You, Me and Us.

by Liam Hurley

  “Jimmy?” came a shout from ahead of me.

  I looked around and saw Gemma waving me towards her. I smiled at the woman and pointed to the front of the group letting her know I had to go. She smiled back at me. I jumped out into the road to overtake the group which also gave me a chance to quickly spit the salt sweet into a nearby drain.

  “What’s up?” I said as I got to Gemma.

  “Well Han’s telling me they want to go to a karaoke bar where they can eat too, any ideas?”

  “Karaoke?” I said.

  “Yes karaoke.” Said Han.

  I nodded. Karaoke? God were the racial stereotypes going to keep coming? I looked back at Gemma who seemed to be reading my mind. She raised her eyebrows.

  “Erm, there’s one at the end of the street here.” I pointed ahead. “I think they do food too.”

  Four o’clock in the afternoon on a Tuesday is not the greatest time to be in a karaoke bar in Chinatown. I was sat in the middle of a booth with Gemma to my left, Han to my right and three more members of the group sat across from us. The four Chen’s chatted away as Gemma and I were digging into our chicken and sweetcorn soup. I looked up from my bowl to the stage. A middle-aged man in a three-piece suit was murdering Hello by Lionel Ritchie. I shook my head and took another spoonful of soup.

  “Jimmy, you sing?” Han asked me.

  I looked up and coughed as the soup hit my throat.

  “Sorry.” I grabbed a tissue and wiped my mouth. “No Han, no I don’t sing.”

  “Jimmy, we want you to sing, you do us great honour if you sing.”

  “No Han, sorry, no singing from me.”

  I felt a foot smash into my left shin.

  “Ow!”

  I turned to my left, Gemma was staring at me.

  “What?” I whispered.

  “Go on, sing for them.”

  “I don’t sing,”

  “Look, don’t be embarrassed, nobody is good at karaoke, they want you to.”

  I don’t know why, but her saying that no one is good at karaoke lit something in me. It was like she was assuming I’d be bad. My ego was about to get the better of me I could feel it. No, stop, I told myself. I was better than that. I had more control of myself, so what if a good-looking girl asks you to do something you’re reasonably good at, does that mean you have to do it?

  “No, I can’t do it.” I said.

  “Please.” She made eye contact with me.

  “I’ll do it.”

  She smiled at me. I edged out of the booth past Han and walked towards the stage. The suit-wearing crooner was just finishing the final note of his song. Everyone clapped as he finished and I saw him take a deep bow. I walked toward a man stood behind a microphone and a computer to the side of the stage. He held a hand up as he saw me forcing me to come to a stop in front of him. He pulled the microphone to his lips and spoke Chinese over the speaker. A small girl jumped onto the stage as the next song was lined up. The opening rift to 99 Red Balloons came over the system and she launched into the first lyrics full of enthusiasm. I laughed and turned back to the M.C. Ah shit, I realised now I could really do with Han being with me.

  “Hello.” I said. I started to use my hands to show exactly what I wanted. “I sing song, soon, yes, no?” I pointed to myself and the stage.

  The M.C. frowned at me.

  “Yeah course mate, what do you want to sing?” he said in a deep Mancunian accent.

  Bollocks.

  “Oh, erm, anything really what do you have?”

  “All sorts. Do you want our book?” he held up a large leather-bound book filled with plastic-covered A4 sheets of paper.

  I didn’t think I could have a second conversation with this guy I was too embarrassed.

  “No, it’s okay, erm, what do you recommend?”

  “What do I recommend?” he asked.

  “Or what do you like I mean?”

  “Well you can’t go wrong with a bit of Oasis.”

  My blood ran a little bit cold. The embarrassment I had been feeling seconds earlier was replaced by a sharp increase in adrenaline. I knew what I had to do in that moment.

  “Do you have Little by Little?”

  He bent over his laptop and typed a few keys. He squinted at the screen for a moment.

  “Yeah we do, do you wanna do it?”

  “Fuck it, yeah that’ll do.” I said.

  “Okay, what’s your name?”

  “Jimmy.”

  “Jimmy, I’ll give you a shout when you’re up.”

  I smiled and headed back to the table. I could still feel the adrenaline flying around my system. I could make up for the failed gig here and now, and there was no way I could forget the lyrics this time. My body hadn’t felt like nerves in a while. My stomach was flipping. I sat down and started to pick at my noodles.

  “So?” asked Gemma.

  “So?”

  “Are you singing?”

  “Yep. He’s going to give me a shout.”

  “Amazing, as if you’re actually doing it!” she smiled.

  Her smile opened up her face, she looked beautiful. But she was shaking her head a little bit at me.

