Million Love Songs(15)

We’re agreed on that.

So I grab a packet of HobNobs to take with us in lieu of breakfast and we jump into Charlie’s car, which appears to be more reliable than mine. Minutes later we’re heading off towards London.





Chapter Thirteen





It’s a little past six o’clock in the morning when we reach the Maida Vale studios. I’m still half asleep and the HobNobs have long gone. It’s just about light and, despite being nearly summer, it’s bloody freezing. I wish I’d put on a fleece or thermal knickers. At least it’s stopped raining. For now.

We walk along the length of the queue which already snakes along the pavement and Charlie says hello to nearly everyone. Clearly these are the hardcore fans. Some have chairs and flasks. At the front there are even pop-up tents and sleeping bags in evidence, so obviously the queuing started in earnest last night and those fans have endured the cold and rain to be at the front.

We take our place at the end of the line. Charlie gets plastic bags out of her pocket and we put them down on the damp pavement so that we can sit on them. I wish I’d brought more HobNobs. I admit that I’m amazed to see that there are many, many ladies here before us. Many ladies and one solitary man.

‘Hi, Paul,’ Charlie says as he comes alongside us. ‘All right?’

‘Yeah. Good to see you. I saw on Facebook that you were coming. Mind if I join you?’

‘Be my guest,’ Charlie says. He unfolds a small camping chair and sets it up beside us. ‘You take this, Charlie. I’ll have the plastic bag.’

‘If you’re sure,’ she says, but is very quick to swap with him. Paul settles on the plastic bag next to me.

‘Hiya.’

‘This is Ruby.’ Charlie flicks a thumb at me. ‘A Take That virgin.’

‘Nice to meet you,’ he says.

‘You too.’ He’s a nice-looking guy. Shortish but kind of slender with fair hair, kind eyes and, even at this ungodly time of the day, a warm smile.

‘You’re not a fan?’

‘I do like their stuff, but I probably wouldn’t be up at dawn to see them if it wasn’t for Charlie.’ I confess with a grimace.

He laughs at that. ‘This is how it begins.’

‘I’m prepared to be converted. Have you always been a fan?’

‘Yeah,’ he admits, shyly. ‘I realise that I’m a thorn among many roses, but the good ladies of the GB Army tolerate me.’

‘We love you,’ Charlie says. ‘You balance out the oestrogen level a bit.’

He laughs. ‘I’m not sure about that.’

‘What time does the show start?’ I ask.

‘Seven o’clock.’

I think I must gasp out loud as they both laugh.

‘We’re in for the long haul,’ Paul says.

‘You have to be dedicated,’ Charlie adds. ‘Once we’ve got our entry tickets we can leave and come back later. So we’re not stuck here all the time. They open the doors about four o’clock so that we can watch the sound checks and the end of the rehearsals. We usually try to nip to the Chinese restaurant down the road and have a set meal. Does that sound OK?’

‘You’ve obviously done this before.’

‘Many times,’ Paul concedes.

‘So how come you’re such a big fan?’ I ask him.

‘I was an aspiring performer,’ he says. ‘I went to stage school as a kid and wanted to be in a boy band. Take That were my heroes. Even now I could show you all of their routines.’

‘That would be a sight worth seeing,’ Charlie quips.

‘I just wasn’t good enough,’ he admits, with a hint of sadness. ‘I was there with the future David Tennants and Olivia Colemans. I’m afraid that I was one of the also-rans.’

‘Harsh,’ Charlie says.

‘But true. I had a few bit parts as an actor and a few in the chorus of musical theatre which didn’t really live up to expectations or open the door to stardom. I could have spent the next twenty years chasing a dream and having walk-on roles in Holby City, but I decided to do something lucrative instead. I’m an accountant by day, but I’m in a band even now. I play bass in a pub a couple of nights a week which keeps me sane. The rest of the time, I follow Take That.’

‘We’re both going to try to get to their gig in Paris this summer if I can blag some extra shifts,’ Charlie says. ‘You should come.’

Then a bunch of ladies walk along the queue, chatting as they go. When they see Paul, they stop to hug him. While he’s distracted, I whisper to Charlie, ‘He’s very nice.’

‘Yeah.’ She glances in his general direction and says rather non-commitally, ‘He is.’

‘Is that it?’

Charlie checks he can’t hear and then whispers to me, ‘He wears Tom Ford’s Neroli Portofino just like Gary does.’

‘Does he? Is that a good thing?’

‘Are you mad?’ she says in disbelief and shakes her head at me. ‘It smells like paradise and a basket full of fluffy kittens.’

I spend the next hour trying not to sniff him. We wait some more and then, at two o’clock – when we’ve been waiting for a mere eight of our human hours – we get our valuable golden tickets that allow us to go into the studios at four o’clock where we can enjoy another three-hour wait for the show to start.