Surprise

Monday dawns bright and sunny, and I wake up feeling positive. I spent the weekend working through the emotions I felt over seeing Garry again. I did yoga, went for a run, ate chocolate and watched sappy chick flicks, and now I'm ready to box up that shit and put it in the furthest part of my mind. It also helped that I had a long chat with my sister, Sophie, who always manages to help me find my balance. It's still another few weeks until she is back from her latest adventure and I can't help but miss her to bits.

I smile when my phone buzzes and another message from Jackson comes through. He's certainly persistent, even though I have resisted messaging him back. But instead of the usual selfie, it's a picture of a ticket for a concert tonight at the O2 with my name scrawled across it alongside the message:

Waiting for you at the Box Office. J

My name is obscuring the name of the band, but it must be a big one if they are playing at such a big venue. I am guessing Jackson's band must be the support act as the way he talked about the band made it seem like they weren't particularly huge. Sod it, I decide, I need a fun night out, and I love live music. I still don't message Jackson back but decide that I'll send him a thank you text after the concert.

I end up having a crazy day. The stock delivery was late, and half of it was missing. Then Devon called in sick for the lunchtime shift, so by the time I managed to get changed and hightail it out of the bar I was running super late. When I finally manage to find the Box Office and collect my ticket, I'm sure I'm going to miss Jackson's band. And sure enough, just as I am sliding into my seat, the band is walking off.

I crane my head, trying to glimpse Jackson, but I can't make him out. Finally, I take a proper look around me; I have an amazing view of the stage, which makes me think that I'm certainly not sitting in the cheap seats. I look down at the ticket and let out a squeak when I see the name of the headline act: Blackfriars. Holy shit, this band rocks! They have a heavy rock sound with a bluesy vibe that I love. They first got big whilst I was at university, and I have bought every album since. Seriously, I am so glad I came tonight.

Twenty minutes later the band strut onto the stage, and I find myself going all fan-girl and screaming along with everyone else. A flash of light blue fabric catches my eye and I stare more closely at the guitarist as he steps forward. Inky black hair and a piercing gaze, even from where I'm sitting. Oh. My. God. Everything clicks into place.

I am not obsessive about music. I know what I like, and my Spotify playlist is filled with songs spanning the last couple of decades. But generally, I don't have a clue when it comes to band members beyond the lead singer, and I don't tend to pay much attention to album covers. So, it feels like a jolt of lightning has hit me when I realise that Jackson is actually Jackson Smith, lead guitarist of one of the country's biggest rock bands for the last fifteen years. Fuck, no wonder he is so skilled in bed; he will have plenty of groupies to practice on, I think a little sourly.

I push my negative thoughts away and lose myself in the music, singing along and enjoying the show the guys put on with the rest of the crowd. Things are just starting to wind down, and a glance at my watch tells me that the band have been playing for over two hours already when I feel a light tap on my shoulder. I whip my head around to find a petite brunette with an official-looking headset and pass dangling around her neck. "Kat?" she asks.

"Yes?" I say with a frown, wondering what she is after. Have I done something wrong?

"Come with me, please," she instructs as if I should know why she is here.

I shrug, deciding to go with it and get up. I follow the girl as she leads me through a door near the stage. I struggle to keep up with her as she strides through the corridors at a crazy pace. Eventually, we end up standing outside a door. "You can wait in here," she says, pushing open the door and motioning me to step inside. I do so, but before I have a chance to question her further, she closes the door.

I glance around and take in the pile of clothes stacked in one corner, the guitar cases propped up against the wall, a mini-fridge filled with water, and snacks littering the table. I am pretty sure that I am in Jackson's dressing room. Suddenly I hear the muted roar of the crowd, and then a couple minutes later a cacophony of noise filters down the corridor. The voices are coming closer and closer. I can't make out the words, just the general gist of the band congratulating themselves on a good gig.

Nerves fill my belly as a voice I recognise calls out from the other side of the door, "I'll see you guys on the bus in a couple of hours." I hold my breath as the door cracks open and Jackson strides through before pushing it closed with a soft click.

"You're here," he says, stepping forward. A palpable tension fills the room as we eye each other silently.