A Dreamers Dream

Manchester, England. Part two

"Shots! Shots for everyone!" Freddie suddenly exclaims as he arrives back from yet another trip to the bar holding what looks to be a large plank of wood with several glasses sticking out of it that's got to be over four feet long. "Ladies first!" he says motioning to Sammy and me. Two other girls whose names I've already forgotten stand up from the opposite end of the booth and walk to Freddie's side.
"We're gonna have to get a little bit closer ladies, like this," he says, pulling the girls close up to his side, Sammy has already positioned herself against his other shoulder and is looking at me intently.

As I step forward, I see that the plank of wood is actually a shot holder, and it seems that the idea is we all stand in a line and simultaneously down the small glasses of lurid green liquid as one. I wonder how much of it I'm going to actually manage to swallow, and just how much is going to end up down the front of the dress I am wearing. Hmm, I wonder if Sammy will be mad when it does, but before I can protest she has pulled me closer to her and is joining in with Freddie counting down.

"Three, two, one DRINK!" They shout in unison, the glass nearest me rushes up towards my face. I quickly open my mouth and feel the sour-tasting liquid slide down my throat. Shuddering slightly at the strong apple taste but mostly, just grateful that I managed to catch it all and am not wearing it.

"Clark? You're up, mate!" The DJ calls down the microphone several shots later, and Clark stumbles to his feet, slightly unsteady. The first few people who've braved the mic haven't been too bad I must admit. A couple of girls did a fun take on a Little Mix song that I vaguely recognise, and there was the obligatory rendition of Ring of Fire, mixed in with a few random others. But I have a feeling that dear Clark is about to prove my point about karaoke. I've known this man for more years than I care to remember and as far as I am aware, I've never heard him sing.

By the end of the first verse of Meatloaf's classic 'I would do anything for love' I have to admit I am pleasantly surprised! Whilst Clark isn't going to be taking over Harry's shows anytime soon, he can definitely hold a tune and his voice really suits the track. I am happily singing along with Sammy as we sit perched at the end of the booth a few feet away from Clark, exaggerating every hand gesture and cheering him on at the top of our lungs.

As Clark belts out the penultimate chorus, I notice him start towards our table, and a cold shiver runs down my spine. He's staring straight at me, crooking his finger in my direction and with a sinking feeling I remember, there's a female section in this track, and I realise exactly what his plan is. Dammit. I'm completely trapped between Sammy and one of the riggers, George, and I know there is absolutely no way for me to escape. Just as Clark belts out the final "No I won't do that" I suck in a deep breath whilst he nods at me and pushes the microphone into my face.

Will you raise me up?
Will you help me down?
Will you help get me right out of this God-forsaken town?
Will you make it all a little less cold?

I begin tentatively, as much as I adore singing and this is one of my favourite songs, this really wasn't the introduction I wanted to give my fellow crew members on our first night out together. As I launch into the second part of the verse, grateful that the DJ isn't playing the extended version of the song, my eyes scan the bar and seem to lock uncontrollably with the one person in the room who wasn't supposed to know about my love of singing. Jeff.

Will you cater to every fantasy I've got?
Will you hose me down with holy water- if I get too hot?
Will you take me places I'll never know?

Shit. I watch as he stares back at me. Eyebrows knitted together in confusion. No doubt he is trying to remember who I am as he only met me for a short time the other day and I've not seen him since.

Thankfully, as if sensing my discomfort, Clark leans across Sammy to shout out his next lines into the mic which I am now holding, obscuring me from Jeff's vision. Well, in for a penny, in for a pound, I think to myself as the number of shots I've consumed give me courage. I belt out the last few lines, staring deep into Clark's eyes and running a finger over his stubbly cheek in mock affection, giving it everything I've got.

I know the territory – I've been around
It'll all turn to dust, and we'll all fall down
Sooner or later you'll be screwing around.

The last few bars of the track fade out as I harmonise the final lyrics with Clark, who has a huge satisfied grin plastered across his bloody face, clearly enjoying this. Sammy's scream is the first thing I hear, but it's soon interrupted by the loudest wolf whistle I have ever heard, It cuts through every other sound in the room, and most of the people around us fall silent. The owner of the said whistle strides towards me, purposefully with his fingers in his mouth. Shit. How did I fail to notice he was here? I wonder.

As seems to have become a habit for me every time I get in close proximity to this green-eyed man, the only words I can manage to utter are a string of four-letter ones. Fuck.