk towards the restaurant, saying goodbye to the sunshine for the rest of the day. ‘We can play Take That’s Greatest Hits all afternoon to get us in the mood.’

  ‘Fab.’

  Together we break into the chorus of ‘Pray’ and throw in some of the dance moves.

  ‘See. I’m teaching you well. You wait and see, I’ll induct you into the GB Army yet.’ Charlie gives me a smug smile. ‘I am his future wife, you know. If not in this life, then in the next. I’m prepared to wait.’

  I laugh at that. ‘That’s so creepy and not a little scary, The Future Mrs Barlow.’

  ‘Yeah,’ she says. ‘Even for me.’

  Chapter Eleven

  As predicted, Shagger Soames does turn up. Right in the middle of evening service. We are totally rammed with not a table to be had and lots of disgruntled customers who’ve been waiting in the bar for over forty-five minutes. Our diners are intent on hogging their tables tonight and there’s nothing I can do to rush them.

  I’m feeling red in the face and just a little bit fractious when I see Mason swing in to the restaurant out of the corner of my eye. I’m delivering drinks to a table who’ve already had the wrong order and I have to give them my full attention, but I still manage to catch that he’s wearing a black shirt and jeans which look mighty fine on him. I really don’t like what that does to my heart rate, but I put it down to the fact that I’m rushed off my feet. He is handsome. God damn his eyes.

  My next glimpse of him is ages later. I go to find a couple who’ve been hanging round in the bar patiently waiting for a table to come free. If I were them, I’d have departed long ago and would have gone to another pub. I’ll reward their long suffering with a complimentary bread basket. Such is my power. I note that Shagger is behind the bar, sleeves rolled up, serving drinks. He winks at me in quite a sexy manner and I nod back, curtly. This isn’t one of those films where the heroine, even though in peril, has the time to stop for a flirtation or a snog. I’ve got work to do. The time for fraternising is much later. I wonder if Mason will linger this evening and if we’ll share a convivial drink or two together. Perhaps I’ll risk something stronger than Coke and splash out on a taxi home. Reckless, that’s me.

  By the time we’re quietening down towards ten o’clock and I finally have time to breathe, there’s no sign of him. I wander over to the window as casually as I can and check for his car in the car park, but it’s no longer there.

  ‘Looking for His Highness?’ Charlie asks as she’s tidying up the menus and clearing the Specials board.

  ‘Stop it,’ I chide, though I feel as guilty as hell. ‘Has he gone?’

  ‘Yeah. About half an hour ago.’

  Bugger. How did I miss that?

  ‘He had a date to shag a supermodel or something,’ she says over her shoulder.

  ‘He said that?’

  ‘No, but it oozed out of every pore.’

  Charlie does make me laugh. Apart from anything else, Mason Soames is way out of my league. He’s too young, too handsome, too sophisticated, too rich. And I’d do well to remember that when my tummy flutters every time I see him.

  Chapter Twelve

  It’s still dark when we get up on Saturday morning at the crack of sparrows for our drive to London. Charlie slept at my place so that we could urge each other out of bed. Although, I took considerably more urging. And Charlie hogged the covers, so I didn’t get that much sleep anyway.

  With Gary Barlow on the menu, Charlie was up and raring to go. We are now elbow-to-elbow at the sink in my cramped bathroom. She’s already working her way through Take That hits in a startlingly chirpy manner, also proving that you can sing and clean your teeth at the same time. She’s currently belting out ‘How Deep is Your Love’.

  My love for her at this moment in time is definitely not that deep.

  ‘I never usually get up at this time unless I’m going to catch a flight,’ I mutter under my breath.

  ‘You’ll be glad that you did when we’re at the front with Gary winking at us and his lush bum is wiggling an inch from my nose.’

  Is that to be considered a good thing?

  As one, we turn round to look at my new cut-out Gary Barlow, who has taken up residence in the corner of my bedroom. Charlie makes a squeeee noise. ‘You like your present?’

  ‘Love it.’

  ‘You’re not just saying that?’

  ‘He’s fabulous. I’ll tell him all my secrets.’ If I’m truthful, I find it a bit creepy to be sharing my home with cardboard
Gary, but I don’t tell Charlie that. It’s the thought that counts, isn’t it? I’ve always liked Kylie, but never thought to buy an effigy of her for my lounge room. It seems that I have, in fact, been a veritable lightweight on the fan scene. Buying an overpriced ticket or two for each tour just doesn’t cut it.

