by Beth Garrod
But this time, it was real.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-NINE
There must have been over a hundred Portaloos on site. And I’d already tried eighty-six of them.
Knock knock.
Nothing.
Ignoring the annoyed shouts from the long queue, I carried on making my way along them. It was the only place Rach could be.
Until one didn’t answer. It just sniffed.
Could this be it?!
I cleared my throat. And talked to the blue door.
“Rach! It’s me. Bella. I’ve been a massive idiot. I want to say sorry. And promise you that if the man snake ever did enter the lady cave you’d be first to know. But for now, I’m a great big virgin. So … can you let me in?”
An old man’s voice replied. “What’s a lady cave?”
Oops. The sniffing was actually coming from the next loo along.
I shouted sorry, moved along and tried again. And this time when I finished I heard a snuffle that I knew was Rach.
“Rach, please?” Another sniff. “I’m sorry. It must have been rubbish for you. I should have realized you felt caught between everyone.” It didn’t feel the right time to tell her everything we’d found out. The apology had to be made first. “I just got annoyed that sometimes I thought you wanted to hang out with them more than us.”
I snuck a glance behind me, confirming that about a hundred people in the queue were watching me pouring my heart out to a cubicle door. I must look ludicrous. Loo-dicrous.
“It was hardly a choice when you two were never around. And I was stuck on my own in another field.”
Ouch. Her voice sounded small, hurt – couldn’t she see we’d had no option?
“We were working, Rach – it’s not like we wanted to?”
“But that’s the thing. You had work. I didn’t have anything. But you seemed to resent me making friends.”
“I guess…” I had to be honest. With her and myself. “Maybe I did. And I’m sorry about that. So sorry.”
All this time we’d been going on and on about people not being property, yet here I’d been, being possessive over Rach. But she had more she needed to say.
“And when you weren’t working, the only thing that seemed to matter was the protest…” Her voice dropped. “Did you never realize how hard it was for me when that video came out?”
I thought back; I’d been so cross I just assumed she’d felt the same. Never imagined some of it was a brave face. It must have been so hard to go from being a band’s biggest fan to being on the receiving end of their hate. And I’d never stopped to check she was OK. “I always felt like you thought I wasn’t pulling my weight, but…” Her voice broke again. “I really was.”
“That’s not true, Rach – you’ve been amazing. We’d never have got this far without you! Why do you think I’ve spent all afternoon looking for you, only to end up on my knees in literally the most nasally challenging place possible? The fumes are honestly giving me Portaloo PTSD from yesterday.”
I couldn’t tell if she laugh-sniffed or sniff-sniffed. I hated hearing her like this.
I wished I could show her how much she meant to me and Tegan, even if we’d been really bad at showing it. Which reminded me. I fired off a quick message to let Tegan know that I’d found Rach so she could stop worrying. But because I was crouching it was hard to push my phone back into my jeans pocket, so I stuffed it in my bra. And found exactly what I needed. The Polaroid of us three from yesterday. I fished my Sharpie out and wrote on it. Best friends support best friends. For ever and pushed it underneath.
Silence.
But after a few seconds, with a waft of perfume, the door opened.
A watery-eyed Rach was standing above me, mascara smeared down her face and glitter smooshed all around her cheeks. She had the picture in her hand. I looked up at her. She looked down at me, did a final mega sniff, and spoke.
“What are you doing down there, Bells? Haven’t we got a protest to get to?”
CHAPTER
THIRTY
We raced as fast as we could across the site. It was 7:55 p.m. but Rach and I were ten minutes away from the main stage. We couldn’t even stop as we ran past the tent where The Wet Donald Project had started playing.
I didn’t need to explain to Rach what I’d found out about ex-MGC. Sitting in the Portaloo, looking at her picture from the other day, she’d worked it out. And hated them for trying to sabotage everything. Including us.
We got to edge of the main stage field, sweaty and breathless. And stopped dead. There was no denying what we could hear. Filing up the whole site was the sound of the Main Stage speakers booming into life.
And even worse. The roar of a crowd.
