Band Cramp

The town centre was foggy. Many elderly wandered the streets as if lost to the ethers of time. The tillage of Sandy was mostly dead on the weekend, the only lively occupants being a group of threatening teenagers from midday, hanging outside the one and only supermarket, of which the only thing "super" about it was how super tiny it was. The only other residents awake at this early hour were the parents of toddlers, who insisted 5:00am was the normal time to scream bloody hell until their parents arose from the grave, zombified. Such parents were seen driving their battering prams and buggies to the nearest café to meet with others alike, a coffee in their mind and a shiver down their spine. A car would rarely drive down the street, its driver sleepy and craving cigarettes. To say Sandy was a tillage of the undead would be a fair comparison on a Saturday morning, today only disturbed by the congregation at the tillage centre, far more energetic than the rest of the environment. A podgy woman jogged on the spot in a pale, yellow t-shirt and baggy shorts, whilst several young teenagers chatted loudly and a man resembling Humpty Dumpty struggled to find his balance. Adonis had invaded.

'I think I've figured out why Bob's so jittery,' Nathan announced as Gareth approached him, trumpet case in hand.

'Bob?' he quizzically replied.

'He smokes.'

'He... smokes?'

'Dad was out. I smelt burning wazz through the house. I went to investigate and found Bob on the sofa, smoking something unsanitary. He was ever so shocked to see me, Gazza. I reckon he thought I was out, too.'

'Oh, so...' Gareth's voice trailed off, as it was obvious it wasn't a legal smoke, by any means.

'Yep. It would account for so much. I never knew. I can't believe someone like Bob would... well, I guess lots of people try it at some point, but I've never been interested...' Nathan also trailed off as Bob approached them.

'Talking about anything fun?' He asked, suspiciously.

'Your mum,' Gareth snickered.

Bob raised a confused eyebrow and walked on past them to hang with his percussion buddies.

'What about my mum?' Nathan asked, indignantly.

'Oh, er... nothing. Nevermind. So, er, I take it you've come to watch the show, Nath?' Gareth quickly asked, zipping his faded sky blue hoodie up to protect him from the misty morning.

'That and, you know, Bob.'

'And Bob.'

'Anyway, I'd best catch up with Bob and make sure he's all right. See ya in a bit, Gazza,' Nathan patted Gareth on the back, before jogging after his brother.

Stefan kept an eye on the road, his gaze around the corner of their island. Gareth went to question what he was doing, but then realised they must've been waiting for a coach to take them to the show grounds. Gareth waltzed up to Stefan and eyed the corner with him.

'How many people usually turn up to watch?' Gareth asked, his eyes also surveying the road.

'Many will turn up at the football grounds,' Stefan responded, causing Gareth to sharply inhale at the thought of a huge stadium full of people, 'but most will be the supporters of the particular corps present.'

'Drum corps ain't what it used to be,' Old Man Sam gruffly announced, stumbling up behind them.

The sound of sipping caused Gareth to turn around, a quizzical expression on his face. Old Man Sam seemed oblivious of Gareth watching him suckle his silver hip flask of liquid gold. If he didn't know any better, Gareth would have said Old Man Sam had separated from the rest of the ground to take a secret sip. Gareth waited for Sam to finish before talking any further, in an attempt not to startle him.

'What was your first show like?'

'My first show? Oh, tha' takes me back, a bi', ehehe. The Hunters, we were called. Me legs turned ter jelly and me breath was full o' butterflies. Our soon to be rivals, Eskine Regiment, creamed us. We stood no chance, prob'ly 'cause we were all so nervous bein' the new guys on the block. We brough' honour to Johnstone in time, we did. Chase soon 'came to practise, too. Johnstone was a harsh bu' fair home. Anyway, yer don' wanna hear abou' an ol' fool and his son. Jus' remember things aren't easy straight away, like. Tha' firs' show was terrible.'

'Thanks...' Gareth grumbled, feeling no more confident than before.

'Speaking of your son, where is Chase? He should have been here to greet the coach,' Stefan asked, his gaze still on the road ahead.

'Sick.'

'Sick?!' Gareth exclaimed, his concern immediately turning to relief as he thought about how relaxed the atmosphere would be without Chase breathing down his neck.

'All he's got is some poxy ches' infection, the wuss. His voice is gone, an' all. Teach him to shout at the nedds at Bedford town centre...' Old Man Sam crinkled his nose at the thought of how much his son disappointed him - a look Gareth was all too familiar with.

'Mandy's going to have a literal field day,' Stefan sighed.

Somewhere to their right, Mandy was whooping at having further taken charge in Chase's absence, something which Gareth through probably didn't happen often, at all. Chase seemed like the kind of guy that would ordinarily laugh in the face of illness, so something particularly nasty must have incapacitated the corps director.

A loud beeping sound alerted the small scouting group. It sounded far too weedy to be a large coach, unless their coach was the size of a... smart car. Rolling up in his small, curved masterpiece of hilarity, was Warren.

