Seriously Sassy: Crazy Days

by Maggi Gibson

  ‘We’ll just be a minute!’ shouts a man in a tweed jacket. ‘That darned Mrs Pratchett! Would’ve been easier getting out of Colditz!’

  Peggy peeps the horn on her motorized scooter and the crowds of young people part to let her through. She comes to a halt in front of the stage and beams up at me.

  ‘We’re delighted you decided to sing again, Sassy,’ she says, her blue eyes sparkling. ‘And we’re sorry we’re late. We wouldn’t have missed this for the world.’ Then she turns and scoots off to the back of the hall.

  Minutes later everyone’s settled, the hall lights flicker off, the stage lights buzz on once more in a blaze of dancing, swirling colourand …

  BA-BA-BA-BA-BA-BOOM! Megan hits the drums, Beano’s guitar squeals into life, and I blast into the first verse of ‘My Imaginary Friend’s Not Sweet.’

  Then we hit the chorus and Twig swings his fiddle up under his chin and lets rip. All the way through we keep it together and when we get to the end the audience applauds enthusiastically.

  Over the next couple of numbers we get more confident. Every so often one of us hits a duff note, or Megan doesn’t get the beat quite right, but we just ride over it.

  Then I’m into my two solo numbers and Stefan puts the spotlight on me. Halfway through ‘Jelly Baby Blues’ my voice suddenly wobbles, but I quickly recover and at the end there’s a big burst of applause.

  Feeling really good about the way things are going I glance at the next song on the playlist. My heart thumps against my ribs. Cos it’s ‘Pinch Me, I Think I Must Be Dreaming’, the song I wrote especially for Twig when I really thought, you know, that he was The One.

  I’m supposed to play the opening chords to lead Beano and the others in. But panic grips me. Cos I’m not sure I can ever sing that song again, not now me and Twig aren’t together any more. I glance anxiously over my shoulder. Beano’s poised, waiting for me to start. Megan’s at the ready with her drums. The crowd grows restless.

  And I’m still dithering, when Twig steps over beside me, swings his fiddle up under his chin and plays the intro. I look at him, surprised, and he smiles encouragingly. Then I’m singing and Twig’s playing and it’s the loveliest and the saddest feeling all at once, cos my voice and the fiddle seem to blend into a perfect harmony and I guess everyone listening thinks we’re hopelessly, crazily, soppily in love – but me and Twig both know we’re not.

  When we get to the end there’s a thunderclap of applause.

  ‘You know, it will always be your song,’ I whisper to Twig, a big lump in my throat. And it’s all I can do not to burst into tears.

  Then someone passes me a note up on stage. I read it quickly. Of course! I should have thought. ‘This next song’s for a very special lady,’ I say into the mike, my voice steadying. ‘A lady who’s a hundred years old today.’ I pause as everyone cheers. ‘A lady called Peggy, who gave me a piece of advice I’ll never forget.’

  Then I start up, ‘Happy Birthday to you! Happy Birthday to you!’ Beano joins in, making his guitar really sing the melody, just like his hero Jimi Hendrix did with ‘The Star-Spangled Banner’ at the end of Woodstock29. Peggy’s friends push her into the middle of the hall on her scooter and soon there’s a big circle round her and everyone’s singing ‘Happy Birthday’and Peggy’s old face is totally glowing.

  We move straight into ‘If You Were a Panda’, then follow it up as planned with‘When the Little Birds Stopped Singing’andthe fast and furious ‘Don’t Put That Axe To My Throat’.

  Beano’s halfway through a guitar solo when I see Midge Murphy emerging from the crowd. Suddenly, he leaps right into the middle of the stage and starts weaving and bopping with the hottest dance moves imaginable.

  The crowd roars with delight and then everyone’s dancing, jumping up and down, waving their arms, swinging each other around, whooping. Midge does a double backflip and I grab my mike stand and move it away to make more room for him.

  Then Twig goes manic on the fiddle and Megan crashes the cymbals. And the atmosphere is absolutely electric. It’s like we’re surfing on a huge wave of energy that’s coming partly from us, partly from the crowd.