“HELLO, REBELROCKS! WE ARE … THE SESSION! AND WE ARE VERRRRRY HAPPY TO BE HERE!”
We were too late. I looked at my watch. 8:02 p.m. Two minutes after the protest was meant to start.
We hadn’t even got to The Session, let alone stopped them. The ex-MGC had won after all.
With the cheers of their fans ringing out as the band made a joke about how they “couldn’t be stopped”. The Session launched into their first song. Every note they played felt like a slap in the face. A two fingers up to everyone who had tried to stop them, tried to make them say sorry. They were even wearing their “Never Ask. Never Apologize.” T-shirts. Bet Marge was loving this.
Rach and I trudged the final bit of the way to the others, our spirits crushed. It didn’t help that we had to squeeze past Luke and Ska, who gave us the world’s most unwanted “sorry that it turned out our protest was a massive failure” commiseration hugs. But they were right. I’d hoped we’d at least see one or two banners. Maybe some flags. A couple of Ross’s high-vis vests, trying to defy them. But all we saw was one sign, held by Tegan, standing on a pile of boxes by the tree where we were meant to start the protest. A furry lemur and lobster at her feet, holding a banner you could hardly read, my sister and her friends next to them waving flags that blended in with all the other generic ones around them. Other than that … there was no one.
My eyes prickled.
DO NOT CRY. I forbid you!!!
I pushed at them, pretending to wipe some dust off my face, as if the tears might think there was a roadblock, do a three-point turn and head back to wherever they came from.
When Tegan spotted us she waved with both arms and Rach blew kisses back, mending all the damage from twenty metres away. The protest might have flopped, but at least we’d achieved one thing.
Following Rach’s lead, we weaved through the last bit of the crowd, to be greeted by hugs all round (Mikey’s was slightly traumatic due to the fact he smelt a bit like a compost heap). I let Tegan and Rach have some space, as they launched into a mixture of sorrys/hugs/happy be to be back togethers.
“So no one came then?” I had to shout over the music for Tegan to hear me. The band were on their second song. She shrugged.
“I dunno – I mean, I got up here at quarter to, like we said? But… Nothing. Nothing happened.”
After all that, no one had come. Well, no one who wasn’t a friend, blood relation or friend of a blood relation. Maybe Brian had scared them all off? Or maybe no one had been that bothered after all. Everyone else around us were just Session fans, enjoying the last gig of the festival.
Jo leant over and butted in. “Don’t you think that could be the problem?”
I shook my head. I didn’t understand.
“Tegan got up there. And although you lot know she was joint co-organizer, anyone who saw that talk might be expecting Bella.”
Hmmm. I hadn’t considered that. “So … you think there’s a chance someone did turn up, but are waiting for a, I dunno … signal from me or something?”
Jo nodded. “Worth a try?”
Yes – when a plan fails, there’s nothing like standing up on some boxes in the middle of a field to reconfirm it in front of everyone. Brian might even see. Have one last opportun
ity to laugh at me.
But what had I got to lose? So, when the band seemed to be coming to the end of a song, I reached into the box of high-vis jackets to pull one on. Loads had gone missing so I added Ross yelling at me to my growing list of things to look forward to, along with (in chronological order):
1) looking like a high-vis loser on a box
2) being dumped
3) hearing graphic details about my mum’s love life when I got home
4) failing my exams
5) ruining the rest of my life.
The song stopped – it was now or never. I stepped on the boxes, pulled on my high-vis and lifted my “STOP THE SESSION” placard as high as it would go (quite high, as despite my short legs, I have surprisingly long arms). On the ground Teeg and Rach grabbed the poles of our banner. Jo and her mates hoisted up their “PEOPLE AREN’T PROPERTY” flags. And Mikey got on Jay’s back (it felt surprisingly reassuring to have a lemur-lobster totem pole beside me). They waved their own creation, a sign that said “BRIAN IS A GIBLET”.
My face felt on fire, switching from human colour to tomato.
My arm twitched from reaching up a bit more than it could handle.