'Keeping safe?' Warren smiled as he rolled down his window, his stout car crawling around the corner.

Feeling his face flush from embarrassment, Gareth turned away to regain his composure. He was greeted with various members of the corps chuckling several metres from him. He turned back to Warren, welcoming a hole to swallow him up, right now.

Warren temporarily parked just on the edge of their island, keeping his engine running and leaning out of the window as if proud of his go kart of a vehicle.

'Look, I've come to wish you luck in your show, today,' Warren smiled as the sun started to break through the morning mist, at last.

'I thought you'd be here to code my ankle tag,' Gareth sniffed, trying not to show how touched he genuinely was by Warren's sentiment.

'You'll be back before curfew, so there's no worry with the tag, just so long as you don't run away,' Warren warned. Gareth gave a hesitant smile before Warren continued. 'Seriously, good luck, today.'

'Thanks,' Gareth sheepishly responded.

'Anyway, I have to vamoose before my shift starts. Saturday's always a busy day for me, so I hope to speak again soon, Gareth.'

With an unhealthy sputter from the exhaust, Warren's smart car whizzed off and around the island, before heading back down the road he came from. Meanwhile, on the other side of the road, Gareth's eyes were directed to the now approaching coach.

'Coach is here!' Stefan called to the others, before patting Gareth on the back.

'Elders first!' Old Man Sam snapped, turning towards the crowd of excited members.

The coach creaked in ferociously, almost swinging into the crossing bollard. Startled, Gareth and Stefan leapt backwards as the coach clipped the curb and screeched to a halt. Battered and muddy at the base of its silver shell, the vehicle looked like it'd been through war. The back looked like an accident had occurred with another vehicle, with the panel smashed in completely. The translucently dark windows had several deep scars across them. Even the back lights of the coach appeared battered and broken. If Gareth was apprehensive of the vehicle of death, then Sadie was fearing for her life, reduced to a shivering mess in her father's arms. If anyone had any anxieties about travelling, this coach only facilitated that fear into reality.

Ealga shot a sour face to Dave, who was looking at the coach with disdain. They both looked at each other for a moment, before deciding they'd have to make do in Chase's absence.

'All aboard the Chumlie Express!' Mandy called as the coach doors groaned open.

The crowd of Adonis members bustled to load the side of the coach with all manner of flag equipment and horns. Gareth assumed that their blasted truck would take the rest of the equipment to the show grounds, already on its way from one of the other staff members. Great, he'd have to look forward to unloading everything once they reached their destination. That truck was starting to become the bane of his band life.

As he clambered up the steep steps and into the unbearably overheated coach interior, Gareth fondled his medallion for some comfort. At least no one was barraging him with insults in why he stole the band instruments, anymore. Everyone seemed focused on something else, and thoughts of how terrible the coach was were soon washed clean by thoughts of the upcoming show. Soon, the slight reassurance turned to a squiggle of snakes in his stomach, his chest suddenly hit by a high-speed football. Did he know the show as well as he should? What was that bar with the new music, again? He hoped it'd be enough just to go over the parts in his head, during the coach ride.

Nathan gave a look of resignation as Gareth approached his seat from the aisle of bustle and clutter. Bob sat next to Nathan, closest the aisle and trapped Nathan against the window. He looked menacingly at Gareth, who had the distinct impression that it was more Bob protecting his brother, as opposed to Nathan protecting Bob.

'Hey, come and sit next to me, Gazza,' Stefan chirped, patting the seat in front of Bob. Gareth gave Nathan a half smile and turned to Stefan, who sat next to the window in front of Nathan.

Stefan moved his small chiller bag of drinks and snacks to his feet, allowing room for Gareth to slide himself in.

'Cheers,' Gareth thanked, wiping his brow.

'Once we get going, the air conditioning will switch on and it won't be so stifling.'

'Are the coaches normally like this?'

'No... not really. It makes me wonder where Chase shopped for his coach drivers, this season,' Stefan replied, as if the drivers were purchased on some online shopping service.

Stefan craned his neck to the front, which Gareth copied. The driver had lengthy dreadlocks, trailing down his blue shirted back. His eyes looked sunken and tired on his dark-skinned head.

'Strange. A woman called Abbi is normally our driver, year in and year out. Unless she's transitioned into a black man, I don't think we have Abbi, this time,' Stefan mused, concerned.

'Maybe she left?' Gareth replied.

'I'm sure there's a reason for it, as it'll be a shame not to have the usual banter with her.' Stefan replied, unconvinced. 'Anyway, enough about that,' Stefan announced, his tone changing from concern to one with purpose, 'we need to get you a baseball cap.'

'I don't need no cap. I ain't one of those stupid chavs out on the street...' Gareth trailed off as Stefan gave him a disappointed look. Gareth felt his temper rise a little at this. 'I'm not a chav.'

