Frontwards

I’m sure I’ve mentioned previously how uncool I am. Just wanted to reiterate that and make it absolutely clear to you so you could imagine how nervous and gawky I felt as I was waiting to meet Frank’s friends. Bandmates. Whatever.

When it comes to clothing, I don’t really have a “style” as such. I have to wear smart suits and shoes to work, and when I’m slobbing around the house I tend to wear oversized T-shirts, with or without leggings according to the temperature, and then I own a few cocktail dresses for weddings or other dinner parties and so on (not that I ever get invited to any, but it never hurts to be prepared for such eventualities. I also carry a change of underwear with me at all times in case of emergencies and I keep a rifle underneath my bed in case of a zombie apocalypse. Okay I was joking about that last one. Guns are illegal in England). Either way, none of my regular attire seemed to match the situation at hand, so I had invaded Kate’s wardrobe in a desperate attempt to find something that might fit me. Kate is two sizes smaller than me so this was no mean feat, but eventually I managed to find a pair of black skinny jeans that fit as long as I didn’t breathe out, and a plain white T-shirt that didn’t make me look too fat. At the last moment I also threw on a nice scarf and a thick cardigan. Frank had told me I looked cute but I was hesitant to believe him.

So anyway, Frank and I were sitting inside this venue waiting for the rest of his friends. Bandmates, dammit. It wasn’t a huge place; it was more or less what I was expecting. Sticky floors, dark walls, a little stage with lots of big amplifiers, and, most importantly, a bar. It was empty at the moment, save for the two of us, the barman and a grumpy roadie lugging things around the stage.

“Another vodka lemonade, please?” Frank called smoothly to the barman. This was my third or fourth, and Frank had been on Cokes. It wasn’t even five-thirty yet but he was hammering vodka lemonades down me like nobody’s business.

“Are you trying to get me drunk, Frankie?” I asked in mock-horror, placing a hand to my chest. I had a feeling he maybe just wanted to loosen me up so I wouldn’t look like a freak or embarrass him or something in front of his friends. BANDMATES.

“Of course not,” he grinned, but gave me a little wink anyway. Maybe he was trying to get me back into bed. Who knows? Who cares? I was having fun. It didn’t matter.

The barman handed me a fresh drink and I sucked up the remainder of my previous one, which made me wince a little. Why does vodka always sink to the bottom of the glass? And why does it taste so disgusting? Urgh.

“Thanks for waiting with me, Diz,” Frank grinned, making my stomach flip a little because he had adopted this nickname for me. The only person to ever call me Diz before was Kate; when we were kids she used to call me Dizzy Daisy and I always told her I hated it, but coming from Frank’s perfect mouth I can’t say I minded even a tiny little bit.

“You’re welcome,” I smiled. It was most likely a wobbly, drunk kind of smile. Being a fairly petite girl (although as I am just about 5 feet tall and on the wrong side of 10 stone, I think perhaps I am just considered fat) it doesn’t take too much to get me drunk. At university I was kindly nicknamed “Two Drink Daisy.” Sounds about right.

“Are you going to stay for the gig?” Frank asked, as I sipped at my fresh drink. So this was his game. That little scamp.

“Maybe,” I shrugged, feigning indifference because I knew it would irritate him. Inside I really wanted to scream YES I DO AND THEN I WANT TO BONE YOUR BRAINS OUT AGAIN but I was channelling my inner cucumber and by that I mean that I was being cool, and not a phallic green vegetable. Why is it always cucumbers anyway? Other things are cool too. Like yogurt and Diet Coke seeing Vanessa Carlson get hit in the face with a basketball. “It is Saturday night.”

He beamed at me. It was not a smile, not a smirk, not a grin. It was a BEAM. Like a little ray of sunshine across his delectable features. Christ have mercy.

They say you never forget your first love. I’m sure they are right. It certainly seemed likely because I can well imagine the image of Frank’s beautiful smile staying with me for a very very long time. It was the kind of smile that made me want to quit my job and my life and run away with him to live on a vegetable farm in Cuba and have seven free-spirited children with long hair and bare feet and tie-dye clothing.

Frank placed a hand on my thigh and stood from his barstool so that he could whisper in my ear. My pulse rushed around my ears. “Seems dangerous, you having to get all the way back to Nottingham on your own so late,” he purred, making every inch of me tingle, especially the good bits. “You can stay at the hotel with us, if you like.”

I grinned and turned my head, catching the side of his mouth in a brief kiss. “Doesn’t sound like I have a lot of choice in this,” I replied with a small laugh. Our heads were still very close.

Before anything else could be said or done, there was what I could only describe as a commotion, coming very audibly from the entrance into the club. I deduced that it must have been Frank’s BANDMATES. You see, Daisy, you can get it right.

I downed my drink for Dutch courage (Frank looked a little impressed at my speed but said nothing) and sat up straight, running my fingers through a mass of tangles I call my hair (so I hadn’t showered today. So shoot me) and smoothing the creases on my shirt. Kate’s shirt. I was feeling so so so nervous. Mostly I was terrified they wouldn’t like me, which is silly because normally I don’t actually give a shit whether people like me or not. Normally I am actually acutely aware of the fact that due to my perpetual social incompetence most people tend to think I’m just a bitch. But I wanted to make a good impression on Frank’s friends. Bandmates, god damn. Anyway, I was anxious, so I hid behind Frank a little, peering at the entrance over his shoulder as he grinned at me. I told him to shut up smiling and he laughed.

They entered front and centre in a vision of black, muttering amongst themselves and pushing each other around and generally being men.

