Chapter Thirty-Eight

I don’t understand what I’m seeing. Can’t comprehend how James, with his blazers and brogues and his snooze-fest job, can be the frontman of a T. Rex tribute act, performing with such confidence and vigour and radiating… what? Not sex appeal. It can’t be sex appeal. This is James we’re talking about. Steady-job James. Dad-of-two James. Quiet and unassuming James who watches Midsomer Murders with my gran and crochets stripy sausage dogs for charity raffles. How can that James be the one up onstage, pouting and strutting as he sings ‘Solid Gold Easy Action’, lapping up the reaction of the audience as they bounce up and down with the beat and clap along.

This can’t be real. It’s a joke, or a dream, or I’ve completely lost the plot and started to hallucinate.

‘Oh my God.’ Claire presses herself even tighter against me so she can shout in my ear. ‘Is that…?’ She looks at the stage, her eyes in danger of popping out of her skull when she turns back to me. ‘It is! It’s James!’ She points at the stage, jumping up and down in excitement at the discovery. ‘Did you know he did this?’

I shake my head, unable to conjure any words. I’d had no idea. I knew James was a fan of Seventies music, and I knew he used to be in a band before Seth was born, but I’d never heard him play or sing or hint at being part of a T. Rex tribute act. Oh! He did recently mention having a second job, but I just assumed it would be doing somebody’s books on the side or something equally mundane. I had no idea it would be something like this .

‘This is amazing !’ Claire raises her arms in the air and claps along with the beat. ‘Isn’t this amazing?’

I’m not sure ‘amazing’ is how I would describe this situation. Incredibly unsettling would be more accurate, because I still can’t take my eyes off James as he performs. I’m mesmerised, even though I know this isn’t some random dude in orange and pink satin swaggering about up there. This is my friend. My predictable, blazer-wearing friend who is currently making my tummy go all funny every time he pouts or throws back his curls. This isn’t the stuffy accountant I know. This James is energetic and powerful, someone who can somehow appear charismatic despite the ridiculous outfit, and I’ve never seen him looking so happy. His face breaks out in a grin during a small instrumental gap, and how he looks right now is how I feel when I’m being silly at work, dancing around the chippy to ‘Tiger Feet’, or when Mrs Hornchurch tells me I make the best fish and chips in town, or when Russell and Jed put their trust in me to keep the chippy going during their absence. It hits me all over again what I’ve given up, only this time there’s the niggling doubt that the trade-off doesn’t seem worth it.

Claire nudges me, and I’m forced to drag my eyes off the stage. ‘Ugh, look who’s over there.’ I follow her gaze and see Riley with his arm around the waist of a blonde woman with a Wotsit coating of fake tan and a way-too-short skirt. ‘He isn’t in a coma then. Shame.’ Claire tips half of her glass of wine down her throat. ‘I really am having a break from men. They’re all pigs, so what’s the point?’

It’s approximately thirty-five seconds later when Claire grabs my hand in a death grip and hisses in my ear about the absolute GOD over by the bar. Some things never change, and I’m glad about that.

The band go out on a high, performing ‘20th Century Boy’ as though it’s the last time they will ever play together. The drummer’s whole body is involved in the percussion, the guitarist is bouncing around the stage like a cattle-prodded Tigger, and James is utterly intoxicating. The audience erupt as the song comes to an end, and Russell is so caught up in the moment, he gathers me up in a massive hug, hoisting me up off my feet and spinning us in a circle in the tight space. Plonking me back down on the ground, he places his hands on Claire’s cheeks and throws his head back, bellowing, ‘That. Was. Amazing ,’ towards the ceiling.

‘I think Russell enjoyed that.’ Claire rubs her cheeks as Russell marches through the crowd towards the bar, but she’s grinning. ‘I think somebody else enjoyed it too. Or, rather, she enjoyed watching James.’ I glance around the crowd, trying to working out who she’s talking about.

‘ You , you great turnip. You were like this the whole time.’ She places her hands underneath her chin and adopts a dopey-looking expression before heaving out a long sigh.

‘I was not.’ I roll my eyes, sneaking a peek at the stage. The drummer is still up there, chatting to a couple of blokes, but James has disappeared.