'You aren't, not in my eyes. However, we all need baseball caps come the sunnier weather, otherwise you eyes will suffer. It's fine. Here, have my spare,' Stefan offered, reaching up and grabbing a cap from the small luggage rack above them.

Rolling the cap around in his hands, Gareth examined the white thread which spelt the handwritten phrase "I'm horny" across a yellow trumpet made from silk thread. The cap, itself, was cyan and strangely a little shiny from its material. The strong smell of sweat and mud wafted from its past.

'Eh, it's that cap you lent me a few weeks back,' Lofty giraffe laughed, as if he'd somehow cracked a hilarious joke.

'You can keep the current one I've loaned you,' Stefan rolled his eyes in response.

'Cheers, big ears,' Lofty replied, waddling up the aisle. A busy queue had formed behind him, from others wishing to locate seats towards the back.

'Is the back really that popular?' Gareth asked Stefan, noticing a clear patch of empty seats nearer the front.

'All the "cool kids" go there, even the adults. Expect Ealga, Dave and Aaron to shout up a storm back there,' Stefan sighed.

True enough, Ealga had found herself directly on the back seat, in the middle, lifting Aaron to the seat on her right. Dave had already nestled next to the window, on her left.

'Ladies, gentlemen and Lofty,' came Mandy's voice from somewhere overhead, 'we're blessed with a replacement driver for Abbi - Castro Axel. Abbi, like Chase, has called in sick.' There were a few murmurs at this, from both absences. 'Settle down, my melons...'

'That's what she said!' Kara called from somewhere near the back. There was some laughter at that.

'Castro will do his best, I'm sure, to deliver us to the show in one piece. Meanwhile, everyone make sure you buckle up, sit tight, and conserve your energy for when we reach Basingstoke. We'll taste that delicious strawberry within two hours, so find something to do, talk to the person sitting next to you, and ignore Lofty,' Mandy continued.

There were several cheers as the coach began to move, which was soon met with a few gasps of concern as the coach suddenly jolted to a halt.

'Sorry, just... uh... getting into gear,' confirmed the very deep and African accented driver.

With a coach full of concerned occupants, the driver was finally able to push the coach around the island and onto Sandy's main town road. However, it was by no means a pleasant experience as they whizzed down the incorrect side of the road at an alarming 48 miles per hour.

'The speed limit's 30, my blackberry, 30!' Mandy wailed somewhere at the front.

Gareth cast a cursory glance around the coach to find Sadie had burst into tears, clearly distraught over travel for one reason or another, and Lofty vomiting in a plastic bag.

Soon, they were on the A1 road and on multiple carriageways, heading to the competition ground. The constant lurching and inertia made Gareth feel giddy, feeling his seat belt clamp around his stomach with every few yards. It was a nauseating experience for Lofty, who was clearly travel sick and onto his third bag. One second they were speeding down the motorway, only to be struck with braking the next. It was enough to make anyone ill.

'What kind of music are you into?' Stefan asked, to take his mind off of the journey.

This was a question that Gareth was somewhat used to. He wasn't a big music listener, but he had his select few that he liked. It was the standard question most people would ask when they first met him, before realising he was a terror and wanted nothing further to do with him. As such, he'd had time to refine his answer from "a bit of everything", to "progressive rock", to which he decisively answered with.

'And what about your faviourite song?' Stefan continued.

He'd once found himself in a pub with live rock, before Darren got them all banned from the premises. One band, with dry voices and a rhythm of fire, had strummed out a lively cover which had stuck with Gareth since he'd heard it.

'Birdland,' Gareth replied.

Stefan was soon on his phone and scrolling through his music, before finally passing one side of his wiry headphones to Gareth.

A blast of big band brass blared through the headphones. Gareth immediately recognised the tune - it was Birdland, but not the version he was used to.

'Not the Manhattan Transfer version, then?' Gareth said louder than intended, barely hearing himself over the noise.

'It's got that jazzy swing feel to it. This version was played by the Blue Devils, who were the world champions of Drum Corps International numerous times in the States.'

'Not my thing, but they're much better than us,' Gareth confirmed, slightly uneasy at the thought of how good the other competition might be once they reached Basingstoke. 'What about you? What you into?' Gareth asked.

Stefan frowned for a moment.

'A bit of everything, really,' he confirmed.

Gareth laughed.

'Not many people have asked you before, have they, mate?'

'I'm not much of a people person. I keep myself to myself, usually.'

'Well, you're closer to me than anyone else here, so I don't think you're the lone wolf you think you are,' Gareth smiled.

Stefan smiled back, before returning to his phone and scrolling through a vast selection of other tunes he knew Gareth would appreciate.

