Angel Dares (6 page)

Having seen Freddie and Black Adder safely stowed, I texted my friends that I was going to hang around for a while to acclimatize. Helping myself to a juice, crisps and a couple of sandwiches, I found a table outside the yurt and tried to look as though I belonged. The places rapidly filled up with new arrivals grabbing a late lunch before the sessions began on the second and third stages. Main stage didn’t kick off until seven thirty. No sign of Marcus Cohen. A man in a leather jacket took a spare seat next to me without asking, too busy checking his emails and smoking to bother with courtesy. I was amused to hear that, when he took a call, he managed to use the f-word in every sentence with mind-boggling variations.

‘Angel!’ Two meaty hands landed on my shoulder, making me jump.

‘Matt! You just got here?’

‘Yeah. Jay got lost near Exeter.’

‘You’re supposed to turn off way before Exeter.’

Matt grinned. ‘That’s what I told him.’ He put his beer and packet of crisps next to me. ‘Who’s your friend?’

‘No idea.’

The man frowned at us as if it was our fault for talking at the table I had been occupying before his arrival.

‘Have you met Joey Reef and Fresh Chance?’ Matt waved to a couple of guys cutting a swathe through the milling crowds with their loose-hipped stride. They diverted from their path to join our table. ‘They’re both from London too.’

‘Hey, Matt: how’s it going?’ The taller of the two brushed hands with the drummer. An impressive six-foot plus, he had shaved black hair, dark brows and stubble sculpted into sharp lines. Not that I’m shallow or anything but, on the strength of his appearance, I made a note to catch him later in performance.

His friend wore his hair in little dreads, had thick-rimmed black glasses and a Che Guevara cap. ‘And what’s a girl like this doing sitting with you, man? Your luck changed?’

‘Fresh, this is Angel. She’s in Seventh Edition with me,’ Matt explained.

‘Angel.’ Fresh perched on the table between the leather jacket man and me. ‘Fallen among us to make my dreams come true?’

I shook hands. ‘You might be a teeny bit disappointed if you’re expecting me to work miracles.’

‘How’s that Jay guy treating you?’ asked Joey, leaning on the back of my chair, making me feel like a piece of cheese in a man sandwich. ‘Matt says he’s a pain in the ass.’

‘He treats her like rubbish,’ said Matt.

‘No fair, man.’ Fresh stole a crisp. ‘If I had a girl like Angel on my side, I’d treat her right.’

‘He doesn’t have your good sense and impeccable taste,’ I told him.

‘Do you mind?’ interrupted the leather jacket. ‘I’m trying to work here.’

Not bothering to look round, Joey laughed derisively. ‘Yeah, we do mind.’

The man stood up and flicked ash in our direction, before stomping away to another table.

‘I see he’s been to the rock school of charm. Is that like Jay’s dad?’ asked Fresh.

‘No, that’s Barry Hungerford, record producer,’ said Jay, arriving just in time to see the exchange. He was smirking: someone else’s mistake always cheered him up.

Both rappers swore—something they did with great invention and fluency. ‘Oh, man. He’s only got five of the top fifty hip-hop artists on his label,’ moaned Fresh. ‘I didn’t know he would look so … ’

‘Miserable?’ I suggested.

Jay took one look at our little cluster, and then the space next to Barry Hungerford on the far table, before heading over to join the bigger fish.

‘Don’t worry, guys,’ I said, patting Fresh on the knee. ‘If he wants to sign up rappers then he’ll want you with, you know, an edge? Politeness isn’t a selling point in that market.’

‘You’ve got a smart girl there, Matt. Let me get another round before that dumbass Jay drinks all the good stuff,’ offered Joey, moving swiftly to cover his embarrassment.

I held out my empty. ‘Why, thank you. So generous with the free bar.’

Grinning, he took my glass. ‘Watch it, Angel. I’m an edgy rapper, remember.’

‘I’m quivering in my boots—or I would if I were wearing them.’

‘Yeah, right.’ He sauntered off, slapping hands with several acquaintances.