‘You like him.’ Claire shrugs. ‘And why wouldn’t you?’

‘Because I’m meeting up with Paul tomorrow? You know, the bloke I’ve had a crush on forever .’

‘The bloke you’ve stopped mentioning every five minutes recently? That one?’

I open my mouth to deny the accusation, but realise she’s right. I don’t talk about Paul as much as I used to, but that’s only because it must be incredibly boring to hear about your friend’s crush on a loop. And I no longer incessantly check my phone for messages because I don’t need to; Paul and I will be meeting in the flesh in less than twenty-four hours.

‘You’ve had a crush on Paul forever, but maybe it’s time you moved on?’ Claire grabs me by the shoulders and spins me around. The crowd has dissipated and I can see the bar now, where James is standing with Russell, nodding along to whatever he’s saying. ‘And speaking of moving on…’ She twists me to the right, where the ‘god’ from earlier is making his way over towards us. ‘Come and meet my next one-night stand.’

‘That sounds really, really fun, but I’m lying and I’m going to slip away so you can flirt in peace.’ Dodging Claire’s grasp, I make a beeline for the loos, where I can shut myself in a cubicle for a few minutes to process what’s happened tonight: I’m officially no longer an employee at The Fish & Chip Shop Around The Corner, and I seem to have developed a bit of a ‘thing’ for James after seeing him in a shiny pink and gold get-up (what is that about?) even though I’m meeting up with Paul tomorrow. It’s been quite an evening, all things considered, but I can’t remain holed up in the ladies much longer as there’s a queue forming, judging from the sound of the disgruntled voices outside the cubicle and I don’t want to give the impression I’m having a poo in here.

The pub is still busy when I emerge, but it’s no longer heaving and Russell spots me and waves me over to the bar. James is still with him, and I edge towards them, my stomach doing funny little somersaults. I’m almost nervous, even though it’s only James, as though the flamboyant outfit and lack of facial hair have transformed him into an entirely new person.

‘I didn’t know you did…’ I turn towards the stage, where only the drummer and a couple of groupies remain. ‘This.’

‘I didn’t. Not until recently. I mean, I’ve known those guys for ages. I went to school with Tom and Will, and we were in a band together until I left to change nappies and earn an actual living, but we’ve always kept in touch. Their lead singer left a few weeks ago – creative differences, something about him being an utter bellend – and they asked me to step in. I wasn’t sure at first, but then I thought of you and said yes.’

‘Me?’ I frown, trying not to feel alarmed that I’ve somehow turned James from a blazer-and-brogues-wearing accountant into a shiny-trouser-wearing showman without even realising it. What will I cause him to do next? Trade his sensible family car in for a penny-farthing? Swap his new cottage for a canal boat (which sounds lovely, actually, but there are no canals in Clifton-on-Sea, and I’m not sure Seth would be seen dead on one).

‘Yes, you.’ James grins at me, and the movement makes the glittery splodges sparkle on his cheeks. ‘You’re so brave, doing all these new things, so I thought, why can’t I do that too? Just go for it and do something that makes me happy? And I’m so glad I did, because that was… incredible.’

‘I’m glad, though I still don’t get why it’s down to me. I haven’t done anything like this.’ The closest I’ve got to a glam rock performance is singing along to Russell’s CDs in the shower, before he packed them up to transfer them to Manchester.

‘You’ve done loads of new things recently. Driving lessons. Moving into your own place for the first time. Getting a new job. So, thank you, because there’s no way I would have done that without your influence.’ James closes the gap between us again and stoops down to kiss my cheek. It’s only a peck that lasts a nanosecond, but this time it’s me who takes a step back. Because something strange just happened as his lips brushed against my cheek, something that’s making my heart race painfully fast and causing my insides to turn to mush. Something that’s making me want to grab James’ face in my hands and snog the life out of him. Which I’m obviously not going to do, especially on the eve of my reunion with Paul.

‘I’d better get going.’ I start to back away, but James grabs hold of my arm.

‘Wait.’

I catch his eye, and I’m pretty sure that James felt whatever it was I just did too. But I can’t stay and find out for certain. Wriggling free, I turn and scurry from the pub.

Tomorrow, Paul will be here and we can start the life I’ve been planning for over a decade.