At which point, no word of a lie, he starts this song about his Ventolin inhaler, which includes the immortal chorus:
“Ohhhh, when my chest is tight,
And breathing is a fight,
I grab my trusty puffer,
So I no longer suffer!
Oh, Carolyn, Oh, Carolyn,
My sweet supply of Ventolin,
Generically salbutamol,
Expand my airways,
Make me well!”
The audience does not know how to take him at first, and in fairness, it’s weird and it’s somewhat “out there” – I mean, he’s in a duffel coat, singing about asthma, but from gradual nervous titters and odd chuckles at first, they actually start really enjoying it, and I have to admit, you get swept away in Elliot’s sweet enthusiasm for his inhaler and the geekiness of the whole song. Plus, he wrote it himself, and while some of the scansion is an exercise in linguistic contortion, it is hilariously enjoyable.
Nate actually whoops.
And that is the biggest expression of delight I’ve seen out of him since we started this sorry trip.
I get my phone out and take a few pics. It’s reasonably dark in here, and the stage lights reflect and refract nicely in the lens, and with some careful positioning, you can’t really see Elliot clearly; you just get a sense of a person on a stage singing, in a dark room, with some other people in the audience watching. Perfect for my caption:
VIP tickets to a top-secret gig. Nate and I are #blessed to get to see this guy sing at such an intimate venue – definitely something ticked off the bucket list! Feels totally different live, up close and personal. Such a great day.
I smile because no sooner have I posted it than the like notifications start flashing up. Dylan and Tariq might have got Wembley, but who got the authentic, real, unplugged experience? Well, not us. But they don’t know that.
Elliot gets a standing ovation when he finishes, which he looks genuinely surprised by as he takes a little bow and does a cub scout salute at the audience.
I glance at Nate, who’s now actually smiling at Elliot.
So.
I’m piecing this together, but my money is on Nate liking Elliot. I can’t be entirely sure what shenanigans went on in my tree house six years ago, but it’s quite clear to me that Nate finds Elliot adorable.
So.
But that’s fine, right? That’s cool. Because happy Nate equals Instagrammable Nate equals higher engagement equals revenge on Dylan plus success for me as I gain followers and become some sort of influencer. So it’s all good. We’re all winners here. It’s all … good.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
NATE
Elliot wins! Of course he does, because he’s awesome! He bounds up to our table afterwards like he’s won the lottery, which he kind of has, because the prize money is a whole five hundred pounds.
“Yabba dabba doo!” he howls, as he high-fives us all.
Elliot’s mum, Jane, who is also at our table, makes a concerned face. “Have you had sugar, Elliot?”
“No, a bit, some,” Elliot replies. “I’m OK. I’m good!”
Jane sighs. She seems like a woman on the edge. She has slightly wild hair and googly eyes, and only half pays attention to anyone else on the table because she’s always watching Elliot.
Elliot sits down and Jack leans over to him. “Sensational. Triumphant. Five stars.”
“Thanks, Jack!” Elliot grins.
“You were really funny, mate,” my dad adds. He turns to Jane. “You’ve got a right one here!”
Jane rolls her eyes. “Try living with him when he’s strumming that instrument almost every waking hour!”
“Oo-er!” Elliot grins.
Jane shakes her head. “Seriously, El, not now.”
Elliot’s eyes meet mine. “Congratulations,” I say.
“Thanks!” He smiles.
I feel myself blush.
And then Rose pipes up, and whether it’s just classic Rose, or whether it’s because it’s well past her bedtime, I don’t know, but she says, apropos of nothing,
“Nate and Jack are husbands.”
Elliot’s eyes widen. “Ohhhhh,” he says. “Oh, I didn’t realize. Ohh.”
“Um—” I begin.
“Ohh, yay!” Elliot continues, smiling.
“No, you see, that’s not true,” I say. “We’re—”
“We’re definitely not,” Jack interrupts.
“Definitely not,” I confirm.
“Oh god, are you actually?” Mum asks.
I screw my face up. “What? No, I just said—”
“Just, there’s a lot of denial happening, which normally—”
“Means something which isn’t a thing, is actually a thing,” Dad chimes in. “We thought Rose was winding you up before.”
“She was,” I scowl.
“I was deadly serious,” Rose says, totally deadpan.
“Jack and me are—” And I say “barely friends” at the exact same time he says “good mates”, and then he just crosses his arms, sits back in his chair and stares at me like I’ve thrown shit at him.
“OMG, awkward,” Rose mutters, slurping her Coke.
I decide the best thing now is just to shut up. Thing is, I didn’t mean it in a bad way – it’s just that we weren’t really friends at all, and now it sort of feels like we’re moving towards that again, but I didn’t want to presume we were full-on friends, hence the qualification of “barely” which, on reflection, I can see sounds bad. You see, this is why I really shouldn’t say stuff. Some people are better just not taking part in life.
“So, here’s a thought!” Elliot’s mum says. “The hotel Elliot and I are staying at is really quiet, it’s a spa hotel, really nice, and they’ve got some great deals on, so why don’t you guys stay the night? It’s only up the road. The boys can bunk in Elliot’s room, means you’ll only need a room for you two and Rose.”
Mum and Dad glance at each other and just as Dad opens his mouth to doubtless pour cold water on the idea, Mum’s straight in with,
“If there’s hot running water and some bed linen with a decent thread count, I’m in.”
Dad gives her a look, which I know to be the look of ‘but what about the cost?’
Mum shrugs. “I don’t care. I can’t live like this all summer.”
“Like this? Like what?” Dad hisses.
“Vagabonds,” Mum says. “And I don’t think it’s coincidence that Karen posted pics of her last cruise on Facebook yesterday, just after
