My Secret Rockstar Boyfriend (22 page)

I see the crowd of people watching me, and I hate myself for how much I enjoy it. The fact that I am so smug to be On The List makes me question all my values and everything I have ever believed
about myself, just for a second. They can finally see how special I must secretly be. I hate myself just a tiny bit for letting this make me feel important – but mostly I just really, really
enjoy the attention.

Within seconds of us setting foot on the other side of the divide, a security guard appears as if from nowhere. The crowd senses blood.

‘I’m Tuesday Cooper and this is Anna Russell – we should be on the list . . .’ I say.

I’m aiming for ‘quiet authority’ and ‘I do this sort of thing all the time’, but I’m not sure that I quite pull it off.

‘Tuesday! Get your ass back here now!’

I recognize Sadie Steinbeck’s shrill voice straight away, and I am entirely unsurprised when a woman who looks like Kate Moss’s older, more raddled sister appears. She is clearly
aiming for the bucolic English look, with her Barbour and Hunters, but still she somehow comes across as pure Manhattan. This only increases the collective interest, which is probably more
confusion by now. Sadie Steinbeck and the security guard have a quick confab; Anna and I are both given wristbands and lanyards and ushered quickly inside.

I can’t resist a last look back over my shoulder – at the gathered proletariat – before I disappear into the coveted enclosure. I should probably be insulted by the evident
bafflement on each and every one of the faces I see. The thought process is transparent: she certainly can’t be a model or a TV presenter, she isn’t even good-looking enough to be an
old rocker’s daughter, so who the hell is she? Anna could maybe pass for a minor pop star in the Lykke Li mould, but I’m not fetching enough even for that.

I don’t care. The knowledge that it’s me who is here to see Jackson Griffith makes me feel not only defiant but officially vindicated against any opinion that has ever been formed of
me.
I win.

However, as Sadie Steinbeck hauls me through the fence, I notice how quickly they all turn away. Not much to see here.

To my total surprise, there’s not much to see on the other side either. Again I wonder what it was that I was expecting – fountains, marble or gold compost loos?

The VIP compound looks like a car park. With a few wooden flowers dotted about in a lame attempt to make it look as if we are actually at a festival. It’s depressing. Until I start to
notice details like the free bar and the luxurious Winnebago area beyond.

‘Here she is,’ Sadie Steinbeck announces.

When I see Jackson, everything else becomes irrelevant. He looks even more golden and sun-bleached in the summer outdoors. He is still barefoot, with feet looking decidedly filthy, and wearing
only a pair of ratty denim shorts that pretty much match mine. If anything, his are probably a few sizes smaller.

He looks supernaturally magnificent – I hear Anna next to me take in a quick, sharp breath – but for some reason he is lying flat out on the grass.

‘Jack! I
said
she’s here,’ Sadie Steinbeck repeats, more loudly this time. ‘Finally.’

He springs up and does a double take, as if he needs a moment to believe it’s really me. Then he hugs me for a very long time. It’s a full minute before he lets me go.

‘I’m so glad you’re here,’ he breathes into my ear, barely audible.

Just like last time, he smells of bonfires and cake mix; it’s a smell that makes me feel all floppy. He holds my face in his hands and presses his forehead down to mine. It’s finally
going to happen, I think.

‘Why are you a mermaid?’ he asks me, suddenly and earnestly, breaking away and holding me at arm’s length. ‘Am I dreaming?’

I had seriously forgotten that both Anna and I are still in fancy dress, and I burst out laughing. I am brought back down to earth – we are in a field and there are loads of people around.
This whole situation is just too ridiculous. Lovely, but ridiculous.

I turn to Anna and see the look of total incredulity on her face – and I realize that this is the first time anyone has seen that this exists, this is real. Until this point, it has just
been the two of us – alone in a room, or in private emails or just talking on the phone for hours. Suddenly, out in the open, exposed, what we have feels so fragile. Jackson keeps an arm
around me, and Anna and I exchange an
I know, right?
glance. This feels beyond strange.

As if I could forget, I am soon reminded that Sadie Steinbeck is here as well.

‘Whatever you do,’ she whispers in my ear – a harsh whisper, not a soft one, ‘do not leave this fenced area, and
do not
let him out of your sight. OK?’