I closed my eyes, willing something to happen.
But nothing did.
Completely nothing.
And when I opened my eyes to check if it was time for me to step down, I saw something I hadn’t expected.
All around me, like a carpet rolling out towards the stage, a sea of neon yellow had emerged. Flags popping up all over the places. STOP THE SESSION banners everywhere. Umbrellas that had been made into 3D stop signs. Even a customized STOP lollipop sign had been lifted up, the words “The Session” added on.
People had come.
People wanted to Stop The Session.
I didn’t know who was more shocked. Me or the band.
Brian was frozen to the spot, his mouth hanging open, looking like he’d seen a ghost.
Cries of “Stop The Session” had started up.
I looked down, in shock, and realized that the others didn’t have a clue what I could see. What was happening.
“Get up here.” I yanked Tegan and Rach up next to me, loving their faces as they saw supporters all through the crowd. And even more, as they saw Marge’s blue hair stuck in a mass of the most vocal Stop The Session protestors. There was no way the band could even try and play now. The chanting was too loud.
They had no idea what to do. And even less when Brenda’s loudhailer got pushed into my hand by Mikey.
But I also had no idea what to do next. In all of our planning, we’d never thought beyond this moment.
Erm.
I looked up at the stage.
Gulp.
The whole band were staring at me. And the chant was beginning to slow so I could say something.
I should feel empowered. But I felt terrified.
I lifted the speaker to my mouth and pressed the button.
Which turned out to be a siren. Which not only made the whole field think there was an emergency, but also meant any eyes that weren’t on me now were.
“We’re right here,” Rach breathed into my ear.
There was only one thing for it. With a gulp I pressed the other button and began to speak.
CHAPTER
THIRTY-ONE
Well, I tried to speak.
Nervous hand sweat made me press the button too quickly so all that rang out was the world’s loudest gulp.
Jo rubbed my back – I hoped in support and not because she thought I needed burping.
Words. Where are you?! Come to me!
I thought back to my speech from yesterday. To why we were all here. And took a deep breath. My voice boomed out.
“We’re here today to STOP THE SESSION!”
There was a pause.
Then the crowd cheered.
“MUSIC SHOULD BE FOR EVERYBODY. SEXISM HAS NO PLACE IN SOCIETY!!”
Another roar of agreement. I looked up at the stage. The band were standing together at the front of it, Brian shouting something I couldn’t hear. Had someone turned his mic down?!
“WE DEMAND YOU RESPECT YOUR FANS! AND EXPLAIN WHY YOU THINK IT’S OK TO MAKE A PROFIT FROM CLOTHES THAT ENCOURAGE PEOPLE TO SEE EACH OTHER AS UNEQUAL!” A cheer went up. But was that even a word?!
“AS IN NOT EQUAL. DID EVERYONE GET THAT?”
I think they’d got it.
“WORDS AREN’T JUST WORDS. YOU CAN TELL BY EVERYONE WHO IS HERE TO STOP YOU. AND WE’RE NOT GOING ANYWHERE UNTIL…”
The big speakers crackled around me. Uh-oh. I might only have seconds left before the music started again. I had to say what I needed to say and quickly.
But what did I need to say?!
I turned to Tegan – and she did exactly what I hoped. Mouthed “apology” while tugging at her top. Just what I needed. I raised my voice even louder than before.
“…UNTIL YOU STOP THE SALE OF YOUR CREEPY MERCHANDISE AND APOLOGIZE!”
And at that exact moment, the speakers came back into life and the whole field was full of the sound of one thing only.
The most massive swear from the lead singer.
CHAPTER
THIRTY-TWO
“That wasn’t live, was it?”
Brian asked nobody in particular. I’d forgotten the gig was being played out live on radio. Or – more accurately – his short, sharp expletive had.
All around us people had their hands in the air, pointing to the side of the stage as they yelled, “Off! Off! Off!” Over half the crowd was on our side. And those who weren’t had started to leave, not liking the band enough to stay.