  “What?” I said.

  “I just can’t believe you’re actually singing.”

  “You told me to!” I said.

  “But I didn’t think you would do, I’d never do that.” She said.

  “What the hell? You said… oh bloody hell I’ve done it now.”

  “It’ll be fun!” she said. “Anyway, Jimmy, I know we’re on the clock and all, but my boyfriend doesn’t work far from here, and he’s just got off work so I invited him along. I hope you don’t mind.”

  “Why would I mind?” I said, in my best ‘I-know-that-you-know-what’s-going-on-between-us’ voice.

  “Well just because technically we’re still working.” She said, shutting me down.

  “Oh right. No of course. It’s fine.” I picked up another forkful of noodles. “So, boyfriend eh? How long have you been together?”

  But I would not find out in that moment how long Gemma had been with her boyfriend, because her answer was interrupted by Jackie Manc calling over the microphone.

  “Next up we have Jimmy, Jimmy is going to be singing Little by Little.”

  Han started the applause at our table and quickly the rest of the group at the tables either side of us joined in. I turned to each of them and smiled. I stood up. Gemma patted me on the back and wished me good luck.

  I started to walk across the floor towards the stage. I could feel my stomach flipping. I genuinely had nerves starting to flit around my insides. It was a strange feeling. It was nerves but it was also a strange sense of déjà vu. The nerves I hadn’t felt at all the last time I was heading onto a stage seemed to be doubling up on me now. Why was I so nervous about singing one singular song on karaoke?

  I reached the stage and took a few steps onto it. I turned on the spot and found myself behind a microphone for the first time in a long time. I looked out on to probably the most peculiar audience I’d ever perform in front of. They were mostly looking down into their food. However, the group I’d led here were all staring at me full of expectations. I could see Gemma in the darkness grinning at me.

  The speakers sprang to life. The open strings began to play. I bit my teeth into my bottom lip. I waited a few seconds for the beat to kick in fully. I then took a step up to the mic and prepared to sing for the first time in five months. I was about to do what I should have done back then.

  I sang the first lyrics quietly but growled out the second line.

  I looked to the audience. A few seemed to have stopped pouring over their food. I took a breath and prepared to launch back into it.

  I’d missed this.

  Chapter Twenty- Playing the Game

  “And then he sang three more songs, they had to tell him to give the mic back to the M.C.”

  Peter laughed and his coffee came dangerously close to spilling over the edge of his cup
.

  “Whoops. Amazing. Never knew you could sing Jimmy?”

  I looked down at my feet.

  “Yeah well, I used to be in a band.”

  “Were you good?”

  “Meh, we were okay.”

  “They were brilliant.” Gemma corrected me.

  “How would you know?” I said.

  “Well, you were brilliant the other night so why wouldn’t you be with an actual band?”

  “Brilliant is probably an overstatement.”

  Gemma smiled at me. She had a great smile. I looked around the office kitchen we were stood in. Peter was in the middle of making some toast whereas Gemma and I were sat at the table having a coffee. She’d asked me to come in to go over the schedule for the next month, and Peter had been treated to a blow-by-blow account of what had happened in Chinatown.

  “So, when can you work next week?” she asked.

  “Erm, any day really.”

  “Well apart from Friday?”

  “Why not?”

  “You’re coming for the meal Thursday!” she said.

  I sighed.

  “What’s this?” asked Peter.

  “Nothing.” I muttered.

  “It’s not nothing.” Said Gemma. “Jimmy’s got a date.”

  “It’s not a date.” I said.

  “Ooooh tell me all.” Peter sat down and joined us at the table.

  “There’s nothing to tell.” I said. “What tours am I doing?”

  I looked to Gemma.

  “Forget that.” Said Peter with a wave. “Tell me about the date.”

  Gemma raised her eyebrows at me. I rolled my eyes.

  “She’s my friend. George.” She said.

  “George?” said Peter.

  “It’s short for Georgina. Anyway, she’s been single for a while and keeps bugging me to set her up with someone.”

  “What do you mean bugging you?” I asked.

  “Sssssh. Go on.” Said Peter.

  “Well, on Tuesday night after we dragged Jimmy off stage, Steve arrived and reminded me we were going out next weekend with his friend and his friend’s girlfriend.”

  “And?” said Peter.

  “And I can’t stand Steve’s friend or his friend’s girlfriend, so I thought I’d invite George along.”

  “Got you, and then you came up with the idea to take Jimmy too?” he said.

  “No, it was Steve’s idea, she keeps bugging him about his friends too you see, so when Jimmy told us he was single, Steve suggested it.”

