mobile rang. Turning the screen towards me, her expression was pure seriousness. ‘So what do I tell him now?’
Panic froze me to the spot. ‘Don’t tell him I’m here, please!’
She glared at me and answered the call. ‘Hey, dude. Yeah, I’m fine. You? Ah, right … Rom? No, hun, I haven’t seen her. I spoke to her earlier but …’ she shot me a look ‘… I think she just needs some time, Charlie. What? I’ll tell her – um – when I see her, yeah. Take care, you. Bye.’
I breathed a sigh of relief. ‘Thank you.’
‘That is absolutely the one and only time I’m doing that for you, Rom. You need to call him. The poor guy’s frantic.’
I let out a sigh. ‘I’ll call him tomorrow.’
Wren picked up my phone from the coffee table and thrust it into my hand. ‘No, Rom. Text him tonight, at least. And in the meantime let me work out how you can find the Phantom Kisser of the Christmas Market, OK?’
Of course, I knew she was right. Charlie and I had been friends for too long to let something even as devastatingly embarrassing as this jeopardise our friendship. And then there was the band …
The Pinstripes have been together for nearly seven years. We formed because of a drunken idea at one of the many house parties hosted by my friends Jack and Sophie. Wren’s newly-engaged friend Naomi had been bemoaning the lack of decent wedding bands in the area and joked that we should form a band to fit the bill. To be honest, it was a wonder that none of us had thought of it before; between us we had two singers (one of whom was also a bass player), a drummer, a keyboard player, a lead guitarist and a saxophone player – and all of us were struggling in second-rate bands where we didn’t quite fit in. At the time I was singing jazz standards to increasingly bemused diners at a pizza restaurant chain with Jack; Charlie was playing drums in a Jam tribute band (and hating every moment); Sophie was stuck playing saxophone with a group of easy-listening-obsessed over-forties; while Tom and Wren were lying about their age in a teenage thrash metal band called R.T.A. (which truly defined the term ‘car crash’). As with many other ideas hatched at three am under the influence of copious amounts of red wine and sambuca, the suggestion was unanimously deemed brilliant and The Pinstripes made their magnificent entrance on to the function band scene.
Since then, we have survived nightmare gigs, power-cuts, fistfights (mercifully not involving any of the band) and more than one dodgy middle-aged lothario trying to storm the stage – and have emerged relatively intact and moderately successful. Sophie decided to bow out after two years when she was promoted to Head of Music at the local comprehensive school where she works but we still occasionally coax her back if we’re playing a particularly gorgeous venue. While we all hold down day jobs, the band is a bit of fun and a welcome source of extra cash.
Added to this, it’s a veritable education in How To and How Not To Do a Wedding. It never ceases to amaze me just how awful other people’s weddings can be. It’s a constant source of amusement to us all, not least to Wren and I, who pore over each successively horrific detail with unrestrained glee. Then there are the weddings that are truly inspirational – when everything seems to come together at once and the adrenalin rush sends your head giddy. These we hold in high regard and recall in hushed tones because they are evidence that what we’re doing is more than simply paying the bills. The guys in the band are a bit more cynical about it all, but even they have been known to shed the odd telltale tear at certain moving celebrations.
I’ve sung with several bands throughout my life, but I can honestly say that nothing beats performing with my best friends. There’s a different level of understanding than I’ve experienced with any other musicians – it’s like we all know what the others are thinking. And I love it.
Gig stories form a central part of any conversation when we all get together. It’s something that has built a rock-solid bond between the members of the band, but can be a cause of irritation to the non-musician partners among us, who frequently pull faces and moan when tales of songs that went wrong and strange weddings we’ve played at begin floating across the dinner table on a Saturday night at Jack and Soph’s. We all keep saying that we should try harder to curb the stories when non-band members are present, but it’s kind of a default setting for us; usually by the time we’ve realised what we’re doing, we’ve been happily swapping tales for hours. I’m not proud of it, but the gig stories have definitely caused casualties. Although Wren won’t admit it, the closeness of the band was one of the major reasons that Matt, her last boyfriend, didn’t stick around for long. Sophie told me he asked Wren to choose between The Pinstripes and him. The rest, as they say, is history.
Of course, there are numerous challenges to being in a function band: the sheer logistics of getting five über-busy people together for rehearsals; the internal squabbles that occasionally rear their ugly heads; the stressful load-ins and sound-checks; the late finishes and the often long journeys home in the early hours of the morning, knowing that there’s a van packed with equipment to unload before you can get to bed. But despite everything, it’s great to be able to hang out with your mates and get paid for it – something that makes all the bad stuff pale into insignificance. Some of my best times have been spent breaking into impromptu jam sessions during sound-checks and discussing obscure music trivia in half-closed motorway service stations at some ungodly hour in the morning. I couldn’t bear to lose all that – yet this was what I was risking by continuing to ignore the situation with Charlie.
Staring at my phone alone in my bedroom that night, I knew Wren was right – I had to call him. Mustering every scrap of courage I could, I found Charlie’s number and dialled.
I could hear the stress in his voice as soon as he answered.
‘Rom – hey.’
‘Hi, Charlie.’
‘I didn’t know what to … what to do … or say …’
‘I’m sorry, mate. I was embarrassed.’
‘You weren’t the only one,’ Charlie laughed. My stomach rolled over and I swallowed hard. After a pause, he spoke again. ‘You still there?’
‘Yes.’
‘Look – this is such a mess. Can we meet up tomorrow?’
‘I don’t know …’
‘Don’t say no, Rom, just listen, OK?’
‘OK.’
I heard him breathe out nervously on the other end of the line. ‘Cool. What you said yesterday – well, I didn’t take it very well.’
No kidding, Charlie.
‘I could have handled it better. I definitely shouldn’t have stopped following you when you told me to go home.’
‘It’s fine, honestly.’
‘I think we need to talk – to clear the air, Rom. I’d hate this to affect our friendship …’
Perish the thought. ‘It won’t …’
‘… and we’ve got those gigs coming up. Me and you need to be sorted for those, you know?’
Ever the practical realist, Charlie had managed to turn an awkward moment into an agenda item. ‘You’re right, we do.’
‘Good.