  ‘£29.99 off eBay. Bargain. He’ll give you hours of fun. No home should be without one,’ Charlie tells me sagely as she looks wistfully at The Barlow. ‘I get great comfort from him. No licking him though,’ she warns. ‘The ink comes off on your tongue.’

  ‘Can’t say that was my plan and I’m not even going to ask how you know that.’ I nudge her out of the way so that I can see the mirror. What stares back isn’t looking good, though I simply can’t apply make-up at this time of day as my face might fall off. I’ll have to do that in the queue. I settle for brushing my teeth and a rub of the facecloth round my chops. ‘Couldn’t someone have stood in line for us?’

  Charlie gasps. ‘One of the unwritten rules. No one cuts the line. Pushing in is totally bad form. You queue, you do it for yourself.’

  Fair enough, I suppose. Though, at this point, I’m wondering why I’m not just going to be sitting on my sofa watching it on telly with a mahoosive glass of red and a bag of Thai Sweet Chilli Sensations. Instead, I’m going to be standing in the dark and – I glance out of the window – rain for most of the day to see a band I like but am not mad keen on. I think better than to voice this.

  ‘I’ve got T-shirts for us too.’ She toddles off, so I hog the mirror. When she comes back, she’s holding them up. They’re white and have Let it Shine! in silver emblazoned across the front along with lots of spangles.

  ‘Fabulous.’ She throws mine to me and I pull it over my head. ‘Do you have the world’s largest collection of Take That fangirl T-shirts?’

  ‘Probably.’ Charlie tugs hers on too. ‘I should start a museum. God, that’d be great.’ She smooths Let it Shine! over her ample bosom and pouts at her reflection. ‘Lovin’ the tee, but it hides my tattoo.’

  Charlie has recently had yet another inking. This one is the Take That logo just above her breast and the words Relight My Fire! in fancy script. She has half a dozen or more about her person – there are lyrics to ‘Rule The World’ across her lower back; a friendship bracelet with five beads, one for each of the guys, and a charm featuring Gary’s face hanging from it around her ankle; and his signature graces the inside of her arm along with two kisses. I can’t remember what else but I think they show a certain amount of dedication to the cause.

  ‘Maybe you’ll get to show him in a private meeting,’ I say, wickedly.

  My friend sighs. ‘Wouldn’t that be a thing?’

  I’m sure that happy little thought will sustain her all day.

  ‘Come on, Ruby, we’d better get going. We don’t want to miss out. I had a quick look at the Facebook page and there are people queuing already. Maybe we should have gone straight from work last night.’

  I’m not sure I could cope with spending a night on a pavement for anyone.

  ‘I’ve queued for three days before now just to make sure I get a good spot. It’s madness,’ Charlie adds.

  We’re agreed on that.

  So I grab a packet of HobNobs to take with us in lieu of breakfast and we jump into Charlie’s car, which appears to be more reliable than mine. Minutes later we’re heading off towards London.

  Chapter Thirteen

  It’s a little past six o’clock in the morning when we reach the Maida Vale studios. I’m still half asleep and the HobNobs have long gone. It’s just about light and, despite being nearly summer, it’s bloody freezing. I wish I’d put on a fleece or thermal knickers. At least it’s stopped raining. For now.

  We walk along the length of the queue which already snakes along the pavement and Charlie says hello to nearly everyone. Clearly these are the hardcore fans. Some have chairs and flasks. At the front there are even pop-up tents and sleeping bags in evidence, so obviously the queuing started in earnest last night and those fans have endured the cold and rain to be at the front.

  We take our place at the end of the line. Charlie gets plastic bags out of her pocket and we put them down on the damp pavement so that we can sit on them. I wish I’d brought more HobNobs. I admit that I’m amazed to see that there are many, many ladies here before us. Many ladies and one solitary man.

  ‘Hi, Paul,’ Charlie says as he comes alongside us. ‘All right?’

  ‘Yeah. Good to see you. I saw on Facebook that you were coming. Mind if I join you?’

  ‘Be my guest,’ Charlie says. He unfolds a small camping chair and sets it up beside us. ‘You take this, Charlie. I’ll have the plastic bag.’

  ‘If you’re sure,’ she says, but is very quick to swap with him. Paul settles on the plastic bag next to me.

  ‘Hiya.’

  ‘This is Ruby.’ Charlie flicks a thumb at me. ‘A Take That virgin.’

  ‘Nice to meet you,’ he says.

  ‘You too.’ He’s a nice-looking guy. Shortish but kind of slender with fair hair, kind eyes and, even at this ungodly time of the day, a warm smile.

  ‘You’re not a fan?’

