“I wasn’t—”
“Although it seems like Irena’s already repeated everything I told her in confidence anyway! And telling me you have feelings… What does that even mean, that you have feelings? And where has this suddenly come from, because until now you have given me absolutely no indication. I mean, one minute I think we’re friends and then a couple of weeks ago it became perfectly clear that you couldn’t even stand to have me around—”
“That wasn’t—”
“I mean, your behaviour towards me has been totally confusing, I have wasted literally hours of my life agonising over it, and now you’re telling me what? That you have feelings? I mean, do you think this is okay? To mess with me like this? Because I am sick and tired of men messing with me—”
“I’m not messing with you! How am I messing…?”
“—telling me that you have feelings for me and asking if I have feelings for you when you know perfectly well that we want completely different things.”
“No, but just listen—”
“—And unless that ever changed there could never be any future for us. But if you think I could just give up on everything I’ve ever wanted – my own family, my own children – that I could just cast that aside just because you suddenly decide—”
“I haven’t suddenly decided anything! I’ve been thinking about nothing else for weeks, and if I wasn’t sure that I could be on board with what you want for your future, I would never be saying this to you!”
“But what are you even saying to me? I don’t understand! Do you think this has been easy for me? Coming back here? Seeing you again? Do you know how long it took me to move on? Do you know how hard it’s been realising that I never actually moved on at all?! I thought – I really thought – that if I could be around you…I… Do you… And now you’re telling me… What do you even want from me?!”
“Libby,” I say, holding my hands up in defence, stunned by her reaction, “I don’t know what the hell’s going on here. I didn’t mean to upset you, I just wanted to tell you…” I trail off, searching desperately for the words that might somehow set this right.
“Just leave me alone! Please!” she snaps, shoving past me so forcefully that her water splashes all over my T-shirt.
“Wait!” I call, grabbing for her, but she slips from my hand and bolts down the alley.
I’m left wet, shocked and utterly bewildered.
I re-join the party just as a massive cheer – the biggest of the night – fills the air. Everyone’s on their feet so that I’m barely able to squeeze through all the bodies crammed onto the terrace. People are chanting, hollering, whistling…
I hear Michael’s voice on the microphone, offering a brief greeting to the crowd, who almost drown him out with their whoops of appreciation. I try to find a path through, searching desperately for any sign of Libby. I don’t know where I’m going or why, all I know is I can’t leave things as they are. As I search, I see Laura with her arms around Mark, the mechanic she once thought was a dick but now seems to have won her over. I see Amber, the girl with the dragon tattoo, putting her fingers in her mouth and emitting a shrill whistle, supporting her ex-boyfriend on stage while happily entwined with her new one. I see Tom and his wife, Kim, holding hands. I see Tyler and Theo with their respective partners. And I see Rob gazing proudly and adoringly towards the stage. It feels like everybody has someone tonight.
The music starts up to another loud cheer, and Michael’s strong, familiar voice fills the sky with an upbeat number that has the crowd jumping and pumping their hands in the air. All around me, people are singing along to his words, rocking their heads in time to his music.
“Dad!” I hear a call. “Dad!”
I spy Josh at the side of the terrace, desperately waving me over, looking stressed. I’ve been so distracted, I’d almost forgotten he was here.
I force my way through the crowd, wondering what the hell’s happened now.
When I reach him, he shouts something at me, but I can’t make it out.
“What?” I shout back, putting my arm around his neck and pulling him in close.
“I can’t do this!” he yells in my ear.
I look quizzically at his face, and then I curse myself and my own self-centredness. In my fluster over Libby, I’d momentarily forgotten: tonight’s his first time performing on stage. He looks anxious, his eyes searching mine, looking for me to rescue him.
My first instinct is to wring his neck. He can’t do this? After all the hassle he gave me about being allowed to perform?!
“What do you mean you can’t do it?” I shout in his ear. “Of course you can do it!”
He shakes his head, grimacing like the very idea is causing him pain.
I clutch the back of his neck and steer him towards the far end of the terrace where there’s a small patch of space.
“Listen,” I shout, taking his face in my hands and forcing him to look at me, “you are incredible!”
“I’m totally crapping myself! I feel sick!”
“That’s fine. It’s okay to be scared. Do you remember what Michael said? That he feels like that every time he gets up there?”
“Yeah, but people love him—”
“They’ll love you.”
“What if they don’t?”
“Then fuck them!”
He stares at me as if he can’t believe I just said that, and for a second it seems to shock him out of his state of fear. But it doesn’t take long for his anxiety to set back in.
“I can’t do it, Dad,” he says, looking distressed, “I’m sorry. I