********************

Basingstoke was a thriving hub of bustling townsfolk and morning dog walkers. The streets felt narrow, surrounded by older architecture caging its occupants. Within this cage within a cage sat Gareth, peering out at the crepuscular rays of the sun as it fought against the dim clouds. The coach drove through the bustle and out quickly to the more serene outskirts. Despite the driver taking the coach the wrong way down a one way street, as well as driving over several traffic cones in its bid to avoid a sectioned off lane, they'd all somehow made it in one piece. In fact, Gareth was relieved to finally descend from the coach, even if it was to the dull and damp conditions, outside.

Alighting and inhaling the damp but refreshing air, Gareth gazed around their location. They had parked in a patchy field of mud and dying grass, full of other coaches from various bands, their engines in deep slumber as their occupants spilled onto the field around them. Flags were being spun by colourguard members straining to cram in some last minute practise before their show, whilst other corps practised drill basics. No one was playing their instruments bar the distant toots which echoed from inside wherever the stadium was.

'For those observant enough, the stadium falls at the far right of this battlefield. Before you lot stagger to the grounds to look for the toilets, you'll all need a lime band from myself, Ealga or Mandy. This'll ensure access to the stadium as a band member,' Stefan called, holding up a batch of cardboard strips with a sticker at their ends, meant to strap around each member's wrist.

Mandy looked somewhat annoyed that Stefan had taken charge, despite the fact he was the section leader of the horns and therefore well within his rights to announce such things. Realising he had forgotten other bits of information, Mandy soon let go of her irritation and cleared her throat.

'Parents, supports and chumlies, you'll all have to pay the entrance fee for your seat in the stands. However, you'll get a cracking view of us when we play!' Mandy followed suit, only to be met from a couple of grumbles. 'All band members be back here, ready to put on your uniform, for 10.30am!'

Grabbing a garish green wrist clamp from Mandy, Gareth seized this time to see what kind of band was currently playing in the stadium, which blasted out drunken music. Following the warbling tones, he eventually found himself at the bottom of the tiny football stands.

Ogling at the sight before him, somewhat amused, Gareth leant against the front fence that separated him from the show field. A field of kids dressed in radiant green tunics sprawled out in front of Gareth. They trundled and bobbed around the marked out arena of numbered sign posts, their horns pointing to the worms and their expressions scared. Was this their competition?

The wailed rendition of Somewhere Over the Rainbow was silenced, at last, only to be replaced by a repetitive bass drum beat. All of the children wandered in single-file off of the field, whilst a rush of supporters pushed off their single glockenspiel.

'Give it up for Trill,' echoed a dry and dull elderly gentleman through several loudspeakers, 'and so that ends our Junior Class contestants for the day. There will now be a short intermission of 15 minutes before we start our Open Class. Chips are available at Brian's Burgers, to the right of the stadium.'

The mention of burgers immediately caused Gareth's stomach to rumble. Damn. He was hoping he'd make it through the day without eating much. His mum hadn't given him money for food, just a short argument, and Gareth had only packed a few rushed cheddar sandwiches as a result. Was it worth going back to the coach, yet? He hoped not.

'You can go in now,' a familiar voice explained.

Gareth turned to find Stefan was now beside him, pointing to the stand.

'Huh?'

'The stewards block people from going in and out of the stands between each band's show. I thought that was why you were hovering down here,' Stefan elaborated.

'No, no, just... admiring how shite that last band was,' Gareth replied, choosing his words carefully. Stefan laughed in response.

'We're not competing against them, don't worry. They're in the Junior Class. These competitions have three classes - Junior, where all the kids go, A Class, where the advanced bands play, and Open, where the best bands play,' Stefan explained, before pausing as he thought something over, 'no, wait, there's no A Class this year. The Squires were their only band and they've finally disbanded. The organisers at DCUK decided to just have Junior and Open Classes, this year. We're in the Open Class...'

It was evident that Stefan had become lost in thought and Gareth wondered if he was holding some information back, as if ashamed of something. Stefan's thought train was interrupted, however, by Gareth's roaring stomach.

'Sorry,' Gareth turned away, embarrassed.

'Is this going to be like the noodle incident, again?' Stefan cocked his eyebrow, then sighed. 'Come on, then, you find us a pair of seats and I'll find you some chips, Gazza.'

With a smile, Stefan walked off to find Brian's Burgers, which was no doubt a greasy travelling vehicle, and Gareth ascended the stone steps to find a plastic seat nearer the top.

It didn't take long for Gareth to find one, as the stand was practically empty during the interval. He'd grabbed a decent enough spot near the centre-top, and waited for Stefan to return, his thoughts turning to the show. He definitely didn't feel ready. Gareth thought their show had been rushed, reasoning that Chase thought attending the first competition was more important than finishing their show, itself. By that logic, Gareth guessed that several other bands wouldn't be attending Basingstoke due to the incompletion of their own shows, waiting for the next competition.

'Sorry about the sauce,' Stefan apologised, passing Gareth a Styrofoam container of chips and drowning them in tomato ketchup.

'Cheers...' Gareth replied, his uncertainty clear in his voice. 'So what happens now?'