By the time the lights came on to illuminate the outside tables, we had gathered quite a crew. Henry had joined us as she came off duty, having been drawn in by Joey’s jokes as he passed to and from the bar. Fresh, Joey, and Matt had many friends from the music scene—sound and lighting technicians as well as other artists, so we numbered about twenty, the largest group by far among those joining the early-evening lull in festival events. It was amazing having so many talented people together in one place, sparking off each other. I felt a little drunk on the excitement. Somehow I found myself singing with Fresh, doing a cover of a favourite track, that led to a couple of others getting out their acoustic guitars and then I was dancing on the table with Henry. Don’t ask me how that happened, but we made a surprisingly successful duo. She confessed that she had volunteered for the festival because she had ambitions as a performer herself. It wasn’t until I jumped down that I realized Marcus Cohen had taken a seat at Barry Hungerford’s hostile encampment over the other side of the decking area and had been watching us. I suddenly wasn’t so sure I had been impressive: to a guy headed for big things, perhaps I just looked as though I was trying too hard to catch the record producer’s attention? I swear Hungerford’s presence hadn’t been any part of my motivation: it’s just I can’t sit still when there is so much music to enjoy.

But Marcus still looked so gorgeous and a little bit lonely stuck on the boring table.

I nudged Henry. ‘Go ask Marcus to join us.’

Tucking a stray strand of brunette hair behind her ear, she glanced over at him. ‘No, I couldn’t.’

‘Why not?’

‘I’m too shy.’

‘Geez, Henry: you’ve just been strutting your stuff in front of an audience of strangers. No way are you shy.’

‘With him, I am. You do it.’

‘Me? He doesn’t know me.’

‘He only knows me as staff. I’m not supposed to approach the guests.’

That was the moment when I wished I could raise a brow like she did. ‘Really?’

‘You lot don’t count. You’re … ’ She blushed. ‘Normal.’

Not quite, but I understood what she meant. We were the festival qualifiers; over at Hungerford’s exclusive table were the top seeded players—and Jay.

I rubbed my palms together. ‘Right: I’ll do it.’

‘Angel!’ I don’t think she believed I had the guts for it and now she looked quite worried for me.

I jiggled my clothes straight. ‘It’s OK. I won’t be creepy stalker. I’ll be friendly.’ I was already regretting this but something was eating at me. The guy deserved a break. He was sitting with smarmy Jay and charmless Barry as well as three other serious-looking business people. Our side of the patio was having way more fun.

As Fresh and Joey broke into a rap battle with Matt drumming on a chair, I made my way over to the far table. I had already decided an indirect approach was best.

‘Hey, Jay, how was the journey?’

Jay rubbed his jaw, puzzled at my sudden desire to talk to him after my ice cube manner of the last few weeks. ‘OK,’ he said finally.

‘Do you want to join us?’ I waved to my little party.

‘I might later.’ His eyes went to Barry, who was still busy with his emails and phone calls. Jay had been keeping the producer furnished with drinks and snacks, playing errand boy in the hopes of getting a chance to make his pitch.

‘And what about you, um, Marcus?’ I asked, aware my cheeks were torpedoing my attempt to seem cool and collected.

He shook his head. ‘Thanks, but no thanks.’ Marcus’ expression was broadcasting irritation, scowl lines furrowing his brow under the beanie. He made me feel like an autograph hunter on Hollywood Boulevard pestering an A-lister.

Arms across my chest, I squeezed my elbows. ‘We wouldn’t make you sing—or dance. Only hopeless extroverts like me get to do that.’

‘So I saw.’

Ouch. ‘Right, so that’s a “no” then?’

‘Yes, it’s a “no”.’

It took a lot for me to walk back to our party with my head held high. I had mistakenly thought Marcus was OK when he had made the crack about OMG when we first met; but it turned out he considered himself above us. He went down in my book as more like Jay than Matt.

‘No luck?’ whispered Henry, who had been watching my diplomatic mission.

I shrugged, boosting my smile by extra sass. ‘His loss.’ I jumped up on the table again and slapped Joey on the head. ‘Sing something we can dance to, why don’t you?’

Joey broke off his battle and jumped up next to me. ‘Hey, girl, let’s show them all how Londoners do party time.’

The guitarists struck up a fast club number, Matt cranked up the beat, Fresh did the vocals and the rest of us danced along.

