𝐀𝐩𝐡𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐚. ⁽⁽⁽ᵐᵃᵗᵗʸ ʰᵉᵃˡʸ⁾⁾⁾

Reading.

(The Horrors - Sea Within A Sea)

(Caroline Polachek - Look At Me Now)

(Wallows - Do Not Wait)

August Bank Holiday weekend.

'Now for God's sake, don't lose these,' Dean sighed and handed Helen and I our guest passes. 'I'd have to move heaven and earth to get them reissued, and I really don't fancy that.'

'Have a drink, Dean, loosen up,' Helen rolled her eyes, although I knew she was seething with pure adrenaline and the anticipation of rolling around a dusty field for a whole weekend. 'You don't need to babysit us this weekend, there's no stage times to worry about.'

'I still wish we could have done something about that,' he frowned, unfolding his sunglasses and squinting at the late morning sun. 'Another festival set would have boosted your profile with sponsors. Everything seems to be lagging so dreadfully at this point in the summer.'

Helen and I exchanged looks. 'Alright, well, we'll leave you to... everything. Later.' She grasped my arm and marched me off towards the guest bar as we giggled between ourselves with the sheer thrill of being back at our teenage haunt, but this time with a wad of drinks tickets and a tent that wasn't soaked in strangers' piss. 'God, we're going to kill it this weekend, and we're not even playing a single note.' 

She was right; I felt genuinely good about myself for the first time in months, and perhaps it was the influence of the clement weather, or I was achieving some sort of self-actualisation, but I didn't feel the need to dissect it much. We had helped each other pick out clothes that morning before the drive down the M4 to Reading, in a flurry of excitement, and the result was a velvet shirt and neat dark trousers 'with the aplomb of a Joni Mitchell album cover' - and not for the first time, Helen's words, not mine.

She leaned against the bar, her gaze skimming the familiar faces across the enclosure, resplendent in a blindingly white dress and silver jewellery. 'Where did Matty say he'd meet you?'

'He didn't,' I frowned, fumbling with my phone. 'I think Adam is coming to find us.'

'Oh, good. I like Hann.'

I shot a warning glance in her direction. 'I'm going to let them know we're here. But I don't want to be a bother. They've got more than enough on their hands.'

'Don't act all modest now, we've been sharing that studio with them for weeks. Nothing wrong with checking in and giving them a good send-off,' Helen shrugged, drinking deeply from the enormous pint of IPA she now clutched.

'You make it sound like they're leaving to go somewhere.'

'Well, it's a leap into the unknown of sorts, isn't it? Headline slot is no small undertaking. I bet Matty's absolutely shitting himself.'

'You're right, he is,' Adam's voice echoed, making us both jump. 'And you aren't difficult to spot.' He cast a shadow as he towered over us, wearing a dark suit, sunglasses and a wide smile.

'What about you, how are you holding up?' I asked on the gangway through the trailers.

'Honestly, I'm shitting myself too. I'm just better at hiding it than he is. But we've rehearsed the set to death, so my head is telling me we'll be just fine.'

Their section of the backstage was vast and comparatively luxurious, and an assortment of friends and hangers-on milled around. I eyed up the ice boxes of wine and champagne, and suppressed a snort of laughter when Helen met my gaze, clearly having the same idea.