She eyeballs me until I nod like a nodding dog.

‘Right, Jack,’ she adds much more gently, ‘does this mean we can get some work done now? We’ve got BBC6 Music, MTV2 and that documentary crew waiting for you . .
.’

For a second he looks very young and surprisingly frail, but he looks at me and manages a smile, squeezing my hand before letting himself be led away. I find myself wondering when we will ever
be alone long enough again that he might kiss me – I might have to be brave and take matters into my own hands soon, before I spontaneously combust on the spot.

‘Oh my actual effing . . .’ Anna exhales, watching the two of them as we follow them towards the adjoining press enclosure at a small distance. ‘I can’t believe
this.’

‘I know . . .’

We stand back a few steps as Jackson is engulfed by the festival’s media, watching as Sadie manoeuvres him around.

‘Oh my god, Chew!’ Anna exclaims again, watching the whole spectacle. ‘This is, like, a real thing.’

‘Admit it – were you starting to think I had made it all up?’

‘Well . . . I wouldn’t go
that
far. Maybe just that you had exaggerated – a bit. Got overexcited, maybe. I don’t know. Anyway, I was
so
wrong.’

‘Seriously. I can hardly believe it myself . . .’ I say, in the understatement of the century. ‘I know this whole thing has been completely crazy. But, now you can see –
here it is.’

Just then Jackson turns and looks at me while he is being interviewed, points in my direction and suddenly grins.

‘I understand now,’ Anna says, reading my mind. ‘I sort of did before. But now I
really
do. I get it. I mean, look at him looking at you. And even I can see that
he’s – well – he’s . . .
Jackson Griffith
!’

‘But even if he wasn’t, he’s . . .’

I want to say ‘special’ and that ‘he really gets me’, but it’s just too cheesy, so I stop talking.

‘Anyway,’ Anna goes on, checking out her lanyard and the magic ‘AAA’ pass, ‘we’re here! That bit was real too. This is awesome! So, what shall we
do?’

‘Well,’ I reply, looking towards the Pyramid Stage, out beyond the divide, ‘Sadie said I’m not allowed to leave the backstage area. I have to stay here with her and
Jackson.’

The sound of any music from here is indistinct, being between the two main stages, and the restricted view – due to the high fences and panelling to keep the prying eyes of the crowds out
– means that we can’t see much of anything.

‘Well, I suppose this is cool too . . .’ Anna says.

Careful to keep Jackson in sight, even though he is preoccupied with work and surrounded by people, we do our best to explore the hallowed VIP area. The weird thing is that it doesn’t look
especially hallowed, once you’re actually in it. There’s not much to it that we haven’t already seen. We find the free bar, which is pretty cool but not exactly amazing as far as
I’m concerned – I mean, there’s free drink but that’s it.

Someone, presumably a model of some sort, suddenly comes barrelling out of a Winnebago on endless bare legs, pouting and covering her face at once, flicking blonde hair in every direction.

‘Not now!’ she snaps for no good reason and shoves me out of the way as she passes.

‘Charming,’ Anna comments.

We get ourselves a free beer from the bar – I don’t even like beer, but it just feels like we might as well. We sit on the grass and chat while Jackson gets on with it, but after a
while – to be honest – it feels as though we might as well be anywhere. We might as well be at Macari’s. I have to keep reminding myself that we are actually at Glastonbury, and
looking over at Jackson to tell myself that he is real.

‘Hey! What in
the hell
do you think you’re doing, man?’

Our little pocket of calm is broken when I hear shouting coming from Jackson’s direction. It’s a second before I realize that it’s him shouting, not until I see him standing up
to his full lanky height and shoving the small Italian journalist who has been interviewing him in the chest. It’s hard to know who said what to him, and who started it, but now Jackson is
the only one making any noise. The kerfuffle grows pretty quickly as the whole press tent starts to watch with an air of glee.

‘Seriously, man – that’s out of line. I’m not gonna talk to you if you’re being like this. No, seriously. Back off. I
said
, “Back
off!”’

He pushes his way out, Sadie Steinbeck instantly springing to his side. I’m not sure what to do, and I hang back for a moment before my instincts take over and I have to see if he’s
OK.