See, Marcus Cohen, we didn’t need you or your approval to have a good time.

The party broke up as the evening programme began. Most of my new friends were needed to man the soundboard or lights so had to leave for the technical checks. I was just saying my goodbyes to Fresh and Joey when my phone clucked and Misty’s text came through.

Do you want pizza?

They’d be wanting an update and I’d let time run away with me. I’d rather drifted off mission, hadn’t I? Texting a quick reply, I hurried back to the campsite. In my absence my friends had pitched the tents and got everything organized so they were now more than ready to dive into the festival.

‘Everything OK?’ asked Misty as I arrived a little out of breath. She and Summer were waiting for me by our tents; Alex and Will had already left to join the snaking queue at the pizza van.

I was going to say ‘yes’ but out came a big fat ‘no’. ‘Misty, you’re not keeping control!’ I squeaked in protest.

She frowned, checking her power. ‘Sorry. I forgot because I was worried about you. You’ve been gone for hours. What happened to you?’

‘I told you where I was. Outside the green room.’ I grabbed a pink sweater for the cooler evening from my rucksack in the girls’ tent.

Summer tugged the hem of my skirt straight as I backed out of the zip-up door flap. I always seem to manage to get myself in a mess. Probably not unconnected to the fact that I had been dancing on tables until ten minutes before. ‘Take a moment and explain,’ she suggested.

I stood up and took a breath. ‘OK, OK. Most of the performers are great—we had an awesome time—but there are a couple who really get on my nerves.’ I ran my fingers through my shoulder-length bob, giving it a quick comb. ‘Jay as you know is a pain in the butt, but I also bumped into this other guy. He kind of made me feel … ’ I pulled a face, ‘ … too pushy.’

Misty gave me a one-armed hug. ‘The jerk.’

‘What did you do?’ asked Summer.

‘I just asked him to join our party.’

‘Party?’

Something about Summer’s calm questioning made me wonder how I might have struck an outsider. I was beginning to regret my irrepressible urge towards exuberance. ‘Well, I was having a good time.’

‘Yes?’ Summer exchanged a smile with Misty.

‘We were singing and, er, dancing.’

‘Dancing?’ asked Misty.

‘On the picnic tables.’

Summer laughed. ‘For some guys that might be just a little too much, you know?’

‘I guess. But I meant it as a friendly gesture.’

Summer hugged me. ‘You, Angel, are the friendliest girl on the planet and we love you for it. If this guy can’t appreciate you, then that’s his problem.’

I nodded fiercely. ‘Exactly what I said.’

‘Who was he?’ asked Misty. ‘I just need to know so I can hiss his act.’

‘Marcus “OMG” Cohen—he’s in the band supporting Gifted.’

‘He really calls himself that?’ asked Misty dubiously.

Rooting through my tote, I pulled out a sparkly turquoise scarf with a flourish and flung it around my neck. ‘No, but I did, sort of, and by mistake. When you see him, you’ll understand.’

Misty’s phone buzzed. She glanced down at the message. ‘Forget him; much more important is whether you want pineapple with your ham?’

‘Too right: who needs rock gods when there is pizza? Tell Will that I want as many toppings as possible.’ I ordered extravagantly partly in defiance of guys with the Marcus Cohen approach to life. As far as I was concerned, life was for living, not for sitting on the sidelines, and if that meant overloading the pizza, then I was in.

Alex and Will had bagged us a spot on some hay bales by the pizza van.

‘Hi, guys! Sorry to abandon you all afternoon!’ I called cheerfully, jumping up on the nearest bale to give each a hug.

Will offered a hand to help me down. ‘How can I complain when you’re here for me? Any progress?’

I cracked open the nearest pizza box. ‘What flavour?’

‘Every flavour—as you requested.’ Will snagged a slice and took a bite. He chewed thoughtfully. ‘It tastes kinda … confused, but good.’

Tasting a piece, I agreed with his assessment. ‘My sort of pizza then. I did find out, Will, that Gifted are expected later. They don’t perform until Friday but will rock up tomorrow. I met one of their support band so I guess some of the team will be coming ahead and then the big stars. If they’re doing a big show there must be technical rehearsals the morning before when all us happy campers are sleeping off our late nights.’