  As Beano finishes with a wild screeching slide down the strings, Midge does an amazing head spin, then collapses in a crumpled, exhausted heap.

  Totally hot and sweating and buzzing, we finally reach the last song on our playlist.

  ‘This is our closing number,’ I say into the mike, still trying to get my breath back. A few people shout things like, ‘No, we want more!’ and ‘What about the encore?’

  ‘I want to say thanks to all of you for coming. You’ve been a great crowd, and what’s more, you’ve helped us raise money for all the people caught up in the earthquake. That means a lot to us, and to our friend Taslima, who’s in Pakistan right now. And one last thing before we finish: I’d like to say thanks too to a fantastic band –’ I turn and grin at Megan, Beano and Twig –‘the Wilde Bunch. This is our first gig together, and I hope it won’t be our last.’

  There’s a huge round of applause and everyone’s whooping and hollering. I wait till the crowd falls quiet, then I take the mike from the stand, walk to the very front of the stage, and unaccompanied, I start to sing.

  They were sleeping, they were dreaming

  That the world would always be the same …

  My voice echoes strong and clear, the crowd stands perfectly still, almost as if it’s become one entity, holding its breath.

  They were sleeping, they were dreaming

  When the storm clouds and the earthquakes came …

  Quietly, Beano steps forward with his mike and takes up the next two lines:

  Cos none of us knows what fate has in store;

  None of us knows what’s through the next door.

  Megan steps forward now and sings:

  So live each day like it might be the last.

  Don’t fret about the future, don’t get hung up on the past.

  Then me, Beano and Megan sing together:

  Cos it’s NOW that matters, it’s NOW that’s real

  And have I told you lately … ’bout the way I feel?

  About you … about you … about you …

  As our voices fade to a whisper, Twig comes gently in with a soulful fiddle riff. I gaze out over the sea of swaying, silent people, and as I do, I understand something. Something Twig saw when I was still blind to it.

  That not getting a record deal with Y-Generation wasn’t such a bad thing. That when I was getting excited about being a star, I was teetering on the edge of the slippery slope that ends up where Arizona Kelly is now, thinking it’s about the fame, the celebrity, the platinum discs – thinking it’s about ME.

  When it’s not about me at all. THIS is what it’s about. Writing and singing songs that touch people, sharing those songs with people I love. Using my songs and my singing to help others.

  And nothing and nobody will ever stop me doing that again.

  33

  When the applause eventually fades, I set my guitar on its stand and jump down from the stage. Instantly I’m mobbed by friends telling me how much they enjoyed themselves. Then the Fossil Grove old people push through to say they have to head back to the home and face the music with Mrs Pratchett.

  ‘Great party!’ they shout as they head towards the door. ‘Thanks a million!’

  ‘Matron has us on a curfew,’ Peggy explains as she prepares to scoot off. ‘Thanks for the music, Sassy. You must never let anyone stop you singing!’

  ‘Don’t worry, Peggy,’ I smile, ‘I’m not going to.’

  ‘In that case, you’re going to need a manager!’ Magnus chips in excitedly as Peggy mot
ors off. ‘I’ve got some ideas, Sass. After all, we’ve made this concert work. This is just the beginning –’

  ‘Aren’t you forgetting something?’ I interrupt, desperate to get a drink from Cathy’s juice bar at the back of the hall before I totally dehydrate. ‘I mean, I think it’s great, everything you’ve done to make tonight work, but I’ve blown my chances of ever getting a recording deal, Magnus. I might be singing again, but without a recording deal, I’m going nowhere.’

  ‘But that’s the thing. You don’t need a recording deal with anyone!’ Magnus protests. ‘We can release the band’s first single online. You’ve already got a fan base, Sassy. Kids out there want your stuff. You’ve got a band. You don’t need a recording company.’

  Megan beams adoringly at him. ‘I’m up for it,’ she says. ‘It was good playing drums again.’

  ‘Sounds cool to me,’ says Beano, tucking his plectrum through his guitar strings. ‘Count me in.’

  ‘Well, it’ll have to wait,’ I insist. ‘Cos if I don’t get a drink I might never sing again anyway.’