'Well,' Stefan responded as he sat down, 'Open Class will begin. We've only enough time to watch the first corps on, then we have to head back to the coach. We'll get to see what we're up against.'

As Gareth thought about their competitors to come, the stands darkened against the soot sky. Furthermore, Gareth and Stefan were suddenly cast in shadow from a towering individual. Turning to the new menace, Gareth and Stefan both let out a little groan. It was the coach driver, Castro.

Castro smiled as his stomach growled.

'Hey, can I have some?' came his voice, smooth and dark.

Gareth frowned, feeling like offering chips to the driver was like thanking him for the worst road trip, ever.

'No,' he eventually replied. Stefan nudged him with such force that Gareth tumbled forward, slightly. 'I mean, no, you can have... more than some.'

'Cheers, my fella,' he smiled, grabbing an immense handful of ketchup-covered chips and ramming them into his mouth. 'Relief driving at short notice, man, it has a hazard of an effect on the belly.'

Feeling a little more sorry for the driver, Gareth tipped his Styrofoam carton to Castro, in case he wanted more.

'I see...' Stefan's indiscriminate accent trailed off, examining the lime band around Castro's wrist, having somehow pilfered a spare free entry band.

'Care if I sit and watch 'till you need me, fellas?' Castro smiled, ramming more chips into his mouth.

'Go ahead. You can watch us, later,' Gareth sighed, scoffing as many chips as possible to make sure Castro didn't take them all.

Castro smiled and silently munched on the floppy and unsatisfactory fries. Gareth question if they should even be called "chips" or "fries" in this thin, floppy form, but devoured them none-the-less.
Talk turned to various other things in the remaining interval, from how Chase would have them practising all the way up until they marched on the stadium field, to how Stefan's parents were in the stands somewhere, but he wanted to avoid them for the time being. Before Gareth could ask more on the matter, a particularly rowdy bunch of adults plopped themselves directly in front of them, sporting silver-streamed plastic trilbies and t-shirts with printer burgundy ties. On their backs were the words "Knights in White tour - The Roaring Twenties".

'Looks like we're too late to have a laugh, Harry,' a stick of a woman with short, blonde hair sighed, taking off her tacky hat.

'We ain't come here to watch them kids. We're here to watch Jerome, Mary,' the slurred response from her partner, came.

'Supporters,' Stefan nodded sideways to them, in a hushed voice, 'although Knights in White's supporters are notoriously snobby and many in number.'

'Excuse me, boy, but which band do you represent?' Mary suddenly directed her loud voice at Stefan.

'We're a part of Adonis,' Gareth replied as respectfully as possible, not wishing to find an argument with the large number of similarly dressed supporters sat below them.

'Oh. I thought you were big shots, or something,' Mary sniffed, turning back around.

'Yeah? Well, we'll cream the Knights in White,' Gareth snapped, feeling his short temper rise.

The woman known as Mary completely ignored Gareth's challenge, as if he hadn't said anything at all. This only caused Gareth to simmer even more.

'Rude, man,' Castro examined, slowly chewing his chips.

'Don't bother, Gazza. They're honestly not worth your time,' Stefan interjected, also a hint of irritation in his voice.

With a huff, Gareth rammed a bunch of ketchup-covered chips into his chops, shooting daggers at the back of Mary's head.

'Now we'll begin our Open Class competition,' announced the familiar dull voice from the loud speakers. 'First one, please welcome to the field in competition, the Knights in White.'

An explosion of cheers and applause burst forth from the crowd of supporters below both Gareth and Stefan. They stood up and whooped, waving tiny plastic flags with the Knights in White logo on it. Gareth stood up to see what the Whites in Knight had done to deserve such a response, but he could only see them marching onto the field in a block, from the back. It was hardly cause for celebration.

As the horn players formed an arc at the front of the field, the supporters settled back into their seats. However, when the horns began to play, the supporters couldn't help but obnoxiously sing in time.

'I can't stand it,' Gareth fumed.

'Don't worry about them. Focus on what the corps is doing. They're playing a note for every gesticulation their drum major makes with her arms. They call it the F major warm up. We have this exact same warm up when we enter the field, so keep it in mind. It's six notes. We play it to warm up before the show.'

The supporters quickly drowned out Stefan once the corps had finished warming up, causing Gareth to roll his eyes. He was certain if one of their corps members just so happened to walk in front of them, the supporters would erupt in cheers. Even if a baby, dressed in their corps uniform, vomited all over the stands, Gareth was sure they'd congratulate it in euphoria.

Saluting the crowd and standing on a box at the front of the field, the drum major turned to face her corps.

'Knights in White, you may commence your show in competition,' announced the loudspeakers, practically drifting off.

And then Gareth realised they were utterly outclassed.

