She's Electric | Sam Fender

ix - Cassia

Joe throws his final dart, which lands in treble one, just next to treble twenty, giving him a total score of 38. He came close to the treble twenty a couple of times but failed to actually hit it.

Drew, the bloke with long hair and crutches who Sam introduced as his drummer, snorts at his friend, "Nice going, mate."

"Like to see you do any better," Joe snaps back, resulting in Drew delivering a sharp poke to his lower back with his crutch. "You're a twat, you know that, don't you?"

Drew scowls and stabs Joe again, "I could get used to this, like."

"Jesus Christ, stop," He whines when he gets prodded again.

Sam, who looks like a single mum to two unruly children slaps them both on the back of the head, "Pack it in the pair of you."

Joe fakes a yawn, "Boring."

"You're just in a fettle 'cause she beat you," Johnny teases, taking a sip of his beer. "Actually, no. She destroyed you, Joeseph."

Looking vaguely like an angry goblin, Joe reaches over the table and grabs the hat from Johnny's head, almost knocking over more than one glass in the process. Johnny quickly snatches it back though, much to Joe's dismay. He sticks his bottom lip out in a sulk and leans back in my chair.

"Yous are fucked in the head man," Sam sighs, shaking his head with exasperation. "We're gonna get banned if yous aren't careful. And it wouldn't be the first time."

They're like a bunch of rowdy teenage boys, the type I hated at school: to be honest, the feeling was probably mutual. Despite the arguing and blatant fighting, the grins on all of their faces show just how good friends they are. Sam, though annoyed, is smiling through it, sniggering secretly at his friends every time they do something stupid.

Dad's been unusually silent, just observing, which isn't like him at all. But he finally speaks, smirking almost to himself, "Like being back in Oasis."

"Oh it gets so much better," Sam grins. "This is tame compared to when we're back up North."

"Are you all from Newcastle then?" I ask.

"Aye. Me, Deano and Joe are all from Shields, and then Drew's from Blyth. Tom's French, but has Geordie grandparents, from Whitley Bay. Johnny's from Wallsend, which is closer to Newcastle than the rest of wor," He answers. "London's a bit of a change of pace, like."

I laugh a little, "I can imagine."

Dean suddenly blurts out, as though a light bulb's just gone off in his head, "Hey, yous should come back up with us after the gig. See all the sights of Shields."

"Only if you lot come to Manchester," I say. 

He nods, "Deal."

We shake on it, and his hand stays in mine a little longer than I expected. He's grinning at me, and I smile back; not just because it's the polite thing to do. Dean's got good patter and an effortless sort of humour that you just can't help but laugh at. He shoots me a wink and finishes his beer.

"I'm getting sommat to eat, anyone want owt?" He offers, lingering around the table waiting for a response.

"Do you not just wanna get a curry or a kebab later on?" Sam asks, yawning and stretching back in his seat, almost hitting himself and Dean in the face. 

Dean's face immediately drops, "Can we not do both?"

The rest of them just shake their heads and Sam laughs, "Do whatever you want mate. Just be quiet about it."

He shrugs, "I'm getting food." 

After disappearing for a while, he returns with a  bowl of battered chips. "Help yourselves."

Sam reaches for one, but Dean slaps him away, "Not you. Tosser."

I raise my eyebrows and try and sneak a chip past Dean, who doesn't bat an eyelid. "You can have as many as you like." 

This causes Sam to scowl even more, with a face like a spiteful chipmunk.

Smugly, I take another chip. "These are really good."

He rolls his eyes, "Aye, aye, rub it in, why don't you?"

It's funny to think that the bloke who wrote deep shit like Dead Boys is sulking over not being allowed to steal his friend's chips. It's like they're two completely different people. But I think I quite like both.