Chapters (63)
- Cover
- Praise
- The Last Stage
- Dedication
- Contents
- 1995
- 2017Meredith
- One Year LaterMeredith
- Graeme
- Meredith
- Meredith
- Graeme
- Pete
- Meredith
- Meredith
- Meredith
- Meredith
- Meredith
- Meredith
- 1983Meredith
- Present DayEmad
- Present DayEmad
- 1983Meredith
- 1983Meredith
- Present DayMeredith
- Meredith
- Meredith
- Pete
- Pete
- Pete
- Gemma
- 1983Meredith
- 1983Meredith
- 1983Meredith
- Present DayMeredith
- 1984Meredith
- 1984Meredith
- 1984Meredith
- 1984Meredith
- Present DayGemma
- 1992Meredith
- Present DayGemma
- 1995Meredith
- Present DayGemma
- 1995Meredith
- Present DayGemma
- 1995Meredith
- Present DayGemma
- Pete
- Meredith
- Pete
- Graeme
- Emad
- Meredith
- Meredith
- Meredith
- Gemma
- Meredith
- Gemma and Emad
- A year laterMeredith
- Acknowledgements
- ABOUT THE AUTHOR
- Copyright
He didn’t know about me and Samantha yet either. I decided I’d cross that bridge when I came to it too; and that would depend entirely on whether she deigned to put in an appearance at the gig. She’d better, I thought. She’d been away at Greenham for the past three weeks, but she knew it was our first – I’d made her write the date down in her notebook last time I saw her.
It would be a lot for Pete to take in, but I didn’t like lying to him and I felt bad that we were already so distant from one another.
‘So will you come?’
‘I’d like to, but I’m not sure I’ll be able to afford the train. And how do I get to your place from Waterloo?’
I tutted. ‘It’s not hard. Just get the Tube. We’re a one-minute walk away from Willesden Green station. You could always hitch up if you can’t afford the train.’
‘Hitchhike?’ Pete sounded appalled, and I rolled my eyes.
‘God, Pete, grow a pair! It’s how we all get around.’
Samantha did, anyhow. She never went to Greenham by any other means, unless someone gave her a lift.
‘Mez, you mustn’t! It’s so dangerous. Mum would have an eppy.’
‘Oh, put a sock in it, Pete, it’s fine. Look, I’ve got to go, I don’t have any more ten pences. Just aim to be there between one and three on Friday. We have to go and set up and soundcheck about four.’
I just had time to give him the address, directions from the tube and the name of the pub in case he was late, then the beeps went, and the line was dead. I wasn’t convinced he’d really come, but I hoped he would. I missed him.
And I wanted him to see me fronting the band. After my initial nerves, I loved being the lead singer. I became someone else in front of that microphone. I’m sure a psychiatrist would have had a field day with it, but it was as if all my grief and rage at Dad’s death channelled itself into my voice and out through the speakers.
‘Woah,’ Marsh had said, the first time I screamed out one of the more militant protest numbers we’d written, staring at me as if seeing me for the first time. ‘You’re terrifying.’
I beamed. I felt like I was seeing me for the first time too.