A loud siren whirred from their pit section as a wooden police car rolled out from behind a screen in the shape of a city building. Several trumpet players had their horns upside-down, their mouth pieces pointing at the vehicle, as if the trumpets were tommy guns. With a rattle of gun fire from the percussion, the police car rolled behind another building before an explosion erupted from a pair of speakers. Lifting their horns to their lips, they shrilly sang a jazzy tune that Gareth couldn't recognise.

It didn't matter, though, since Adonis had no chance. The music was clear and crisp whilst the visuals were much more impressive than those from Adonis. Even their hats were made to look like trilbies with a white, feathery fountain on top.

'Give it up, for the Knights in White,' came the announcer, Gareth gazing off into the distance.

The Knights in White supporters exploded with excitement before all turning to leave the stadium. Mary made a "L" shape with her fingers on her head, before vacating the area.

So this was what Stefan had been lost in thought over, earlier. He knew they had little chance of doing well, but didn't want to tell Gareth and crush his spirits. Gareth felt like an idiot for believing they could do well, and his stomach sank with trepidation.

'Oh man, I can't wait to see how you guys compare!' Castro grinned, enthusiastically.

'Come on, Gazza, let's get back to the coach,' Stefan gulped, pulling Gareth out of his seat and hopefully to the light at the end of the tunnel.

********************

Basingstoke had become blanketed under a thick bed of clouds, draining the land of its colour. The slight drop of rain teased the occupants, playing with the idea of how soon they should all bombard the fields. Neither the weather nor the jazzy rendition of the James Bond theme, now emanating from the stadium, had settled Gareth's increasing nerves. It was just a stupid show, he thought as he unboxed his trumpet, it's not like you're getting ready to run from the police.

At the command of Dave curly-bum-licking Pritchard, Gareth and the rest of the brass section had lined out their horns on the dying grass. At the start of the vertical line was an additional trumpet from Lofty, who had decided it would be beneficial for some reason that only Lofty could ascertain. This must have been one of the spare trumpets from the Scout hut.

A spluttering sound came from the rear of the field, causing several band members to turn around, inquisitively. The scruffy Adonis band truck chugged onto the field, spewing out black smoke from its unhealthy exhaust. It wobbled precariously into position near their mirroring coach, before beeping in reverse. Lofty helped wave the truck into position.

'Back, back, back, back, back, front, back,' Lofty commanded, waving his arms like a runway landing assistant.

Madeline Purcell, transferred from chef to driver, poked her head out of the window of the cab, her hair frizzy and her expression exasperated from the stressful trip.

'Just don't screw it up, lad!' Madeline shouted, perhaps more sharply than she intended.

A shrill clang sprang through the air, followed by a noise which resembled a crumpling can. With a burst of midnight smoke, the lorry halted in place.

'What the friggedy duck was tha'?!' Madeline hollered, immediately leaping from the cab.

A crowd formed around the back of the truck, a hushed murmur of mishap scattering the site. With a feeling of dread growing in the pit of his stomach and his cyan hoodie now covered in soot, Gareth pulled Stefan's cap tightly over his head and begrudgingly found the cause of the noise.

Lofty's borrowed trumpet was under the truck tyre... crushed.

'You bleedin' idiot!' Madeline gasped, grabbing Lofty's shirt, before shoving him away.

'You drove the truck, Mad!' Lofty retorted.

'You were the one who guided... oooh, ne'ermind!' Madeline huffed, racing back to the cab.

Without further ado, Madeline sparked up the motor and, with an almighty sputter, the truck moved forward and out the way from further harm.

The trumpet was nothing more than a crumpled mess and Gareth was sure that Chase would be less than pleased.

'All right, my chumlies, time for... what's that?' Mandy stopped, spotting the flattened horn.

'My horn's been deflated!' Lofty cracked, giving his usual laugh of a dying animal. No one else laughed, clearly all fearing Chase's response.

Mandy smiled a sad smile, sparking Gareth to immediately think of Yammers Junior. Had Mandy taught Yammers Junior to smile when times were tough? It seemed strangely likely given Yammers Junior's exposure to the band and how Gareth noticed him shoved to one side, much like Mandy had been by Chase.

'That trumpet's only here because you wanted to blow, my tomato,' Mandy lamented.

'And blow he did!' Kara exclaimed.

'You'll be paying that off with your Job Seeker's Allowance for a while, Lofty,' Mandy sadly sighed.

'I need that to live!' he spouted.

'£5 a week, instead of subs. It's only fair, Lofty.'

As Lofty began ranting and raving, Mandy completely blanked him and turned to the rest of the corps. Madeline had already cracked open the back of the truck, the truck ready to spew out its contents.

'Inside the truck you'll find your superman suits. Each one has your name on and are measured loosely to fit. If there are any problems with the uniform, speak to me or Team Mad after the show. It's important, my gooseberries, that we focus on the show. Percussion, grab your shed building equipment, er, I mean drums, and colourguard grab your signalling equ- er, I mean flags. When you're done, line up in sectional order and we'll march to the field. Superman suits. Go,' Mandy explained.