“Iero!” one of them called. I had learnt today that this was Frank’s last name. I think Daisy Iero has a nice ring to it, don’t you? No. Shut up brain. “Stop dicking about and come help us set up,” the same guy continued, brushing several strands of long black hair out of his eyes, only for it to fall back in the exact same place.

Frank looked back to me, smiled, and took my hand, pulling me shakily to my feet (maybe Dutch courage had not been such a good idea after all) and over to the centre of the room with eight eyes watching my every step. I hoped so much that I didn’t look as drunk as I was starting to feel.

“Guys, this is Daisy,” Frank said to them collectively. They all looked at me unnervingly and I forced a smile. “Daisy, this is Ray, Bob, Gerard and Mikey.” He pointed to each one of them in turn but I knew I would probably never remember who was who.

“Hi,” I said quietly, giving a tiny wave. Dork.

The one I now knew to be Gerard – who had had the bowel problems this morning, if I remembered correctly – once more pushed his fringe out of his eyes and it once more fell immediately back. “Nice to meet you, sugar,” he grinned, extending a hand to shake mine. It was a fairly uncomfortable handshake because his palms were very cold and I’m sure mind were very sweaty. He didn’t bring attention to it though, which was nice. “So, you’re the girl Frank spent last night with.” It wasn’t really a question.

I considered making a joke out of this; turning around to slap Frank and asking him what Gerard was talking about and how he could use me like this, but I figured my comedic genius might be wasted at this moment in time so I acted like a normal person instead. “Yeah, I guess I am.”

Ray and Mikey (or maybe Mikey and Ray?) nudged each other and made lots of eyebrow movements and Frank rolled his eyes as he turned back to me. “I really have to start setting up and stuff now, Diz,” he said. “But you can totally chill backstage or whatever.”

I nodded. “I should probably call Kate anyway,” I said, and he quickly squeezed my hand and gave me a wink before heading over to the stage and blah blah blah whatever musicians do when they’re setting up. There were lots of wires and dials and checks. I made my way out onto the smoking terrace and wrestled my phone out of the pocket of my ridiculously tight jeans. Kate’s jeans. Kate’s favourite jeans. She’d probably kill me.

She answered in two rings, with a jaunty “What do you want, bitch?” Delightful.

“And a big hello to you, too. I’m fine, thanks. The kidnappers say if you don’t pay the million pound ransom in five seconds that they’re going to shoot me in the head though so I’d appreciate it if you could sort that for me.”

“Actually, I’m glad you called.”

“Too late Kate, I’m dead.”

“I have many questions for you,” she continued, completely ignoring me. I pulled my cardigan tighter around me because it was a cold evening, and I perched on the edge of a bench because my feet still hurt from my stupid fucking work shoes yesterday. “One; who were you having really loud sex with this morning? Two; why did you leave all of your dirty breakfast dishes for me to wash? Three; why did your cat wake me up this morning? Four; where-”

I cut her off at this point, gently massaging my temples with my fingertips. “Kate. Shush.” I picked a little at the splintered wood beneath me. “One, some guy I met on the train last night.” I could hear her take a deep breath like I was about to get a lecture. “Yes, I know, please let me finish.” Silence. “Thank you. Two, we were in a rush to get to London because his band has a gig tonight. Three, because I was naked and didn’t want to get up. And question four I assume was an enquiry into my whereabouts and as such I am in aforementioned capital city. I will be here all night and possibly all of tomorrow.”

There was a stunned silence from Kate’s end. For a second I thought perhaps the line was bad because never in 23 years have I ever caught my cousin speechless. Really it’s astounding. I should really make an official record of it, for future generations to ponder in awe.

Bizarrely, when she did eventually come to her senses, the first question to be asked was not regarding my welfare, safety or sanity, but rather; “What’s the name of his band?”

And then I realised that I really had no idea. He had told me, but as I believe I have mentioned, I am not great with names so I had to scan the walls for a clue until my eyes settled on a poster with today’s date and a fuzzy monochrome photo of what I assumed to be Frank and his bandmates. “Erm.” I quickly consulted the poster stuck to the wall with blu-tack, and probably grime, and read aloud. “My Chemical Romance? I think.”

And then Kate was gone and all I could hear was a high-pitched squeal from my phone, and once again I considered that something was wrong with my phone but it was in fact Kate who was producing the horrific sound and not indeed a vulture or dying child as I had originally suspected. Startled, I held the handset away from my ear until the shrill noise had ceased and Kate was back.

“Jesus, Kate,” I breathed, but once more I was ignored.

“Oh my God,” she said excitedly. I could imagine her jumping up and down. “Who is it? Which member of My Chemical Romance are you fucking?” How crude.

“Um,” I frowned. “His name is Frank. Kate, I don’t get it, what are you-”

Another shrill scream. Shorter this time. I was at least semi-prepared for it.

“Kate, please stop doing that,” I sighed, placing the phone back to my ear. “What’s the big deal anyway?”

She let out an exasperated sigh, like she was bitterly disappointed in me. “It’s so unfair, Diz, that you don’t even know anything about their music and you’re still banging the guitarist. How are we fans meant to have a chance?”

“Kate,” I said sternly. “You’re a lesbian. You do remember that, right?”

“That’s not the point,” she huffed. “Diz, Frank’s band is huge right now. They have a massive fan base. They’re on MTV and everything.”

“Wow,” I said dully. “That’s great, really, but I don’t actually care. All I know is that I have met a guy that I like, a LOT, and I’ll be in London for the next few days so don’t worry about me, okay?”

“Fine, fine,” she sighed again. “Be careful, Diz. Keep in touch.”

“I will,” I promised. “But I have to go.” There was a loud guitar-sounding noise coming from inside and I sensed I should be there. “See you.”

“Bye,” she sighed one final time before I hung up, took a deep breath, and headed back inside.