Stuck on Me (13 page)

‘What about looking at the results in date order?’ Vix suggests. ‘Like clicking
results from the past year
or even just the past month. That way you’ll cut out a
lot of the really out of date stuff.’

‘Genius idea, Vix. Go on, Rosie.’

‘OK. Let’s try it . . .’

Rosie presses return and a new list of webpages fills the screen. ‘That’s better. There’s only a few results now. It’s a little more manageable.’

‘So?’ I ask. ‘Is there anything really up to date?’

‘Yeah, there’s a couple from this year! So at least we know they’re still going.’

‘That’s a relief. And?’

‘Ah, they played some pub in Reading about a month ago.’

‘Whereabouts is Reading again?’

‘I dunno,’ says Rosie. ‘I think it’s somewhere near London.’

Vix giggles. ‘Have you actually ever left Camden, Rosie?’

‘Ha ha. Not if I can help it. Why would I?’ She pauses. ‘Hang on . . .’ Her voice goes up a whole octave. ‘Oh my God! Sky! You’re not going to believe this .
. .’

‘What?’

‘I think I’ve found something amazing. Yeah! I have! The River Runners are playing a gig next Saturday night. And you’re going to die when you hear where it is!’

‘Stop teasing me, please. Just tell me . . .’

‘It’s the Dublin Castle. In Camden!’

‘Seriously? Are you sure? The pub on Parkway?’

‘Yeah, I’ve double checked. They’re on the bill. This coming Saturday.’

‘Let me see . . .’ I usher her off her chair and take her place, scrolling down the screen three times, just to make sure. She’s right. The River Runners are due to play in
Camden in a few days’ time. I’m so excited I feel hot and shaky. ‘Oh my God, what are the chances? What if we hadn’t done this search now? If we’d waited a few days we
might have missed them. It must be fate. We’ve got to go!’

‘Absolutely. There’s just one problem,’ says Vix. ‘It’s Carrie’s fifteenth birthday party on Saturday night. We said we’d all be there. And you were
going to try to sort stuff out with Rich there too, remember?’

Of course I remember. I’ve already chosen my outfit and practised my make-up to ensure I look the best I possibly can look. I’ve even rehearsed what I’m going to say to Rich.
The plan is to show him that I am lots of fun, just like I used to be. I’m going to dance with him and kiss him and make him fall back in love with me. ‘OK, what time’s the
gig?’ I scroll back up the page. ‘It’s says here that doors open at eight-thirty. There’s a few bands playing. I don’t know when The River Runners will be on, so
we’ll have to get there for the start.’

‘Maybe we can do both,’ says Vix. ‘Go to the gig and then the party.’

‘Maybe.’ Suddenly, making things better with Rich doesn’t seem so important – not when I am about to meet my dad. ‘Rich can wait. One night won’t make a
difference, will it? Whatever happens, I’m going to see my dad. And I’m not sure that once that’s happened I’ll want to go to a party. He’ll probably want to buy me
dinner or something, start getting to know me properly again.’

‘Don’t get ahead of yourself,’ Vix cautions. ‘You don’t even know if he’s still in the band. Or, even if he is, how he’ll be when he sees you. He might
not . . . Look, don’t get too excited yet, OK?’

‘I can’t help it. This is the best chance I’ve ever had of seeing him again. There must be a reason why he keeps coming back to Camden. Don’t you think?’

Vix hugs me. ‘Let’s just play it by ear,’ she says. ‘The good thing is that because of the party we already have an excuse to get dressed up and go out on Saturday night.
Nobody will ask any questions.’

‘That’s true. I can’t wait. It’s going to be a big night!’

amden on a Saturday night is crazy, even crazier than usual. It’s busier than most town centres are
during the day, with so many people pouring out of the tube and into the bars, restaurants and pubs that you can barely walk up the High Street. There are tourists still drifting around hours after
the markets have closed, gig-goers arriving from all over London, locals out for a Saturday-night drink or cinema visit, and gangs of kids hanging around outside the kebab shops, some of them
spoiling for a fight. The pavements are littered with Coke cans and cigarette butts and fast-food wrappers, and there’s so much music playing in so many different venues that you can feel the
vibration from all the bass drums through the soles of your shoes.

I’m not really supposed to go out in Camden on a Saturday night, not even with Rosie and Vix. The later it gets, and the drunker people become, the more edgy it feels. I know that there
have been a few stabbings and that people have been mugged, but that can happen anywhere. I’m not scared – Camden is very well lit and I’m streetwise. And tonight, not even a riot
would stop me going out. Because tonight is the night that I’m going to find my dad. Finally.

‘Don’t get your hopes up too much,’ says Vix, as we all get ready at her house. ‘We might not get in.’

But I’m not listening. I’ve never felt so sure of anything: Dad is going to be there. I can sense it, I can picture it, I know it. Mum’s always told me to follow my instincts,
she even said I was a bit psychic once, although I laughed at her for that. Tonight, I think she might be right. My gut is telling me it’s going to happen. It’s telling me so strongly
that I haven’t been able to eat a thing all day. I’ve never felt so nervous, not before a first date, or even an exam.

‘Look up for me and don’t blink,’ I say, changing the subject and trying to distract myself. I’m helping Vix with her make-up because she looks the youngest. I think you
have to be at least sixteen to get into the Dublin Castle for a gig, which is easy for me, and not too difficult for Rosie either. I can’t help noticing how pretty Vix looks with eyeliner;
she really should make more of her eyes. She’s still a bit of a tomboy but, I have to say, when she makes an effort she’s actually the prettiest of all of us. She just doesn’t
know it.