'Superman suits?' Gareth repeated to himself, confused. He'd always thought of Superman as a pathetic hero, if anything, his weakness being how Americanised he was. Gareth wasn't a fan of the superhero culture that had suddenly grown in cinema and, as such, he, Darren and Nathan stopped going to the pictures, instead choosing to hang out in car parks when the sun had set, scratching windscreens.

'Superman suits - your uniform,' Stefan chuckled, climbing onto the back of the truck with several other members.

'Oh. I knew that,' Gareth replied, slightly embarrassed.

Soon, Gareth was suited in his "Superman suit", which encased him in a tight prison. In fact, it didn't make Gareth feel "super" at all; pitch black trousers pulled up to his chest with braces, a bright white jacket hugging his torso above the trousers, and carmine gauntlets made from the same rough material clung to his wrists. White cotton gloves cut the blood circulation out of his fingers whilst a rose red drape, of sorts, swung from his left shoulder and behind him. He felt embarrassed and almost ashamed to wear the very uniform which caused him such bitter anger when Adonis would march past his mother's house. This was all crowned with the worst drummer boy hat he'd even seen, white with a ridiculous flowing black plume from its top, as if a crow had sat on his head with malicious intent.

'I feel stupid,' Gareth grumbled.

'Don't worry, mate, we all look the same...' Nathan assured, although his voice was devoid of all optimism.

Gareth attempted to zip the back of his jacket up, which was already tight on him. Whoever had thought Gareth was this thin deserved to be shot.

'I figured as you skimp out on yer meals, you'd 'ave been thinner, but ne'ermind,' Madeline commented, writing down something on a clipboard.

Yup, Madeline definitely deserved to be shot, Gareth thought, his nose wrinkled at Madeline's back. As Madeline turned to eye Gareth once more, he decisively shot her a smile, instead. Pausing for a moment, before deciding nothing more of it, Madeline turned to write down the guess-timated measurements of other members.

'Chumlies, grab your instruments - It's show time!'

Ealga proudly puffed out her chest, as did several other members whom had lost their individual identity under their uniform. It was the furthest thing on Gareth's mind, right now, as he felt ridiculous and almost overwhelmed. Pull it together, Gazza, he thought as they all marched in a funeral procession to the stadium. You're not scared by some prissy other band, right?

They approached the side of the stadium, before marching under it, listening to the clear and clean music from the band currently on. They halted in the tunnel of despair.

'You've all come so far,' Mandy started.

'I know you're not used to exercise, Mandy, but we've only walked from the coach!' Kara interrupted, causing her and Lofty to laugh like hyenas.

'You've all come so far,' Mandy repeated, ignoring the intrusion, 'but remember that today's a warm up for the competition to come, so switch your brains on, hold your heads high and let's march out there to deliver a show which'll make them smile!'

There were cheers from the stadium as the current corps finished their show. Gareth's stomach exploded with nerves.

'Corps attention!' Mandy called, rubbing her hands together with glee at the line standing tall and firm. 'Bass drum, if you'll please!'

A dull and repetitive thud echoed somewhere behind Gareth. With his left foot hitting the floor in time with the beat, Gareth marched out of the darkness and in a line down the side of the field. The previous band marched off on the other side, their own drum beat throwing Gareth off. After finally correcting his foot pattern, he found himself at the back of the field, now facing the stadium. The crowd had quadrupled in size from earlier. Did he have to play to this many people? Gareth's stomach sank.

'F major warm up,' Mandy called, rotating her left arm as if to stretch it. She winced as she did, evidently feeling a twinge.

Gareth thought back to the warm up by the Knights in White, but it didn't help him play the right notes at Mandy's command. At this point, he thought it was best to just warm up his lips with any old note, rather than worry about what he didn't know.

As Mandy cut them off, she signalled for Lofty to approach her.

'Lofty, now's your time to shine, my chumlie. Drop that triangle. Chase isn't here to rise the sun with his arms, and I'm not up to scratch to do it. You know the timing inside and out and we can't afford to lose any other member from the ensemble. Lofty, you're the drum major for the day.'

With a toothy smile rising brighter than any of Chase's arms, Lofty gave a little guff of joy. He thanked Mandy several times over until she practically shouted to leave her alone.

'Now, everyone, play to the top of the stand. The general effect judges sit there,' Mandy explained.

'Judges?' Gareth asked.

'We're judged, duh. Some are gonna roam the field. They wear black shirts and constantly waffle into a Dictaphone. Keep an eye out for them and if they get in your way, bash 'em!' Kara immediately mouthed off, relishing the chance to beat up a judge.

'The show's now in your hands. Go get 'em!' Mandy shouted, sending Adonis onto the battlefield.

'Please welcome to the arena, from Bedfordshire, Adonis Drum and Bugle Corps!'