  I leave the others excitedly discussing e-marketing and music downloads and head for Cathy’s juice bar. With so many people milling about, wanting to tell me how great the gig’s been, it takes me a while to struggle through to the back of the hall, by which time my tongue feels like it’s grafted itself on to the roof of my mouth.

  ‘Sorry, sweetie. All the juices were finished long ago,’ Cathy apologizes. ‘But if you’re really desperate, and you don’t mind my germs, you can have this.’ She digs a bottle of water out of her shoulder bag.

  Thankfully, I open it and tip my head back and start glugging so greedily it spills down my chin and dribbles down my T-shirt. I’m about to raise the bottle to my lips for a second time when I realize there’s someone grinning at me from the shadows at the side of the hall. Someone with dark curly hair … and sparkling eyes … and the most beautiful smile.

  I blink in amazement. After all, it might be a hallucination, mightn’t it? A mirage, like you get in the desert. The result of extreme thirst and too much excitement.

  While my brain works out that the chico now walking towards me is no mirage, no hallucination, my heart does a wild flamenco dance, all swirling scarlet skirts and stamping feet and clicking castanets.

  ‘Hi,’ Phoenix says as I wipe my dribbly chin with the back of my hand and try not to burp.

  ‘Hi!’ I say and my heart shouts OLE!

  We stand grinning at each other for what seems like ages … when suddenly, Sindi-Sue rushes across the hall squawking, ‘OMIGAWD! OMIGAWD! OMIGAWD!’, her eyes so wide they look like they’re going to totally POP and fall out on the floor.

  ‘Phoenix, this is Sindi-Sue,’ I laugh. ‘I think she quite likes your music.’

  Sindi-Sue’s face is shining. ‘I’m, like, your number one fan ever,’ she gasps. ‘Will you marry me?’

  ‘’Fraid not,’ Phoenix smiles. ‘Would an autograph do instead?’

  Sindi-Sue nods her head so much I worry she’s gonna cause herself brain damage. Then Phoenix finds a pen and autographs the back of Sindi-Sue’s hand and promises he’ll send her a signed copy of his new CD and she babbles that she’s never ever gonna wash her hand again and if ever he changes his mind about the marriage proposal, just to call and she’ll be ready.

  Which is when I notice Twig, his fiddle strapped over his shoulder, his skateboard under his arm, quietly slipping out of the door.

  ‘Back in a minute!’ I call to Phoenix.

  By the time I reach the outside door, Twig’s almost at the bottom of the steps.

  ‘Twig!’ I call. ‘Hold on!’

  He turns and looks up at me through his flop of hair. Suddenly, I don’t know what to say. That is, my heart knows what it wants to say, but my brain doesn’t know how to say it.

  ‘Thanks,’ I say at last.

  ‘What for?’ he smiles.

  I walk slowly down the last few steps towards him. ‘For everything … Listen, I didn’t know Phoenix was coming. I mean it wasn’t set up or anything … I just wanted you to know.’

  ’Don’t worry, Sass,’ he grins. ‘It was a great gig. I had a ball. I’ve been blocked about performing in front of people for ages. I guess I’m not now –’

  I gaze into his eyes, trying hard to see if he’s really OK, or if he’s just being incredibly generous-spirited and sweet.

  ‘So … we’re still friends?’ I ask tentatively.

  ‘I hope so.’ He drops his skateboard to the pavement with a clatter. ‘Gotta go,’ he says. ‘And I think there’s someone waiting for you inside.’

  Then he whizzes off, crazily weaving round the pavement bollards, shouting, ‘Be wild, Sassy Wilde!’

  And I stare after him, thinking, What an amazing, wonderful, crazy chico!

  Back in the almost empty hall, Sindi-Sue has at last left Phoenix alone, but my heart sinks when I see who’s cornered him now – Dad!

  I rush over in time to hear Dad saying, ‘We’ve got this super cycle safety gear we’re trying to encourage youngsters to use. Maybe you could help us promote it?’

  ‘Is this man being a nuisance?’ I interrupt, grabbing Dad by the arm. ‘Cos if he is I can call the police.’

