The stadium is at a standstill.
There is a golf ball the size of Africa formed in my throat. Tears welling in my eyes, as I watch these three men who I know, one of whom I love very much, still grieving over the loss of their best friend.
I glance at Stuart beside me. His eyes look glazed. It must have been hard on him too losing Jonny. I know he works for Jake, but he would have known him too.
Feeling overcome with emotion, I press my lips together and wrap my arms around myself, then look back out to the stage. Back to Jake.
Jake lifts his head and clears his throat. “I met Jonny at high-school. I’d just moved to the States from the England, I was the new awkward British kid - a little lost and a lot lonely, and there he was. He took me under his wing and taught me to be his level of cool.” He pulls in a deep breath. “We formed TMS, with just the two of us. Then at college we met Denny through one of Jonny’s many girlfriends, and Denny introduced us to Tom, and that’s when TMS was properly born.” Another deep breath. Jake glances at Denny, then Tom. “Jonny wasn’t just our band member,” he says looking straight ahead. “And he wasn’t just our best friend … or our wing-man. He was the mighty in our storm. The man was a fuckin’ musical genius, and he was taken from us too soon. And we miss him every single fuckin’ day.”
Jake pulls his mike out from the stand and walks to the front of the stage, Tom and Denny following, as a runner hands him up three bottles of Jack.
He hands one each to Tom and Denny.
“So I want you to all raise your drinks for Jonny Creed - the best guy this world ever had the good fortune to know.” Jake raises his bottle and looks up the sky. “Jonny man, we love you and we miss you every day, and I know for sure that you’re looking down right now with a bottle in your hand, a cigarette in the other, saying, ‘Quit being a set of pussies and give these good people the show they fuckin’ paid to see!’ ”
I see Tom and Denny smiling at Jake’s words, nodding their agreement.
Jake chinks bottles with them both, and the three of them, at the same time, throw the whiskey back.
The crowd is screaming out Jonny’s name.
Men and women are openly crying in the audience. And I can’t help the tear that runs from my eye.
I quickly wipe it away.
Jake returns back to the mike stand with his much lighter whiskey bottle. He fits his mike in the stand. Denny climbs back into his drum kit, Tom wandering back to his place on Jake’s right hand side.
And for this moment, all three of them look a little lost, together.
It makes my heart ache with love for Jake.
Jake leans down and puts his whiskey bottle by the mike stand.
I see Smith quietly reappear back on stage to Jake’s left.
“This song we’re playing next is one Jonny and I wrote in the early days. It was the one Jonny was most proud of … his favourite, and I know how much it meant to him when we released it and you guys loved it too, when you took a chance on us … it’s one I’m sure you’ll all be familiar with, so I want you stretch your lungs out and sing this one with me – for Jonny.”
Jake swings his guitar around to the front, bows his head looking down at his guitar as he strums a few chords, then Denny kicks the beat in and Jake lifts his head and starts to sing one of their early biggest hits, ‘Hush, Baby’.
I get goose bumps all over my skin. Listening as the crowd goes wild. And I stand here, transfixed singing along with the words, watching Jake. I can see how hard it is for him to get through this song, and I know he’s thinking of Jonny the whole time.
I wish I had been there for him when Jonny died. I wasn’t then, but I want to be every day from now on.
Jake and I will always be friends. No matter what. I’m never losing him again.
I’m at the after show party which is being held at this upmarket club called the Spy Bar. It’s packed to the rafters with showbiz like people from Sweden, and everyone who works on the tour.
I’m glad I dressed nice for tonight as most of the women here are glamorous and classy. I went for something a little different though, well I always wear different, but I bought this matching navy blue pinstripe v-neck fitted waistcoat and straight leg cropped trousers just before I left for the tour. It was love at first sight and I just had to have them. I’ve teamed it with my skyscraper patent black heels. I know most of the woman here are in dresses, but I like to be a little different, and technically I am working, so it’s like I’m wearing work clothes.
I’m at the bar with a couple of the roadies Pete and Gary who I was chatting to earlier, drinking a margarita.
I haven’t seen Jake since the show. He had some interviews to do straight after, so when he exited stage he was swept off by Stuart.
I was going to hang around and wait for him but Pete came over and said they were heading straight for the party, and did I want to catch a ride with them; normally the roadies have to stay on and pack up after the show, but Jake, being the good boss he is, lets them pack up in the morning so they can enjoy the party with everyone else. So of course I accepted, better than hanging around the stadium like a spare part.
“So how long have you worked for Jake?” I ask Pete. Gary is busily chatting to one of the other roadies, Jared I think his name is.
Pete’s a cute guy, short dark hair, about six foot, quite muscular, must be from all the heavy lifting he does on tour.
“Five years on and off,” he replies in his strong American accent, leaning back against the bar, resting his elbows on it.
A lot of bands have crews for abroad when they tour, but Jake has a set group of guys he trusts that tour everywhere with him.
“You must have seen a lot of the world.”
“A few places,” he grins. “It’s a good gig working for these guys … so how did you land up here?” he asks.
“Oh, I er …” I’m just about to reply, when I see Pete’s eyes flick up, and I instantly feel Jake’s presence behind me.
Turning, I almost come face to face with him, he’s that close.
“Hey,” I say beaming.
“Hey, beautiful.” He kisses my cheek, and rests his hand on my waist and stares across at Pete.
I feel a little heady under his touch.