afternoon. He was very insistent that I take the day off and why else would we be starting the day so early? It’s only 7 a.m. Thinking about it, a couple of months back he did start to scan the property pages of the local freebie rag but he always made comments about how ludicrously expensive everything was – way out of our league – so I never paid much attention. My fingers seem to be incapable of following even the basic motor-skill instructions that my brain is sending to them. But eventually I rip the envelope open.
‘Tickets?’
‘To the Scottie Taylor gig.’ Adam is grinning at me.
‘But, but, I don’t understand,’ I stutter.
‘Had you good, didn’t I, Fern-girl? That whole thing I made up last April pretending I couldn’t get any tickets for the concert, not even on eBay.’
Yup, I remember. Scottie Taylor is doing this major gig tonight in Wembley Stadium. The like of which has never been seen before. He’s performing in front of a massive crowd of ninety thousand. It’s the first time he’s played a gig in over two years. He’s playing for three nights in a row. All the tickets were completely sold out in forty minutes. From the moment the lines opened for sales, I repeatedly pressed redial to the ticket office. I was gutted when I didn’t get lucky. I was furious when none of Adam’s industry contacts could help us find tickets. I wanted to go to the gig more than anything.
But that was four months ago.
The gig seems insignificant now, in light of my ultimatum, in light of my clearly communicated desire to move things on. How could Adam imagine that tickets to a pop gig are a reasonable response to everything I said last Friday?
‘There are three tickets for tonight’s gig; one for you and one each for Lisa and Jess. They are in on this. They don’t really have anything else planned, like I said they had. It was all me. This is all my idea.’
‘All you,’ I parrot, unable to trust my tongue with any sort of independence. Now I understand why my friends were exchanging wary glances. They knew this wasn’t what I was hoping for.
‘And that’s not all,’ adds Adam.
Glimmer of hope!
He reaches behind him and hands me another envelope; it’s identical.
Another crash landing. I feel the shock shudder through my body just as though I have endured a physical impact.
Carefully, slowly, I start to open the envelope. I can’t fake enthusiasm; it’s all I can do to hide my face; bastard, telltale tears of hurt and disappointment are springing into my eyes. I won’t let him see that. I open the second envelope and there are three more tickets, this time to Saturday’s gig. I don’t understand.
‘Tadaa.’ Adam pushes a third envelope into my hand.
‘What?’
‘Open it and see,’ he says. He’s grinning like the Cheshire cat. Why? What makes him think buying two sets of tickets to the same artist’s gig is a good idea? Is he mad? Two sets, these things cost almost fifty quid each.
‘Three sets,’ I say as I open the third envelope.
‘Sunday’s gig,’ says Adam with hideous zeal. ‘Of course you don’t need to take Jess and Lisa every night. Maybe Eliza might fancy it, or Ben.’
I stare at Adam in pure bewilderment. ‘You’ve blown four hundred and fifty quid on this?’ I demand. I’m so shocked I can’t summon the necessary torrent of abuse. I’m not worried; I know it will come, just as soon as I start to breathe again.
‘That’s the beauty of it. I didn’t have to pay for any of them,’ he replies.
‘What, they are knock-off?’ The words are strangled by outrage.
‘No,’ laughs Adam. ‘I’m working at the gig. These are freebies. I’ve got a job with Scottie Taylor. It’s silly money. You couldn’t guess. Like six times the amount I’d normally get for a similar event. Apparently Scottie has this thing about sharing his wealth. I’ve known about the job for a while but I kept quiet about it so as to surprise you today.’
Adam
‘Tickets?’
‘To the Scottie Taylor gig.’ Adam is grinning at me.
‘But, but, I don’t understand,’ I stutter.
‘Had you good, didn’t I, Fern-girl? That whole thing I made up last April pretending I couldn’t get any tickets for the concert, not even on eBay.’
Yup, I remember. Scottie Taylor is doing this major gig tonight in Wembley Stadium. The like of which has never been seen before. He’s performing in front of a massive crowd of ninety thousand. It’s the first time he’s played a gig in over two years. He’s playing for three nights in a row. All the tickets were completely sold out in forty minutes. From the moment the lines opened for sales, I repeatedly pressed redial to the ticket office. I was gutted when I didn’t get lucky. I was furious when none of Adam’s industry contacts could help us find tickets. I wanted to go to the gig more than anything.
But that was four months ago.
The gig seems insignificant now, in light of my ultimatum, in light of my clearly communicated desire to move things on. How could Adam imagine that tickets to a pop gig are a reasonable response to everything I said last Friday?
‘There are three tickets for tonight’s gig; one for you and one each for Lisa and Jess. They are in on this. They don’t really have anything else planned, like I said they had. It was all me. This is all my idea.’
‘All you,’ I parrot, unable to trust my tongue with any sort of independence. Now I understand why my friends were exchanging wary glances. They knew this wasn’t what I was hoping for.
‘And that’s not all,’ adds Adam.
Glimmer of hope!
He reaches behind him and hands me another envelope; it’s identical.
Another crash landing. I feel the shock shudder through my body just as though I have endured a physical impact.
Carefully, slowly, I start to open the envelope. I can’t fake enthusiasm; it’s all I can do to hide my face; bastard, telltale tears of hurt and disappointment are springing into my eyes. I won’t let him see that. I open the second envelope and there are three more tickets, this time to Saturday’s gig. I don’t understand.
‘Tadaa.’ Adam pushes a third envelope into my hand.
‘What?’
‘Open it and see,’ he says. He’s grinning like the Cheshire cat. Why? What makes him think buying two sets of tickets to the same artist’s gig is a good idea? Is he mad? Two sets, these things cost almost fifty quid each.
‘Three sets,’ I say as I open the third envelope.
‘Sunday’s gig,’ says Adam with hideous zeal. ‘Of course you don’t need to take Jess and Lisa every night. Maybe Eliza might fancy it, or Ben.’
I stare at Adam in pure bewilderment. ‘You’ve blown four hundred and fifty quid on this?’ I demand. I’m so shocked I can’t summon the necessary torrent of abuse. I’m not worried; I know it will come, just as soon as I start to breathe again.
‘That’s the beauty of it. I didn’t have to pay for any of them,’ he replies.
‘What, they are knock-off?’ The words are strangled by outrage.
‘No,’ laughs Adam. ‘I’m working at the gig. These are freebies. I’ve got a job with Scottie Taylor. It’s silly money. You couldn’t guess. Like six times the amount I’d normally get for a similar event. Apparently Scottie has this thing about sharing his wealth. I’ve known about the job for a while but I kept quiet about it so as to surprise you today.’
Adam
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