  “Why is she bugging everyone?” I asked.

  “So, do they suit or not?” Peter cut me off.

  “Errrrrm.” Gemma paused.

  “What the hell?” I said.

  “What?” she said.

  “You don’t think we suit do you?”

  “Not really no.”

  “What the fuck, but you’re setting us up!”

  “It’s mostly to get her off my back, and so I’m not on my own with Steve’s stupid friends.”

  “Oh, brilliant.” I said.

  “Don’t spit your dummy out, she’s beautiful, you might like each other but you’re just different.”

  “Different how?”

  “She doesn’t really get jokes.”

  “Oh, well we’re going to be perfect for each other. Jesus.”

  There was silence between us for a few moments, broken only by Peter crunching his toast.

  “Just enjoy the night, it’s only a date.” Said Peter eventually.

  “You go out with her then.” I said.

  “I’d only go out with them if George wasn’t short for anything.”

  “What?” I was confused, I was too busy thinking about the stupid date I had to go on.

  “I’m gay.”

  “God, you’re so lucky.” I said.

  Gemma and Peter laughed. Inside my stomach was doing flips.

  Why is it when you are looking forward to something it takes forever to arrive? Considering how inactive my social life had been recently my highlight of most weeks was watching Game of Thrones on a Monday night. That seemed to take an age to come. However, the stupid date on Thursday flew at me. Before I could even think of a good reason to cancel, it was Wednesday afternoon and I was wrapping up my tour for the day. I’d just finished showing an American couple around the Northern Quarter when I got a text from Gemma.

  Gemma Lanier

  Piccolenas, 7.30 tomorrow, be on time!

  Balls. I was really nervous about going out with the intention of meeting a girl. Erin was still very firmly lodged in my mind. And although I’d learnt to block her out, when discussion turned to the fairer sex or relationships I inevitably let my mind wander to Erin. I knew the last thing I needed was a full night thinking about Erin whilst in public. History had taught me that it could well lead to some severe consequences if she dominated my thinking for any length of time.

  Also, I’d seen a picture of this George girl, and even if Gemma said we wouldn’t get on there was no denying she was attractive. Very attractive. Too attractive. She was out of my league, and whether she’d been begging Gemma to be set up or not, she was more than likely going to turn her nose up at me.

  I decided to try and make the very best out of my physical appearance as I possibly could. I’d been letting my hair grow for a month or so in order to cover up my ever-receding hairline, so I found a local barber and asked them to do the best they could with it. The barber ‘hmmm’d numerous times as he circled me before giving me what he called a ‘fade’, and when he was done I realised it was just a simple short back and sides. However, as he spun me around in the chair, I noticed it did look genuinely much better than my long-held skinhead.

  On Thursday, I then took a trip to the shops after my morning work-out and invested in some new clothes. It felt brilliant to be able to go to ‘normal’ shops and be able to pick clothes straight off the rack that fit me. I decided to remain conservative and went with some black jeans and a loose grey shirt. I looked myself up and down in the long mirror of the changing room. I was a little bit shocked about how normal I was looking. I was on the verge of no longer being someone people would see and instantly think of as fat. I liked it.

  Even though I had my outfit freshly hung up the second I’d arrived back from shopping somehow it still took me a ridiculously long time to get ready. When my Mum got home from work she started to quiz me about why I was dressed up. I managed to brush her off with the standard ‘plans with mates’ but I could tell by the way she was eying me suspiciously that she didn’t fully buy it. I avoided her gaze as I twisted and pulled at the longer hair on top of my head with hair wax. I took one final look in the mirror and decided I was just going to have to cope with how I looked. This was it. I took a deep breath in.

  “Right Mum, I’m off, see you later.”

  “Bye love, have fun.” She said.

  I smiled at her and she gave me a knowing grin in return. I shook my head as I pulled the front door open. A taxi was waiting for me so I waved his way before jumping into the passenger’s seat. It was a worthwhile investment as I knew I’d be having a drink so driving was out of the question, and the tram wasn’t an option either as I knew Gemma and Steve would be on it and the last thing I wanted was more build-up to this date.

  The taxi driver tried to make small talk with me throughout the journey. I was so caught up in my anxiety though so I wasn’t the best partner in chit chat.

  “What you up to tonight then?” he asked me.

  “Just out.”

  “Where you going?”

  “Erm, a restaurant.”

  “Did you see the match last night?”

  “Yes.”

  He must’ve thought I had something seriously wrong with me. I guess I did. This was my first date since Erin and as much as I kept telling myself it was no big deal, I couldn’t quell my heart from almost thudding straight out of my chest.