His mouth twisted into my favourite smile as he reached up to hold my wrists, keeping them in place on his face. “I’ve got to get back out there,” he said, his voice ever so slightly rough around the edges from a night of performing. “I just wanted to see you first, make sure you were really here.” He nodded, as if reassuring himself. Then, he brought my palm to his lips, kissed it, and dropped my hands before jogging towards the steps behind the stacks of equipment that looked easily breakable.
“Follow me,” said Aimee, appearing at my side. Chrissie was next to her. Like a shit friend, I’d forgotten all about her for a moment. “And put these in,” Aimee added, passing me a pair of earbuds. “Gets pretty loud from here!”
I popped them in my ears while Aimee took us to a set of steps similar to the ones Hugo had just run up.
“More?” I heard Hugo’s voice bellow from the other side of the makeshift wall ahead of us. It looked like it was only made from cardboard, like if I tripped at the top of the steps, his entire set would collapse around him.
Careful, Jenkins, I silently warned myself, head down, concentrating hard as I put one foot in front of the other.
“Did I hear that right? You’ve not had enough yet?” And there he was…just beyond the pretend wall. Damn, he was close now. I could see the beads of sweat on his forehead as the light followed him across the stage. Amazingly, he still sounded quite loud, too, despite the small rubbery buds in my ears.
“All right. I have one more for you tonight. This one’s really special to me and, hopefully to someone else in here tonight. It’s a reminder not to take things for granted. When you guys leave here tonight, remember who made you who you are, okay?”
Hugo had toned his style right down for the final part of the show. He’d replaced the glitz and splendour with a simple white shirt, sleeves rolled to his elbows, and well-fitting slacks. A guitar hung from his neck. He placed his hand on the body and, for a few seconds, appeared to just…breathe.
“This is Bring Me Home…” Then, he gave a small nod to the man on the keyboard at his left, and thumbed the first note on the strings.
Remember that game we used to play?
One where I’d guess what you would say
Now I’m sittin’ here in the dark
I wanna go home
Oh, yeah, we would stay out all day
I’d hide out from the rain, and you would say
I’ll never leave your side come what may
I don’t like it here in the dark
I wanna go home
Coming, going, I’ve been everywhere
Pullin’ pushin’, I just can’t get there
I’m fallin’ further everyday coz I know you’re not near
Home
Home
Will I ever see home?
Remember my lies in that café?
Ones I said right before I went away
No, we’re never gonna be apart
We’ll meet back at the bandstand in our park
I wanna
I wanna
I wanna go home
Coming, going, I’ve been everywhere
Pullin’ pushin’, I just can’t get there
I’m fallin’ further everyday coz I know you’re not near
Home
Home
Will I ever see home?
Even at the top it’s always grey
Sun don’t shine even though I pray
Will you come back, hide me from the rain?
I’m just sittin’ here in the dark
I wanna go
I wanna go home
Will I ever see home?
Oh, Hugo. He stood there, lonely under the powerful light, singing with the voice of an angel. He had the presence of a king as he commanded the attention of thirty thousand. No one knew the words, and no one tried. Instead, they, his kingdom, fell into silence. A vast, deep silence that raised their monarch into the clouds, where he sang, and he played, and he broke my heart.
When the last note faded, darkness engulfed the stage for what felt like the longest moment of the night. I felt…full. Of what, I couldn’t tell. Thanks. Love. Regret. Sadness. When the light returned, Hugo’s gaze was on mine. His lips wore a small, pensive smile as he tipped his chin in a subtle nod, letting me know every word that’d just ripped through my heart had been written for me. He needed me. Missed home. I didn’t understand what he wanted from me. Home had never left. Will you come back? he’d sang. But…I’d been here, waiting, aching, the entire time.
Eight
Helen
Chrissie was living her very best life backstage. She appeared to belong there. She certainly looked the part, sexy and stylish, and her personality dripped confidence no matter who she spoke to. Currently, she was cosying up to the guy who’d played the keyboard on stage. Liam, I think I’d overheard someone call him.
“We need to head out soon,” Hugo said, rubbing my back. I was sitting on his lap in a big room somewhere in the basement level of the arena. There were lots of people around us. Some looked like they were having important, business-like conversations; others were packing things relating to tonight’s show into big black cases. “Most of these guys will go back to the hotel. I don’t live too far, so I’ll probably go home. Do you want to come?”