Drop Dead | Sam Fender

Chapter Eighty One

Sam

"Yous are both coming reet?" I asked over the phone, fear lacing my words.

"Yes, babe," Rory laughed lightly.

To be fair, it was like the fifth time I had asked her that today. After three months of being managed by Owain, he had gotten me my first gig. It was only a small venue, probably about three hundred people maximum.

I never got nervous about these sorts of things before so I didn't understand why I was now. It was probably because all the gigs I had done previously had taken place in the comfort of North Shields. A town where I knew practically everyone and somewhere my friends could pop to easily to support me. This was different. This gig was in Newcastle and the only support I had was Rory and Dean. My mam was supposed to come but had started feeling ill around two days ago, so it wasn't possible for her to be there.

"Good, good," I muttered.

"Sam, are yer alreet?" she questioned softly.

"Aye, I'm fine," I assured. "Just a bit nervous like."

"We shouldn't be too long now," she told me. "Ten minutes and we'll be there."

"Yer got the metro after, did yous?" I inquired, hoping to distract myself from the inherent anxiety I was experiencing.

"Yeah," she replied. "My dad said he'll pick us up after."

"What a legend," I smiled.

"Aye, well, he said it's your turn to do the dishes tomorrow," she snorted.

I laughed, "As long as he's making the scran."

"It's not gan be yer, is it?" she teased. My culinary skills were... questionable, let's just say.

"What do ya mean? I made a banging bowl of coco pops yesterday!" I protested, although there was a large, lopsided grin painted across my face. Owain came into my view, gesturing to me to get off of the phone. My smile dropped slightly as I realised I would have to end the call with Rory, the only thing staving off my nerves at that moment but I followed his orders regardless. "I'm sorry, Scarl. I've got to go."

"S'alreet, love," she assured me. "Duty calls. I'll see yer in a bit now. Good luck if I don't see ya, you're gan smash it!"

My stomach flipped but not in the nervous way it had been all night, more of an 'I didn't think I could be any more in love with you but you still continue to prove me wrong' sort of way. "Cheers," I grinned. "I'll see yous later. I love you."

"I love you too, bye," she told me before the soft click of the phone call ending echoed in my ear.

"Your missus?" Owain asked with a fond smile.

"Aye," I nodded in reply, unable to fight my own smile from my face as I shoved my phone into the back pocket of my skinny jeans.

"You'll have to introduce us later. I'd love to meet the lass that keeps your arse in line," he joked.

"She's fuckin' lush," I told him. "I'm gan marry her one day, ya know."

"Big plans for a nineteen-year-old," he commented with a raised eyebrow, though I could tell he didn't mean it in a 'you're a kid, you don't know what love is' sort of way as many others did.

"Aye, I owe a lot to that lass. I'd be a dead man if it wasn't for her," I shrugged nonchalantly, a faint smile on my lips as I spoke.

"Yer think so?" he frowned.

"I know so. I've had a rough couple of years. Without her... well," I trailed off. "I wouldn't be here reet now, that's for sure."

"Hmm," he mumbled, his eyes studying me cautiously as if trying to work out the trials and tribulations I could possibly have gone through at the mere age of nineteen. To be fair, it did sound rather exaggerated. I probably would have been doubtful if someone said that to me.