Gareth inhaled gulps of glass. Novelty horns sang out from the stadium of colourful cacophony, its crowd now judging his every move. All he had to do was survive ten minutes on this battlefield, fighting exhaustion, thinking ahead, and blowing a triumphant chorus through his trumpet. Now was the time to think past his full blown panic as he placed himself at the show's start.

This is it, Gareth gulped, This is the moment I make them proud. This is where I make my stand. This is the time where Gareth Firkins proves himself a medal over murk.

Ping. Ping. Several splashes of unpleasant coolness bounced from Gareth's nose. This was the last thing Gareth wanted, but it was almost expected at this time of year.

'It's just a clearing up shower!' Dave shouted from elsewhere on the field, as he set himself up.

And then the clouds exploded, dropping needles of terror onto the field. Great.

Lofty waddled to the front, where several parents and Madeline had pushed on the pit equipment. Madeline dropped the black cube into the position where Lofty was to stand. He slowly started to ascend the box, struggling to lift his legs high enough. Every second was nerve-wracking. Every second was torture.

Having finally clambered into position, the crowd now waiting in hushed silence, Lofty turned to salute the crowd, as all other bands had done before them. Taking a step backward to do a typical about-face turn, Lofty placed his left foot on thin air, missing the rest of the tiny black cube. With a wobble and a face which resembled a pug about to sneeze, Lofty tumbled backwards, from the box. He landed with a mighty squelch onto the grass, behind him.

'Please wait a moment whilst the drum major attempts to salute, once more,' the announcer sighed, sounding disinterested.

The crowd, however, found this hilarious, and the stadium was soon full of laughter. The chuckles pierced Gareth and he felt his face flush. It almost felt like they were laughing at him and the band, not just Lofty. This wasn't the start Gareth hoped for, and his breathing became harsh. His gaze passed over the crowd and focused on one particular person who wasn't jittering in hysterics - Nathan McCormack. Good ol' Nath, there for both Bob and Gareth, at least.

Lofty soon climbed back on the now wet cube, cursing loudly as mud smeared his white uniform. He seemed to be cursing more at the cube than at his own mistake, as if somehow the cube was sentient and to blame for all his problems. With an angry salute to the crowd, who clapped in response, Lofty shuffled back to face the rest of the corps.

With a flourish of his arms and a wobble of his belly, Lofty started the show.

The electronics buzzed through echoed voices, until briefly cutting out. Gareth's breath caught in his throat. There was a loud buzz before the screech of interference cut the speakers short. What will we do, now? How will we know when to come in?! Gareth had lost all count from Lofty's arms, having relied on the audio of the last rehearsal to know where to pull up his trumpet.

Twinkling into action, the staggered start of the pit saved Gareth. At least he knew what to do from here, even if he missed his starting step. With a rush, Gareth jolted back to where he should be, before making the usual vertical line which he'd made during their first camp. By this point, the electronics had ceased completely beneath the wet weather, which now hammered hard onto the field.

Despite the discouraging start, Gareth was determined to make this first show the best he'd marched, thus far. All he had to do was treat it like it was any other rehearsal, where-

Gareth slipped on the soggy grass when running to his next dot. With a jolt, he regained his balance and continued running to his next spot, slightly out of time. As he reached it, however, everyone was due to stand still in a halt. Transitioning from such a fast pace to an immediate stop was impossible, and Gareth soon realised this as inertia caused him to topple.

Immediately leaping back up, Gareth grabbed his fallen mouthpiece and rammed it back into his trumpet.

The rest of the show was awful. Despite his best efforts in blowing through embedded mouthpiece mud, Gareth just wasn't hitting the notes that needed hitting. He lost control of his breathing due to his nerves, and he even played straight through the new section of music, having to stop and pretend to play the new Legend of Zelda segment, as he couldn't recall the notes. By the time the show ended, it became apparent that Gareth wasn't the only one who had serious difficulties; Bob's snare drum had been knocked from its harness from Kelsey's flag, Aaron had struggled to make some of the larger sets due to the rainfall, and Bruno was unable to make his electric bass guitar heard at all after the speakers had cut out.

'Given the conditions, I'm sure you'll all agree that Adonis did their best out there,' assured the announcer in complete boredom, 'so give it up for Adonis Drum and Bugle Corps!'

They were met by some paltry clapping as Adonis left the field in a meander of disappointment by Mandy. They all walked in silence until they reached the coach area, where Mandy simply turned and gave a sad smile. Dave Pritchard returned a slow nod, whilst Kelsey was in tears. Ealga had a stony face and fist-bumped Siobhan, not in celebration, but conviction that the next show would be much better than Basingstoke's.

Nathan jogged up to them, patting an understandably upset Gareth on the back, before it became a brotherly hug.

'Someone grab the coach driver,' Mandy broke the silence, her tone direct and disappointed.

'Aren't we going to stay for the scores?' Dave asked.

Mandy sighed as she turned to climb onto the coach.

'We're going home, my chumlies. We're going home.'