I took the cash box to Ryan. “I made nearly five hundred quid for you blokes tonight, not that you appreciate it.”
“Oh, great. Can you bring back the other boxes?”
I glared at him. “You’re more than twice my size. You do it!”
I went across the room and flopped onto a beaten up leather sofa. Keith joined me. “I’m going to help load the van so we can get out of here sooner than later. We have a long drive tomorrow.”
The van was loaded and we were soon in our room.
This time we remembered to set an alarm, but it went off way too soon.
“I’ll never get used to these four-hour nights,” I groaned.
I washed in the miniscule sink, while Keith threw on the same Levis he’d dumped on the floor. He pulled a clean t-shirt from his bag and ran his fingers through his hair a few times. I folded my clothes and placed them in my bag.
Keith flopped in the chair. “Are you fucking ready yet? ”
It looked like Keith’s passion of the last couple days was taking another holiday. I tried not to be disappointed.
I feasted on scrambled eggs, kippers, toast with raspberry jam and some tea. Again, the rest of our entourage staggered in well after eight. They looked like they’d slept in their clothes, were unshaven, and looked a right mess.
“You know, I don’t know why we bother getting up early,” Keith protested. “You lot sleep until we’re supposed to leave. Next time I’m sleeping the extra hour.” He turned to Ryan. “Give me the keys. I’m driving.”
“I’ll do it. My legs’ll cramp if I’m in the back for three fuckin’ hours.”
“I’m more awake than you. We’ll stop half way and trade places.”
Ryan dug the keys from his tight-fitting, tattered Levis, tossing them to Keith.
By the time we were on our way, it was nearly nine – an hour late.
“Bloody hell! Why do you torture me so?” Jimmy screamed when I popped in an Adam Ant tape.
I turned and glared at him. “You choose the music when you’re up here. I choose when I am. À bon chat, bon rat, as we say in France.”
“Whatever that bloody means,” he grumbled.
“Tit for tat,” Billy piped up.
I turned and applauded. “Very good. Go to the front of the class.”
Jimmy flung his cigarette out the window. “I’m fucking starving. Let’s grab a bite.”
“I’m with you there,” Billy concurred. “Now that I’m awake I’m starving.”
“No stops,” Ryan shouted. “We’re already an hour late.”
“That’s your fucking fault,” Keith shot back. “You were supposed to be up at seven to rouse the rest of us. You’re outvoted.”
“Fucking aye!” Ryan bellowed. “What happens if we run into bad traffic, then?”
“Nothing will happen,” Keith answered “I doubt South Hampton has rush hour. We’ll stop in Dorchester.”
Dorchester’s High Street looked exactly how I imagined the villages looked in the Jane Austen novels I loved. Keith parked the van. “We’ll meet back here in half an hour.”
“Half an hour!” Ryan fumed. “We don’t have a bloody half hour to spare.”
“We do too!” Keith countered. “We’re an hour tops from Southampton.”
Keith lit a cigarette, wrapped an arm around me, and we headed into the town. I was mesmerized. We ducked through a passageway leading to large windowed stores with colorful displays. The stores were so close I could stand in the middle of the brick passageway and almost touch both sides. We found a small café and ordered smoked cheese and fish, then took a leisurely stroll to the van. I could almost see Elizabeth and Darcy flitting about arm in arm.
Everyone staggered back on time and we were soon cruising down the motorway. until half an hour in when traffic suddenly stopped.
“What the hell?” Ryan erupted from the back seat. “We’re in a fucking car park, not a motorway. I told you we shouldn’t have stopped.”
“All right, don’t throw a benny. We’ll start moving.” Keith didn’t sound convincing.
Five minutes, then ten passed, but we barely moved a foot.
“Bloody hell!” Ryan yelled. “Get us off this fucking motorway.”
“How the hell can I do that?” Keith yelled back. “The van doesn’t fly.”
He yelled at the motorist in the next lane. “Oi, do you know what’s going on?”
Some gentleman with white hair and an equally white trimmed beard answered back. “Someone said it was a lorry fire, but I don’t see smoke. Maybe they’re clearing away now.” “Fuck! We’ll be late!” Ryan kept screaming.
“If that chap is spot on, they’re clearing the wreckage which means this mess started at least an hour ago. Need I fucking remind you, if we started at eight when we were supposed to, we probably would have avoided this.”
“Bloody hell!” was all Ryan said.
Another five minutes passed and we still hadn’t moved.
“How long does it bloody take to clear the wreckage?” Keith grumbled.
“If it takes bloody longer, we’re walking to the gig,” Ryan said.
“I’m not lugging my drum kit all that way,” Jimmy said.
“I’ll see if I can see anything,” Keith said. He climbed out his open window and onto the bonnet.
“I’m going out too,” Jimmy said. “It beats bloody sitting here.” He also slid out a window but pulled himself onto the roof.
“You better not dent the van,” Ryan stuck his head out the window and yelled.
Within seconds Billy crawled out another window, joining Jimmy on the roof.
“There’s nothing but endless cars,” Billy yelled. “I can’t see any bloody wreck.”
Keith jumped off and came to my window. “Hey, luv. You have your camera with the zoom lens?”
“It’s stashed in the back. Be careful. It’s borrowed from the academy.”
“I will treat it like my child,” he said stealing a kiss. He knelt on the back seat, rummaged around, found the camera, then leaped onto the roof with Jimmy and Billy
“Fuck,” Ryan said. “That roof won’t hold all their weight.”
“Hey, I see something!” Keith yelled.
Ryan was out of the van in a heartbeat. “Get down. Let me see.”
“I see the fucking fire brigade,” Keith yelled. “It looks about a mile.”
“I’m going to walk there and see how much longer it’ll take,” Ryan said.
“I’ll pull over and give you a lift,” Keith offered. “Be sure to stick your thumb out.”
Ryan showed no signs of amusement as he trudged off.
Billy and Jimmy remained on the roof, yelling greetings to other trapped motorists. Again, I wondered why no one found anything unusual about two blokes, one with a green Mohawk, the other with spiky brown hair and chains dangling everywhere, yelling at them from the roof of a van.
Keith hopped off the bonnet and opened the passenger door for me. “Join the party, luv.” He took my hand, helped me onto the bonnet, then joined me.
Billy and Jimmy chatted with motorists while Keith and I snuggled on the bonnet.
Ryan came sauntering up nearly an hour later. “Quit your snogging, you two. They’re starting to reroute those closest to the wreck. It shouldn’t be long.”
Keith leaped off. “It’s about fucking time!” He took my hand as I leaped off.
Billy and Jimmy clambered off the roof and slid in the same way they came out.
“Someone said our best way of reaching Southampton is south through Bournemouth,” Ryan said, opening the back door and sliding in.
Keith took out the torn map. “We just need a motorway that isn’t a bloody car park.”
It was over half an hour before we were finally guided off the motorway and onto another. Our speed varied depending whether the road was dual or single carriageway. Five o’clock became six.
The street narrowed to a single carriageway as we entered the town of Poole and shortly there after, Bournemouth. Both towns boasted long sandy beaches filled with sun bathers. I envied them. We turned north and the beach became a memory.
When we finally made it to Southampton it was after eight. Ryan was screaming because we were supposed to be on stage by nine. We’d been on the road nearly twelve hours, four of which had been stuck on the motorway.
I was starving, needed a toilet, and felt like my bum would fall off from sitting in that van all day. We weren’t sure where the club was and had to stop twice for directions. It was half past eight when we came to a screeching stop at the back of the club.
[To be continued… Click here to view all chapters.]