  ‘You’d best speak to my agent about the cycle campaign, Mr Wilde,’ Phoenix says diplomatically, as Mum, who’s also spotted what’s happening, arrives and drags Dad away to collect the buckets of money from Cordelia.

  ‘Listen, Sassy,’ Phoenix says, when at last we’re on our own. ‘Ben’s waiting outside for me. We’re actually on our way to the airport. I leave for New York at midnight. You know, for the US tour.’

  ‘Oh,’ I say, disappointed.

  The hall’s deserted now. Cathy’s taken her empty boxes out to the camper. Up on stage Stefan is winding up the cables for the mikes and putting them away. Mum and Dad and Pip are waiting by the door with the collection buckets.

  ‘I’ll just be a minute!’ I shout to the parentals. ‘I’ll get you at the car!’

  As Mum and Dad and Pip trail out, Phoenix comes up on to the stage with me to get my guitar.

  ‘I caught most of the gig,’ he says. ‘You were great. Totally awesome. You know you can do this, Sassy. You’re too good not to. And if there’s any way I can help, all you have to do is ask.’

  ‘Thanks,’ I smile. ‘I might just hold you to that!’

  Outside it’s dark now. A beautiful still night with stars twinkling and a big golden moon shining above the rooftops of Strathcarron. Ben’s big black Hummer is parked just across the road. He gives a friendly wave and I wave back.

  ‘I wouldn’t have missed tonight for anything.’ Phoenix says, and suddenly we’re locked in a perfect golden bubble, floating up, up, up. ‘And here, I brought this for you.’ He hands me a CD. ‘It’s an advance copy.’

  In the light from the streetlamp I read the title – and my heart melts and runs into my feet. ‘“Crazy Girl”,’ I say softly.

  ‘I hope you don’t mind. I kinda based the title track on you.’

  I look into his eyes, dark-lashed and deep. His face is only centimetres from mine, and before I even really realize, like it’s the most natural thing in the world, he’s kissing me gently on the lips. Everything outside of us ceases to exist and the golden bubble soars higher and higher till it feels like I could reach out and touch the moon and gather a handful of stars from the sky. And I want the moment to last forever …

  Then Dad drives up alongside us and Pip rolls down the window and shouts, ‘Hey! Sassy! Are you ever coming home? I’m tired!’

  The golden bubble bursts. But my heart stays up in the sky, twirling happily among the sta
rs. Phoenix puts my guitar in the boot for me, then opens the car door and waits while I get in, like he doesn’t really want me to go.

  ‘Have a great time in New York,’ I smile up at him as Dad revs the engine as if to say he wants to get going. ‘Blow them away.’

  ‘I’ll do my best,’ Phoenix holds my gaze for a magic moment longer. ‘And I’ll call you when I get a chance, OK?’ Then he closes the door, Dad drives off, and I land back to earth with a thud.

  34

  On the way home exhaustion hits me hard as a fist. By the time we pull up in the drive I can hardly drag myself into the house.

  I may be totally tired out, but I’m happy too. Tonight went so much better than any of us could have imagined, and though I don’t know how much money we’ve collected, I do know the buckets are heavy. Very heavy.

  Mum and Dad offer to count the money while I go for a shower.

  By the time I get back to the kitchen, all squeaky clean in my Greenpeace nightie, the table’s covered in little towers of pound coins and fifty-pence and twenty-pence pieces.

  ‘Every tower is ten pounds,’ Pip says excitedly, bopping about in a red lace negligee. ‘And there are sixty-seven and a half towers!’

  I’m no whizz at maths, and I’m supernaturally tired, but even so my brain click-click-clicks. ‘Six hundred and seventy-five pounds!’ I squeal. ‘We’ve raised six hundred and seventy-five pounds!’

  ‘People obviously put in more than two quid each,’ Dad grins. ‘Your mum had the brilliant idea of passing the buckets round at the end as people were leaving. I think they appreciated what a great gig you did –’

  ‘It wasn’t just me,’ I say quickly. ‘It would never have happened without everybody mucking in. But six hundred and seventy-five pounds! I can hardly believe we got that much. I can’t wait to tell Tas!’ Tears tweak at my eyes as I sink into a chair.