When Michael Reyji Ray took my hand on that cold autumn night and led me across the parking lot, it felt as if all my dreams had come true.

As we walked, I risked a glance at the god beside me.

Looking at Michael, even sideways on, was like looking at the sun. He was bright and blinding. Everything was clear as clear. Michael’s skin shone. His eyes were glittering stars. All around him was light.

When I was fifteen years old, the doctors found a life-threatening tumour. I’d nearly died. Now at sixteen, I’d gone to heaven. Or at least stumbled upon the meaning of life. His name was Michael Reyji Ray and he was my happily ever after. Our carriage awaited us: a giant black tour bus with wasp-eye wing mirrors and tube-light steps.

The world was brighter than it had ever been and time had slowed so I could take it all in.

‘So you like our band, do you?’ Michael asked me.

I nodded and nodded. ‘I’ve listened to Crimson’s Big Dreams album probably a thousand times. You have no idea what that album means to me. It literally saved my life.’

Michael chuckled. ‘Well, I am honoured.’

‘This is a fairy tale,’ I told Michael as he escorted me up the sharp metal tour-bus steps and into rock and roll fantasy land. ‘I can’t believe this is really happening.’

Everything on the bus was bright, like Michael’s presence had lit it up. The leather sofas gleamed, the chrome tables sparkled and spotlights twinkled like shy little stars.

Bottles of Guinness stood on the bar beside magnums of champagne. There were huge meat pies cut into slices, cocktail sausages and loaves of brown bread.

‘Who’s all the food for?’ I asked.

‘You. If you want it.’

The bus was empty when we boarded, except for a driver lounging in the front seat, feet on the dashboard. He wore a black-leather eye mask and snored loudly.

Michael flicked the driver’s nose playfully and shouted, ‘Danny!’

The driver fell about in his seat, sitting upright and ripping the mask from his eyes.

When he saw Michael, he looked momentarily terrified. ‘Shit. Shit.’

Michael’s eyes were stern as he ruffled Danny’s hair. ‘Have you been on the beers, Danny boy?’

Danny coughed a smoker’s cough. ‘Just sleeping. Power nap.’

‘Good lad,’ said Michael. ‘We don’t want you dozing at the wheel later on. We have a lot of good people on this bus.’

Danny pulled his mask back on his face.

Michael offered me a seat on a leather sofa and grabbed two Grolsch beers from a mini-bar fridge. ‘You’re over eighteen, right?’ He winked, popping open a beer and handing it to me.

I nodded quickly.