To me, this statement was beautiful and artistic.

‘He thinks he’s Jesus,’ Dee croaked as Michael spread his arms on stage. She had a cold that night and was a begrudging chaperone.

‘Music has power,’ Michael boomed. ‘And tonight, we’re going to change the world.’

‘Oh, wow.’ I grabbed Dee’s arm, blinking back tears as we jostled against the cattle bars. ‘He is incredible. And he’s looking right at me, Dee – do you see it? Tonight is destiny. Michael Reyji Ray saved my life, Dee, I swear to God. It was his music that got me through cancer.’

My sister was less than impressed. ‘He doesn’t even write his own music – the rest of the band are the talent.’

‘He writes all the lyrics and they’re the amazing part,’ I gushed. ‘It was destiny I found that first Crimson album, Dee. I swear to you. And now I’m so close to him.’

On stage, Michael downed a beer. I took a large gulp from my own bottle.

‘Lorna, go easy on that stuff,’ said Dee, taking a bite from her hot dog and adding a chewed, ‘You’re not out of the woods yet.’

‘I am,’ I insisted. ‘It’s six months today since they gave me the teen-cancer-girl all-clear. Exactly today. Profound, right? On the very day I see Michael sing live for the first time.’

As the night went on, I danced and screamed like a lunatic, downing beer, singing, holding up a light to the slow songs and putting my arms around complete strangers while my big sister looked on pityingly.

Dee didn’t get it. She wasn’t a Ray-ite. She didn’t get the depth and meaning and poetry of Michael’s lyrics. Those of us who did swayed and cheered and sang together.

It was beautiful. I felt like Michael was looking right at me, singing the words to me.

Live your life, little one. You’re a survivor …

When the concert finished and the crowds emptied, I needed to stay and get near the stage. It felt special – the spot where Michael had stood. I climbed right over the cattle bars at the front, watching the empty stage with big moony eyes.

Eventually a female security guard approached.

‘Girls,’ said the security guard. ‘Time to leave.’

‘We should go home,’ said Dee from the other side of the cattle bars. ‘Lorna, it’s cold. I have an excess fifty pounds to keep me warm. You’re skinny as a twig right now and still in recovery.’

‘You go home. Go. I’ll catch a cab later. I’m gonna hang out and wait for Michael and the band to leave.’

‘I can’t let you—’

‘Dee, he’s in this venue somewhere. I might meet him. Michael Reyji Ray.’

‘Never meet your idols, Lorna,’ said Dee. ‘I bet he’s even shorter than he looks on stage.’

‘I have to try.’