Page 49 of When We Were Young

Liv

The entrance to the VIP area is simply a gap in the hoarding manned by a single security guard.

I would never have found it if it wasn’t for the tiny map on the back of the press pass in my pocket.

Tumi gave it to me weeks ago when I told her I was coming to Beatland.

I almost didn’t bring it as it only admits one and I didn’t plan on being separated from my friends.

But things haven’t worked out as I’d planned.

Nathan ignored me during breakfast, then went off somewhere with Charlie.

Ella and the other girls went to the market area to spend money on outfits that’ll look ridiculous anywhere but here.

I went off by myself determined to watch the bands I’d come here to see but it’s been no fun alone, standing self-consciously at the edge of the crowd, too embarrassed to dance and sing along and too scared to plunge closer to the stage.

I’d been waiting months to see Twisted Sphinx, but I couldn’t face watching another band on my own, so here I am, deciding if I have the guts to go into the VIP area.

Pulling the pass from my pocket, I unravel the rainbow ribbon and loop it over my head.

I take a deep breath and approach the security guard.

It had seemed like a mistake to let Ella do my make-up this morning – especially when Nathan didn’t even look my way – but as the guard waves me through, I’m glad I did. I follow a passageway as it winds around four or five bends, then opens out onto an area about the size of a football pitch.

Glamorous people wearing sunglasses and insanely cool outfits lounge around on Bali beds like the ones you find by the pool at luxury holiday resorts.

A long marquee stretches along the entire back fence, filled with stalls serving food and drink.

A huge grill gives off delicious barbecue smells.

Picnic tables painted all the colours of the rainbow are dotted around the sun-scorched grass and the whole place is draped in strings of retro lightbulbs – it’s magical in the twilight.

I wander around listening in on conversations and trying to spot celebrities.

I nip in the marquee for a bottle of water and when I step back outside, there’s a commotion as a noisy group of people make their way across the enclosure.

Leading them is a man in a purple suit. He must be a celebrity; no normal person would dress like that at a festival.

As they cross in front of me, I recognise the man despite the compulsory sunglasses.

It’s Brett Lewis.

From Paradigm.

I don’t know what comes over me. All I can think is this man knew Will Bailey and I have to speak to him.

‘Brett!’ I call, speed-walking alongside him.

A large man steps forward, palms up as a barrier, but Brett Lewis lowers them with a hand. The entire group is looking at me – at least I think they are, it’s hard to tell with all the dark glasses.

‘Brett,’ I say breathlessly, ‘can you spare a few minutes for Amplify magazine?’

There’s a moment of silence. Brett looks me up and down. ‘ Amplify magazine?’

I wave my press pass. ‘Yes.’

‘Okay. This way.’

The next thing I know, I’m climbing a staircase following Brett Lewis onto a balcony overlooking the festival site.

Brett invites me to sit on a red velvet sofa.

‘Wow,’ I mutter, as I take in the view.

Lights are coming on all over Beatland, twinkling in the half light as the sun disappears into the horizon in a soft pink glow. Music carries on the breeze as thousands of people mill around the fields below. A helter-skelter rises out of the crowd – how have I not seen that this whole time?

‘Awesome, isn’t it?’ Brett pops the cork on a bottle of champagne that has appeared out of nowhere and pours us both a glass. ‘So, what did you want to ask me?’

What would Tumi do in this situation? Suddenly, I remember the dictation app she made me download during work experience. ‘Is it okay if I record this?’

Brett nods.

My hands are shaking as I unzip my phone from my tiny cross-body bag. There’s plenty of battery thanks to the power pack Ella brought along. I set the app to record our conversation.

I start with questions about the new Paradigm album – thank God I’ve listened to it – and follow up with more about their upcoming tour. Brett doesn’t seem in a hurry to get rid of me, but I don’t know how long I’ve got, so as soon as I dare, I skip to the questions I really want to ask.

‘Will Bailey supported Paradigm in 1996, didn’t he?’

‘Was it 1996?’ A shadow passes over his expression. ‘Yeah, must have been.’

