You look awful. And you’re acting kinda crazy. Getting forgetful.’
‘Maybe I am,’ I said.
‘Maybe you are what?’
‘Crazy.’
The pub was rammed, even though it was a frosty Thursday night in November. I sat with Jake in a tiny room behind the bar where he was getting ready, tuning his guitar and hyping himself up, getting into the zone. For years he had sung in a series of bands that had got nowhere, never quite being what record companies were looking for, frustratedly watching lesser rival bands get signed and, sometimes, have hits. There was a guy called Zack Love—not his real name—who had at one point been in a band with Jake. Zack had left the band to go on The X Factor , reaching the live finals and having a few big hits. Word was that he was on the verge of breaking America.
Zack’s success sent Jake into a tailspin of self-doubt and misery, but he had picked himself up and, propelled by rivalry w ith his former friend, started writing much better songs, working on his imag e and generally transforming himself. His YouTube channel had gained huge numbers of new subscriptions recently after one of his home-made videos went viral. As I left the backstage area, after giving him a good-luck hug, I could feel it. He was on the verge of a breakthrough.
As I pushed my way through the crowd I overhead a pair of girls talking about Jake.
‘Did you see the new video he posted yesterday?’
‘God, yeah. Those biceps.’ She groaned. ‘Do you think he’s got a girlfriend?’
‘No, Tara said he’s single. But don’t get your hopes up . . . He’s mine.’
‘He’s probably gay anyway . . .’
I smiled as I passed them, tempted to give them some inside info. At the bar, I bought two bottles of beer so I wouldn’t have to queue again for a while, and found a spot close to the stage, behind another group of excited young women. There were a lot of guys here too, but many of them appeared to have been dragged along by their girlfriends.
I wondered if Jake would still talk to me if he became properly famous. Or if he’d trade me in for a new bunch of rock-star-actor-model mates. Then I’d be properly alone, with my girlfriend living in Australia and my best mate not wanting to kn ow me.
I sank my first beer, drowning the encroaching self-pity.
A hush came over the crowd as the MC announced Jake, and then the girls in the crowd, and some of the guys, were whooping and grabbing each other as he came on with his guitar and, with a little smile, started to play. He was great. I’d heard tons of his songs over the years, as he encouraged me to listen to his demos and go to hi s gigs, but there was no doubt this latest crop was a league above his earlier efforts. Envy had worked. Barring a severe dose of bad luck, he was going to be a star.
As he played, I noticed a young woman with blonde hair standing near me. She was wearing tight black jeans and a purple top, very little make-up. She was stunning. The second time I glanced at her, she smiled at me and, before I knew it, she was standing beside me.
‘I love this guy,’ she said, her lips close to my ear, though the music wasn’t so loud that we couldn’t have a conversation. She had an Eastern European accent. I was immediately reminded of Alina and shuddered.
‘Are you OK?’ the blonde woman said. ‘You look like you saw a ghost.’
I wanted to get away but the crowd around us was too de nse. I was temporarily trapped. I made a conscious decision to rel ax. This woman was gorgeous, and maybe I needed to heed Jake’s advice, stop being such a recluse.
I was about to tell her that Jake was my best mate but changed my mind. I could see how the conversation would go. She would be surprised, and I would try to impress her, but all she would want to know was if I could introduce her to Jake. Was this the way my life would go now? I would be known as Jake’s friend, a way to meet the big rock star.
‘He’s
‘Maybe I am,’ I said.
‘Maybe you are what?’
‘Crazy.’
The pub was rammed, even though it was a frosty Thursday night in November. I sat with Jake in a tiny room behind the bar where he was getting ready, tuning his guitar and hyping himself up, getting into the zone. For years he had sung in a series of bands that had got nowhere, never quite being what record companies were looking for, frustratedly watching lesser rival bands get signed and, sometimes, have hits. There was a guy called Zack Love—not his real name—who had at one point been in a band with Jake. Zack had left the band to go on The X Factor , reaching the live finals and having a few big hits. Word was that he was on the verge of breaking America.
Zack’s success sent Jake into a tailspin of self-doubt and misery, but he had picked himself up and, propelled by rivalry w ith his former friend, started writing much better songs, working on his imag e and generally transforming himself. His YouTube channel had gained huge numbers of new subscriptions recently after one of his home-made videos went viral. As I left the backstage area, after giving him a good-luck hug, I could feel it. He was on the verge of a breakthrough.
As I pushed my way through the crowd I overhead a pair of girls talking about Jake.
‘Did you see the new video he posted yesterday?’
‘God, yeah. Those biceps.’ She groaned. ‘Do you think he’s got a girlfriend?’
‘No, Tara said he’s single. But don’t get your hopes up . . . He’s mine.’
‘He’s probably gay anyway . . .’
I smiled as I passed them, tempted to give them some inside info. At the bar, I bought two bottles of beer so I wouldn’t have to queue again for a while, and found a spot close to the stage, behind another group of excited young women. There were a lot of guys here too, but many of them appeared to have been dragged along by their girlfriends.
I wondered if Jake would still talk to me if he became properly famous. Or if he’d trade me in for a new bunch of rock-star-actor-model mates. Then I’d be properly alone, with my girlfriend living in Australia and my best mate not wanting to kn ow me.
I sank my first beer, drowning the encroaching self-pity.
A hush came over the crowd as the MC announced Jake, and then the girls in the crowd, and some of the guys, were whooping and grabbing each other as he came on with his guitar and, with a little smile, started to play. He was great. I’d heard tons of his songs over the years, as he encouraged me to listen to his demos and go to hi s gigs, but there was no doubt this latest crop was a league above his earlier efforts. Envy had worked. Barring a severe dose of bad luck, he was going to be a star.
As he played, I noticed a young woman with blonde hair standing near me. She was wearing tight black jeans and a purple top, very little make-up. She was stunning. The second time I glanced at her, she smiled at me and, before I knew it, she was standing beside me.
‘I love this guy,’ she said, her lips close to my ear, though the music wasn’t so loud that we couldn’t have a conversation. She had an Eastern European accent. I was immediately reminded of Alina and shuddered.
‘Are you OK?’ the blonde woman said. ‘You look like you saw a ghost.’
I wanted to get away but the crowd around us was too de nse. I was temporarily trapped. I made a conscious decision to rel ax. This woman was gorgeous, and maybe I needed to heed Jake’s advice, stop being such a recluse.
I was about to tell her that Jake was my best mate but changed my mind. I could see how the conversation would go. She would be surprised, and I would try to impress her, but all she would want to know was if I could introduce her to Jake. Was this the way my life would go now? I would be known as Jake’s friend, a way to meet the big rock star.
‘He’s
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