— God, yes.
He wanted to hug her.
— And the old songs?
— We’ll lead with them, said Connie.
— Good.
— Don’t worry, Jimmy, she said. — We know our fucking fans.
That sounded like Connie. She was in there somewhere.
— Here’s Barry, she said.
Barry looked like Barry. He was pushed into his leathers.
— The Minister’s son is here, he said. — Fuck.
— Howyeh, Barry.
— Yeah, said Barry.
— Good luck with the new songs.
— She told you?
— She did, yeah, said Jimmy. — There’s one — is there? — about polar bears?
— It’s a whopper, said Barry.
Barry smiled. And Jimmy smiled.
— Can’t wait, said Jimmy. — Great, listen. I’m goin’ to go round to the front. So I can see the show like a fan.
He legged it, and texted Aoife as he went. Great. X. There was one in from Des. Tent is nearly empty. That was fine. It would start to fill once the punters outside heard the opening bars of ‘Erectile Dysfunction’. They’d charge in, hoping for a look at the young one in the video. Another from Aoife. Where u? X. He had to stop, so he could spell out Halfbreds Crawdaddy don’t miss x. Then he was off again. The backstage area was actually backstages; it was like the back garden of four or five circus tents. It was huge. He’d been moving now for minutes and he still wasn’t out. He heard the Halfbreds kick off. He knew the song immediately — ‘Your Happiness Makes Me Puke’. Connie would look great, standing behind the drums in her party frock. If they gave ‘Erectile Dysfunction’ a good lash and the polar bear delivered, Jimmy’s phone would soon be hopping — gigs, sales, telly.
He was back out with the public, charging across the field to the Crawdaddy. He thought he could hear ‘Erectile Dysfunction’. Guitar chords drifted, stopped, then all he could hear was cheering. And all he could see as he came up to the tent was people pouring out. He spotted the lads. He got through the crowd to them.
— That was fuckin’ short.
— They broke up, said Des.
— It was brilliant, said Outspan.
— They were great.
— Wha’ happened?
— The song about the erectile wha’-d’yeh-call-it, said Outspan.
— Yeah.
— Oh yes she does.
— It’s great.
— Annyway, said Outspan. — She hit him across the head with one of her sticks.
— And he kicked her bass drum.
— She hopped on him.
— It was hilarious.
— Fuck, said Jimmy. — An’ I missed it. It sounds better than usual.
— Have they broken up before?
— Fuck, yeah. Every time. They’re married. Would yeh go see them again?
— Fuckin’ sure, said Outspan.
— If they stayed together a bit longer. If you were buying a ticket.
— She was gorgeous, said Les.
— Connie?
— Gorgeous.
— Really?
The three lads were nodding.
They heard the noise. Music. Drums.
— They’re back.
They charged into the tent. It was empty, then full and dangerous in ten seconds. And they were right: Connie was gorgeous. A middle-aged ma, just in from the hairdresser, standing behind the drums and beating the living fuck out of them.
— THE ICE CAP IS MELTING — AH —
IT’S MELTING IN THE SUN —
THE POLAR BEAR —
THE POLAR BEAR —
THE POLAR BEAR —
THE POLAR BEAR —
Jimmy could hear it now, the crowd shouting with Connie.
THE POLAR BEAR —
THE POLAR BEAR —
They’d never heard the song before but they’d a good idea of where it was going.
— THE POLAR BEAR’S AN ENDANGERED LITTLE CUNT — TAH —
The cheer ripped a hole in the roof of the tent.
And a brilliant thing happened. The crowd grabbed the song.
Five hundred people shouted at the same time.
— OH YES HE IS —
And five hundred cheerfully disagreed.
— OH NO HE ISN’T —
It was a national debate, the country’s response to climate change.
— OH YES HE IS —
OH NO HE ISN’T —
The thing — the joy — went off in Jimmy again. He nearly pissed.
— THE POLAR BEAR —
THE POLAR BEAR —
HE’S A — HE’S A — HE’S A — HE’S A —
THE FURRY LITTLE POLAH BEAR-AH —
HE’S A — HE’S A — HE’S A —
The crowd took over.
— ENDANGERED LITTLE CUNT —
ENDANGERED —
LITTLE CUNT —
Outspan had the mask to his face between shouts.
— ENDANGERED LITTLE —
CUNT — TAH —
Connie pushed the drums out of her way. She threw her sticks into the crowd. She didn’t lob them. She aimed and threw. The St John’s Ambulance would be needed at the front. And she walked off. Barry lifted his guitar, ready to smash it on the stage. He held it high and stepped up to the mic.
— You’re not fuckin’ worth it!
And he followed his wife offstage.
They were done.
And Jimmy finally knew it: they were geniuses. This wasn’t a middle-aged couple reliving the glory days in front of a few friends. This was the Sex Pistols in Manchester. Jimmy had another sensation on his hands. He’d seen at least ten people filming it. The gig and both break-ups would be up on YouTube. They were probably up already.
They went back outside.
— Fuckin’ hell.
— Amazin’.
Jimmy looked at his watch. It wasn’t even one o’clock. The phone hopped. It was Aoife. Cudnt get in, packed. He sent one back. We’re outside.
He saw it now. The inflatable chair. A big purple armchair. They’d parked it in against the side of the Crawdaddy canvas, at the backstage fence. Outspan dropped into it and tucked the cylinder in beside him.
— Where did tha’ come from? said Jimmy.
— They’re on sale over there, said Les.
— Les bought it for me, said Outspan.
He loved it.
Another text from Aoife. Any toilet paper? X. She could wait a while for the answer, after the slagging she’d given him yesterday, before he’d left the house.
— Where now?
— Grub?
— Great.
— I’ve to go to Body and Soul, said Jimmy.
— What’s that?
— It’s the fuckin’ hippy place, said Outspan.
— There’s a stage there, said Jimmy. — I’ve another band on.
— Who?
— The Bastards of Lir.
— Good as that lot?
— No way, said Jimmy. — Celtic Rock.
— Great.
— Christy on fuckin’ acid, said Outspan.
— We’ll follow you over, Jim, said Les.
Jimmy didn’t want to leave them, especially when he saw Les and Des take a side each of Outspan’s chair and hoist it and Outspan up onto their shoulders.
— I’m your man from The Jungle Book, said Outspan. — King Louie.
They marched away –
— See you in a bit.
— across to the food stalls. Jimmy wanted his shoulder under the chair but they were getting on fine without him. But then, he thought, he’d just given them the gig of their lives. He was at work and the elderly Bastards of Lir were waiting for him.
He texted Connie. Brilliant. He texted Barry. Fuckin brilliant. He texted Aoife and told her where he was headed. She’d appreciate the jacks paper better in a place called Body and Soul.
He texted young Jimmy. Enjoyin yrslf?