‘Did you get to know him?’

A flicker of a frown. ‘Why do you ask?’

Silence stretches between us while I think of a sensible answer. At last, something pops into my head. ‘We’re doing a feature on Will Bailey for the twentieth anniversary of the Fragments album.’

Brett removes his sunglasses, his eyes blaze. ‘I love that album! Has it really been twenty years?’

Brett gushes about Will’s songwriting genius, quoting his favourite lyrics and raving about song structure, melodies, riffs, and hooks until they bring another bottle of champagne.

‘It’s so sad what happened. Such a waste.

’ Brett pauses for the first time in half an hour.

‘I wish I’d done more to help his career.

I could have promoted him more, got the word out.

He never got the recognition he deserved in his lifetime.

He probably never knew how good he was.’ Brett shakes his head.

‘You know, I was an absolute arsehole to him that whole tour. I was jealous. That voice – I’d kill for a voice like that.

’ He trails off, scans the view. It’s dark enough now to see a smattering of stars in the sky.

There’s a commotion behind us. A woman in tight leather trousers with legs that go on forever arrives on the balcony. A noisy group spill over the top of the stairs after her, laughing and talking at maximum volume.

‘Brett, there you are!’ she calls.

‘Christie!’ Brett gets up to greet her. ‘What are you doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be on stage?’

‘In a minute.’ She waves a hand. ‘George said you were here, and I wanted to say hi. It’s been forever.’

I pause the recording on my phone and fidget in my seat while they hug. As they break apart, I see her face.

Oh my God – it’s Christie Blackmore! Rock royalty.

And the people she’s with – they’re The Underdogs.

‘I’m finishing up here then I’ll be over to watch,’ says Brett.

Christie Blackmore arches an eyebrow at me. Thank God I closed my mouth in time.

‘This is – sorry, what’s your name again?’ asks Brett.

‘Olivia Lawrence.’ I shake Christie’s outstretched hand. ‘Liv.’

‘Liv’s from Amplify ,’ explains Brett. ‘They’re doing a feature on Will Bailey.’

‘Will Bailey?’ Christie touches my arm. ‘Oh, how wonderful. Is it for the Fragments anniversary? I’d love to contribute. I’ve got a few stories to tell about Will. Listen Liv, I’m supposed to be on stage now, but my people will be in touch. We’ll set something up, okay?’

It takes all my willpower not to squeal. ‘That would be amazing. Thank you so much.’

‘Now, do you mind if I borrow Brett?’ she asks.

‘No, go ahead.’

Brett gives me a telephone number to call if I have any more questions. He wishes me luck with the feature and heads off with Christie Blackmore. They pile downstairs with their combined entourages, and I’m left standing on the balcony trying to take in what just happened.

I jump as my phone buzzes in my hand. It must be better reception up here at the top of the festival site. Two missed calls from Mum and a message from Nathan: Hey Liv, where are you? I need to talk to you. Can you meet me at the totem pole?

My heart jumps in my chest. What does he want to talk to me about? Maybe he feels bad about blanking me this morning. Maybe it was all a misunderstanding. Maybe he still likes me.

Me: Okay. I can be there in ten minutes.

Downstairs, the VIP area is now packed. I weave my way through the crowd and back along the winding walkway. The security guard gives me a nod as I leave.

The last twenty-four hours have been a rollercoaster ride.

I can’t wait to tell Nathan all about it.

The festival site is different in the dark, and it takes a moment to get my bearings.

I walk for a while, then turn under one of the ribbon archways.

I’m expecting to see the field with the circus tents, but it’s a car park full of lorries.

I don’t know where I am. I head back towards the VIP area to ask the security guard the way to the totem pole.

Suddenly, someone grabs my hair from behind and yanks.

My head jerks back sharply and the force of it drags me to the ground.

I land in a heap, one leg folded under me, my torso twisted.

I cry out in pain, but a sweaty palm smothers my mouth and a voice close to my ear hisses, ‘Shut your fucking mouth!’