  ‘I do like their stuff, but I probably wouldn’t be up at dawn to see them if it wasn’t for Charlie.’ I confess with a grimace.

  He laughs at that. ‘This is how it begins.’

  ‘I’m prepared to be converted. Have you always been a fan?’

  ‘Yeah,’ he admits, shyly. ‘I realise that I’m a thorn among many roses, but the good ladies of the GB Army tolerate me.’

  ‘We love you,’ Charlie says. ‘You balance out the oestrogen level a bit.’

  He laughs. ‘I’m not sure about that.’

  ‘What time does the show start?’ I ask.

  ‘Seven o’clock.’

  I think I must gasp out loud as they both laugh.

  ‘We’re in for the long haul,’ Paul says.

  ‘You have to be dedicated,’ Charlie adds. ‘Once we’ve got our entry tickets we can leave and come back later. So we’re not stuck here all the time. They open the doors about four o’clock so that we can watch the sound checks and the end of the rehearsals. We usually try to nip to the Chinese restaurant down the road and have a set meal. Does that sound OK?’

  ‘You’ve obviously done this before.’

  ‘Many times,’ Paul concedes.

  ‘So how come you’re such a big fan?’ I ask him.

  ‘I was an aspiring performer,’ he says. ‘I went to stage school as a kid and wanted to be in a boy band. Take That were my heroes. Even now I could show you all of their routines.’

  ‘That would be a sight worth seeing,’ Charlie quips.

  ‘I just wasn’t good enough,’ he admits, with a hint of sadness. ‘I was there with the future David Tennants and Olivia Colemans. I’m afraid that I was one of the also-rans.’

  ‘Harsh,’ Charlie says.

  ‘But true. I had a few bit parts as an actor and a few in the chorus of musical theatre which didn’t really live up to expectations or open the door to stardom. I could have spent the next twenty years chasing a dream and having walk-on roles in Holby City, but I decided to do something lucrative instead. I’m an accountant by day, but I’m in a band even now. I play bass in a pub a couple of nights a week which keeps me sane. The rest of the time, I follow Take That.’

  ‘We’re both going to try to get to their gig in Paris this summer if I can blag some extra shifts,’ Charlie says. ‘You should come.’

  Then a bunch of ladies walk along the queue, chatting as they go. When they see Paul, they stop to hug him. While he’s distracted, I whisper to Charlie, ‘He’s very nice.’

  ‘Yeah.’ She glances in his general direction and says rather non-commitally, ‘He is.’

  ‘Is that it?’

  Charlie checks he can’t hear and then whispers to me, ‘He wears Tom Ford’s Neroli Portofino just like Gary does.’

  ‘Does he? Is that a good thin
g?’

  ‘Are you mad?’ she says in disbelief and shakes her head at me. ‘It smells like paradise and a basket full of fluffy kittens.’

  I spend the next hour trying not to sniff him. We wait some more and then, at two o’clock – when we’ve been waiting for a mere eight of our human hours – we get our valuable golden tickets that allow us to go into the studios at four o’clock where we can enjoy another three-hour wait for the show to start.

  ‘We can go and get some food now,’ Charlie says, folding Paul’s camping chair.

  ‘Fantastic.’ I’m up and off my plastic bag quicker than a flash. ‘I’m starving.’

  This show had better be good for all this effort. I tell you, at the very least, I want twenty-four-carat gold dust raining down on me from above and a chance to sit on Gary Barlow’s knee.

  Chapter Fourteen

  We’re seated at a window table at the Golden Phoenix next to the obligatory waving cat. Over a set meal for three, Nice Paul tells us more about his life. He’s single, no lurking children – not that he knows of, anyway. Always good. He seems solvent and sane. He’s ticking a lot of boxes. He has an easy, self-deprecating way about him – the polar opposite to Mason Soames.

  I wonder what Mason’s doing this weekend. I bet he’s not queuing in the cold to see a band. Mason is the kind of guy who knows someone, who knows someone else who’d get him into the VIP Gold Circle – and not standing tickets either.

  Then, fortified with rather excellent Chinese food, we head back to the studio. The second we’re allowed in, I follow Charlie and Nice Paul in a rush down to the barrier in front of the stage to bag a prime space. The atmosphere is crackling with anticipation and I’m really excited to be here, so Charlie and Nice Paul must be about to wee themselves with ecstasy.

  As the small theatre fills up, sound checks for the acts start, so there’s plenty to keep us occupied while we wait and I hardly notice the pain in my back and my feet. Charlie hands out bottles of water to us.