Second Chance

We celebrated Brian's birthday in London.

I couldn't mask my surprise when I realised that there would be no excessive drinking, no hookers, no raging party in a doomed hotel room. Whatever ideas I'd had of what rockstars were like were being squashed the longer I spent with the guys; there were no drugs, there were no groupies, there was no being drunk off their faces all day. I couldn't help but admire them all the more for it - they took their jobs seriously, even if they had only entered the business for the fun of it.

We spent the day sight-seeing in the city, taking in everything from Big Ben to the London Eye - things that the guys had already seen but claimed they could never get enough of. I could hardly believe that I was seeing them for myself; London was one of those places that I had often glimpsed in pictures and television shows but never paid much attention to, either because it didn't ever catch my interest or I knew I'd never get the chance to go anyway. But seeing it now, I was glad I was. It shot up to the top of my list of places to see - or come back to, as it now was. I loved every second of it.

The evening brought with it a dinner in the heart of the city, organised by the band's manager. It sounded simple enough - until I learned that it was a fancy dinner in a restaurant that I would never before have stepped foot in. It required slipping into the most expensive dress that I had ever owned (courtesy of Zacky) and a pair of heels that I felt sure would be the death of me. I had to admit, I felt nice in the knee-length, lilac dress - it was my only comfort while knowing that I was walking into a situation that I was the only one not to have experience in.

As usual, people turned to stare as we entered the place. I bit down on my lower lip to keep from laughing as people's eyes widened in awe, in shock, in horror, disgust. It didn't take a genius to figure out what they were all so stunned by. The guys were well-dressed in their nicely pressed pants and their button down shirts, to the point that in terms of dress they fit in perfectly. Being Summer in the United Kingdom, nobody had bothered with jackets - leaving every one of the guys with their vibrantly inked arms on show to the entire restaurant.

They walked on as if they didn't notice, but the satisfied looks on their faces told a different story.

There was no putting up with starring customers and wait staff for long; we were led up a flight of stairs and into another room where there were fewer tables, parted by screens for a sense of better privacy. Our table was in one of the far corners, toward the front of the building where there were dark tinted windows that only just showed the view of the street outside. The sun was only just setting behind the buildings on the other side of the street, creating one of the warmest glows I could ever remember seeing.

It wasn't as bad as I had expected it would be. Upstairs, with the privacy of the dividing screens, there was nobody to stare and make us (make me) feel out of place. It was the little things that started to throw me off after that, though: the fact that the table cloth was perfectly white and bland, not like something you would generally see in a person's home; having a long menu of unfamiliar dishes set down in front of me, as opposed to having a limited choice of everything that I knew.

It was a relief that I had Zacky and Matt on either side of me to help me out in the unusual situation. It was enough to keep the occasional patronising stare from Larry from getting on my nerves too much. If I tried hard enough, I could almost believe that the manager wasn't there at all. That it was just the band and myself.

I had to seriously wonder at why Larry had booked a private "room" in the restaurant - my first impression had been that it was to keep prying eyes away from the guys, so that they wouldn't have to put up with staring from potential fans or the crowd in general while they took some time out. But watching them eat, I began to believe that maybe it was to save the other customers from being so distracted by them. They weren't loud or messy, but they didn't take tiny bites of food while they sat in complete silence. They were themselves, eating at their own pace and conversing with each other over their dinner.

They would have been happy to ditch their expensive suits and have dinner at the local McDonald's, I realised. It wouldn't have changed a thing.

For such a fancy place, I couldn't believe how entirely bland the food was. No amount of salt or pepper (or sauce or anything) was able to redeem it. It wasn't bad, but it definitely wasn't worth what was surely being paid for it, in my opinion. I kept my mouth shut on the subject, not willing to risk one of the waiters over-hearing and passing on word to the chef. I didn't want to make my time in the building any more awkward than it already was.

Night had completely fallen by the time we were all done eating; the conversation went on, varying from playful, trivial subjects to the more important matters about where the tour was going, what was to come. I felt myself grow restless and couldn't believe how childish it made me feel. I was sixteen. I should have been capable of sitting still for extended periods of time. All of the guys could - even Jimmy.

I excused myself from the table.

Giving in to the need to stretch my legs, I took the long way out of the room - following along the wall, avoiding other groups of people, until at last I came to the exit of the room and headed back out into the hall that we had originally come in from. Unexpectedly, I came across the middle-aged woman who'd been serving us all night. She gave me a warm smile as I approached.

"Everything okay?"

"Everything's fine," I assured her. "I was just looking for some fresh air."

'Well, go straight on through this room here and out that door over there. I think you'll find it to your liking."

I thanked her and followed her instructions, fairly pleased when I found myself on a balcony that overlooked the street on the other side of the building. I lent against the railing and allowed myself to look down, watching the people that hurried past in either direction. Every now and then one would look up, sometimes smile. I smiled back.

I had officially fallen in love with London.

It almost felt like being back at home during better times. It was warm in both a Summer breeze sort of way and a welcoming way that made you want to kick back and make yourself comfortable; strong British accents or not, everybody spoke English, illiminating the need to drag around a translator; best of all, everybody was friendly. I heard people say that about Australia a lot - that everybody there was so friendly. It was true, I knew, as long as you didn't count the bastard that the law called my father.

"Princess."

I gave a start and spun around, allowing a small growl to escape my lips as I noticed Zacky snickering at my reaction. He composed himself once more before I could say anything about it.

"Guys have gone off to find the bar. Oh yeah, there's a bar here," he said, seeing the look on my face. "One of the reasons that Larry chose this place. So we could drink without getting pestered by people."

"Aren't you going to join them, then?"

"I figured I'd come and let you know we were moving first." He came to stand beside me, and I turned back to face the city. "Enjoying yourself?"

"I'm going to live here one day," I told him with cretainty. "In London."

"What happened to Sydney?" he asked with a chuckle. "Don't like it there anymore?"

"Sydney's great," I assured him, "but London's just...everything that Sydney is, plus so much more. And my father isn't here."

I felt his eyes on me then.

"Wherever you are, I'm going to make sure that your father's not there. Even if I have to hold him back with my bare hands." He slung an arm around my shoulders. "But if you're gonna be living here, I don't think we'll be having that problem."

"You won't have to take care of me forever. I'll learn to get by on my own."

"I know you will. But I'll always be there to back you up." He squeezed my shoulder. "Come on. You can't skip out on Brian's birthday. He'll take it as a personal offence."