Brian was striding around the stage, his finger up to his in-ear talkback system, trying to listen to someone telling him what to do. But he was struggling to hear.
Looking lost, he stepped back towards the mic stand and pushed his hair behind his ears.
“OK, OK. We get it.” Brian turned on what he thought was his most charming grin. “Some of you little lot have got your knickers in a twist.” He squinted hard in my direction, and at some of the other people holding flags and banners. “And surprise, surprise, the ones doing all the moaning are the ugly ones.” He expected a laugh. He got an angry “Oooh”. He flapped his arm up and down. “Calm down, guys.” He tried to laugh it off. He failed.
“Like we say –” he pointed to the big sign behind him “– It’s Only Words. So if you can’t handle a joke, then isn’t the joke on you?” This time he got a sharp intake of breath from people shocked at how little he got it. Even people who’d started off not that bothered were quickly realizing what an idiot he was.
“So how about we do what we came here for? Playing some music and having some fun.” He turned his back to the crowd and nodded his head to count the drummer in.
Did he really think all these people had gone to all this effort just so he could make some small talk and get back to his gig?
He could think again.
I picked up the loudhailer and jammed my finger down on the button. Before I could stop myself, I shouted as loud as I could.
“WHAT DO WE WANT? AN APOLOGY! WHEN DO WE WANT IT? NOW!!!!!!”
I was so stunned I’d done it I accidentally stopped, in total shock.
But Rach didn’t miss a beat, and leant over, pressed the button, and shouted it for me. Then Tegan joined in. And they shouted it again. And again. Until Jo and Tegan and Rach and Mikey and Jay and I were all repeating it, more determined than ever. We were not going to be silenced. And with our arms around each other, the words took on a life of their own, belonging to all the voices that joined in across the field. All of us speaking as one.
It was deafening. And Brian was livid. The band looked like they had no clue what to do. He seemed to have gone from yelling at us to yelling at them.
Brian picked up his mic.
“ENOUGH!!!!” he shouted, spitting with rage. “There will be NO APOLOGY. THE SESSION ARE A ROCK-AND-ROLL BAND, SO IF Y
OU CAN’T HANDLE THAT, THE EXIT’S THAT WAY.”
He pointed to a gap in the hedge. No one moved.
“I suggest whoever has a problem with a T-shirt, or whatever it is that’s bothering you, DON’T BUY ONE, and the rest of us can get back to what we’re here for. A session from The Session!” He punched the air.
But he wasn’t met with applause.
He was met with the loudest boo yet. And no matter how much he stomped around, smiled at the camera, put his finger to his lips, it didn’t get any quieter.
Rach tugged at my sleeve and showed me her phone. Pictures of me?! The words that I’d said minutes earlier, typed up and shared. One person had even made an inspirational quote graphic. The protest was all over Twitter. It wasn’t just everyone here watching, it was people round the world.
“RIGHT, GUYS.” Brian shouted so loud he almost didn’t need a microphone. “WHO’S READY TO GET STARTED? IN THREE-TWO-ONE…”
And in the middle of all the boos, they started to play, Brian flinging himself around like he was playing to an adoring crowd.
But the boos didn’t stop.
Brian jumped, leapt, stood on the drum kit.
And the boos didn’t stop.
But something did happen. Something I didn’t start. Something that someone I never met thought of. And we all followed suit.
We all sat down.
Like an inverse Mexican wave.
And as the band tried harder and harder, the crowd around them sat politely on the ground. I had a great view from sitting up on the tree.
The remaining Session fans did one of two things. Gave up and sat down. Or got left awkwardly standing, not knowing what to do with themselves.
With her blue hair, Marge was easy to spot, standing next to Lols. It was less easy to spot Britney T, because much to their fury, she’d decided to sit down. Guess she must have changed her mind.
The band had never seen anything like it. Nor had I.
I looked out at the sea of calm, strong protesters, loving whoever thought to start it off. One person’s idea, supported by hundreds of others, really could change things. Guess that summed up the whole spirit of this protest. We didn’t always know what we doing, but we always believed that together we stood a chance.