I hand her the mirror. ‘I think you’re done.’

Vix peers at her reflection and smiles. ‘Thanks, hon.’

‘Maybe there’ll be someone cute at the party for you,’ says Rosie. ‘Or even the gig. You never know. We all look super hot, if I say so myself.’

Vix shrugs. ‘Doubt it. And you’ve got Laurie, remember. Anyway, it’s Sky’s night. We’re not looking for cute guys, we’re looking for one dad-shaped
guy.’

The thought sends butterflies rushing through my stomach again. I look at my watch. ‘I guess we should go. Do I look OK?’

It’s been hard choosing what to wear. I need to look like I’m going to a friend’s house party and, at the same time, old enough to get into a gig, pretty enough for Rich (in
case I do make it to the party later) and, most important of all, at least a little like the daughter Dad remembers. I’ve settled on a stretchy, black and white stripy dress, which I can
cover with a little black cardigan. I think it works.

‘You look gorgeous, Sky,’ says Rosie. I can tell she’s checking out my make-up and that she wants to say something about the excess bronzer on my nose. I stare her out, and she
doesn’t.

We’re too early to go to the gig but, as far as our parents our concerned, we’re going to a party just up the road, and they agreed that if we went early enough we could walk there
together. So we’re planning to detour around the block and then cut across Camden Street and back onto Camden Road, before crossing Britannia Junction and heading up Parkway. We’ll hang
out in a café until it’s time. Our parents never go into Camden on a Saturday night, so nobody will spot us.

We walk briskly, arm in arm, saying very little. I’m lost in my own thoughts, imagining the moment when Dad’s eyes meet mine. Will he be pleased to see me? What will he say? And what
if he isn’t happy? What if he’s angry or, worse, what if he blanks me? I don’t think I could handle that. Tonight the emos are queuing at the entrance to the Underworld as we
pass, waiting to see some band or other. Part of me wishes I was like them, a member of a group, sure of where I belonged. Life would be so much simpler, so much easier if I fitted somewhere. But I
don’t want to be a clone, I want to be me. Whoever she is. I grip my friends’ arms tighter. Thank God they’re with me; I know I couldn’t do this alone.

We while away an hour sitting in The Goodfare, an Italian café on Parkway that’s painted bright red and green and which we’ve all been coming to with our families since we
were kids. Rosie and Vix order big bowls of pasta, and try to feed me forkfuls, complete with ‘mmm’ and ‘ahh’ noises to tempt me, but I wave them away. I’m still not
hungry. ‘I’ll get a bag of crisps later,’ I tell them.

We’re virtually the first to arrive at the Dublin Castle for the gig, although the pub is already filling up. There’s nobody on the door but, to make ourselves less conspicuous, we
go in on the coat tails of a group of friends. Nobody spots us. Ignoring the bar, we head straight into the back room, where the bands play. Someone is sound checking, a group of young guys,
definitely not Dad’s band. There are a few different acts on the bill tonight, supporting the main band. From the look of the flyer, I think The River Runners are on second. We stand at the
back of the room, letting the crowd file in in front of us.

The first band is rubbish, all screechy guitars and out-of-tune singing, and they seem to go on for hours. I will them to finish, growing ever more jittery. I’m feeling lightheaded and
wobbly, although that might just be because I haven’t had any dinner. When, at last, they’re done, the lights come back on and practically everyone else goes to the bar. We crouch down
on the dirty, sticky floor, using our jackets as cushions. Rosie tries to calm my nerves by telling me a story about Laurie’s boss, but I’m not listening. ‘I’m going to the
loo,’ I say. My bladder must be empty – I went twice in The Goodfare – but I can’t stop feeling like I need to pee. Anyway, it should kill a few minutes.

There’s a long queue for the Ladies and, by the time I return, the room has begun filling up again. Finally, the lights dim and my stomach lurches horribly. A band is coming onstage, but I
can’t see properly – there are too many people in front of me: someone with a backpack, someone else with a hat, someone too tall.

‘Come on,’ I shout, grasping my friends’ arms and dragging them towards the stage, through any gap I can find. Someone jostles me with their elbow, someone else steps on my
foot, but I don’t feel it. I just keep going forward. I need to be close enough to the stage to see clearly, but not too close. Just close enough.

‘Hello, Camden,’ says the lead singer, as the spotlight hits him. ‘We’re The River Runners. And it’s great to be back here at the Dublin Castle!’

There’s a crash of drums and the wail of a guitar. The crowd cheers. The music must be deafeningly loud, although I can barely hear it. I’m in my own little bubble. I scan the stage,
glancing from one musician to the next, as they step out of the shadows and into the glare of the stage lights. And suddenly, he’s there in front of me, a harmonica pressed to his lips.

Dad. MY DAD.

ith a clash of cymbals, The River Runners finish their set. We hang back as they pack up their gear, then watch
as they come offstage and head to the bar. Vix, Rosie and I follow close behind, keeping them in our sights, trying not to get lost in the surge of people vying for a drink. We stand still for a
few minutes, not speaking. I’m nervous as hell and have no idea what I’m going to say to Dad. All I know is I can’t let him leave before we’ve spoken.