‘Just leave me alone,’ he snaps, as if he hasn’t even realized it’s me.

Sadie glares at me as if this is all my fault, and then takes Jackson off into a quiet corner of the enclosure.

‘Blimey,’ Anna says, wide-eyed.

I feel disproportionately embarrassed and kind of wounded that Jackson brushed me off like that – I thought I was here to save the day. There is an awkward silence.

‘Hey,’ Anna says, eyes gleaming with a new idea, ‘why don’t we get out of here?’

‘I can’t – I said I’d stay here.’

‘Well, we’re not much use hanging around here, and you have to admit that the VIP experience isn’t exactly thrilling. Bat for Lashes and Tied to the Mast are playing on the
Other Stage tonight, and I’d really like to see them. Come on – we could go now, while Jackson’s busy doing . . . whatever it is he’s doing. I bet Sadie won’t even
notice if we sneak off for a while and she’s got your number if she wants you.’

It sounds really tempting. It’s my first time at Glastonbury and I haven’t been up to the Green Fields, been on the fairground or even seen a whole set by a band yet.

‘You should go without me. Honestly, Anna – I know how much you love Bat for Lashes. Go off and have some fun, OK?’

Anna tries to convince me, but in the end she goes off on her own. I’m glad in a way – I don’t want to have to feel responsible for keeping her here when it’s really not
that great. How funny that the VIP area isn’t anything like it’s cracked up to be.

But even if I could go with her, I’d still want to stay here with Jackson.

The Comeback Kid?

Noted hellraiser and former heart-throb Jackson Griffith is reportedly up to his old tricks again. Amid speculation that he is to make his ‘big
comeback’ live at Glastonbury today, he has allegedly been spied staggering around the site looking more than a little worse for wear and brawling with the press. Having split with his
obligatory French model wife Célia Le Masurier, rumours are rife that he now has an anonymous English schoolgirl in tow. Watch this space – a leopard doesn’t change its spots, so
there is bound to be more controversy from Mr Griffith before the end of the weekend . . .

Comments

Has-been!

Anonymous

Still hot.

Anonymous

I still would.

Anonymous

You don’t know where it’s been.

Anonymous

OK, I have to admit that the tepee is pretty cool. It’s safe to say it might be the coolest tent I have ever been in. It’s definitely the fanciest; it’s
fancier than most hotels I’ve ever stayed in. Waking up in the tepee – even in its equivalent to an entrance hall (yes, it has actual rooms and is approximately the size of my
mum’s entire house) – feels positively luxurious.

However, I begin to register that I have woken up due to the sound of Anna’s bag zipping up, and that she is standing in front of me fully dressed. She has a purposeful air that I’m
not sure I like the look of.

‘What’s going on?’ I whisper, stretching my legs and uncoiling myself stiffly from my curled up sleeping position in a sort of deckchair.

I cast a panicked look at the canvas door of the tepee ‘bedroom’, where Jackson has been holed up for the last few hours. In fact, I feel as if I have been either silent or
whispering for approximately the past few years.

I was really excited to find out that Jackson has a tepee in the special tepee field – this really is coveted and way better than the boring VIP enclosure. These are actual, massive,
awesome tepees. They are for the famous and the seriously rich – who still want to feel like they’re living the hippie festival dream, but with all the luxuries of a five-star
resort.

Last night, Jackson disappeared into the depths of the tepee and Sadie Steinbeck quickly made her escape, instructing me on pain of death not to leave my sentry position for so much as a second.
To let him out of the tepee and risk him potentially doing a runner would seriously be more than my life is worth.

Once we were alone in the vast tent, I ventured into the bedroom to try to talk to Jackson and discover what was the matter. I found him fast asleep, and I didn’t like to wake him up when
he’s got his big performance tomorrow and is in obvious need of the rest.

I was feeling too awake and fidgety to try to go to sleep in there with him, so I sat outside the bedroom by myself, trying my best not to disturb him. I’ve been too scared even to go to
the loo. I went for a wee round the side of the tepee so that I could still see the entrance, although I will not be telling Sadie Steinbeck that.

There hasn’t been the slightest movement from in there since. So I’ve spent half the night sitting in the same deckchair, waiting quietly for Anna to come back. Eventually I must
have fallen asleep in the chair.