ME & THE MONSTER

trouble

The man who would later become the love of my life stood at the centre of the stage. 

He looked about my age, maybe a little older, and he cradled a guitar in his arms. A sudden hush fell over the crowd. Then he plucked a chord and began to sing. 

I'd like to be clear about something: I grew up in a household with no music, if you exclude the eerie background music Mum plays on her phone during Sect Evenings. And I can barely mumble my way through a song; I'm so tone-deaf it's almost a talent of sorts.

But despite this, or maybe just because of it, I knew that he was good. Not just good. Exceptionally so.

I listened to him, and something inside my chest ached. His voice was deep, and dark, and rippled through the air like silk underwater. It felt like honey in my bones.

I wouldn't have been able to tell you what the song was about, nor what the singer looked like. I didn't notice, not really.

Not then.

Not yet.

At the moment he was only a voice, bodiless, weightless ...

I looked back at the glaring woman waiting for her drink.

"Right," I croaked out, trying to dislodge the huge lump that had formed in my throat. "Here's your rum and coke, madam."

*

"You like those guys, Rae?" Ben Davies asked.

"Who?" I said, even though I knew perfectly well who he meant.

The music had shifted into a pounding rhythm, a heady drum-and-bass thud that reverberated off the walls and echoed in my chest. And over the music, he was singing. The throng of people below the stage had gone wild, cheering and clapping above their heads and stamping their feet to the beat.

Turns out tone-deaf me wasn't immune to the music either. Grinning, I grabbed Vanessas wrist and twirled her around.

She let out a startled squeal, then yelled into my ear: "They're called Mandrake. The band. They came last Friday, when you were ill. Shit, you should've seen it. People went mental."

Ben turned halfway around and darted a disparaging look over his shoulder.

"Can't see what's so special about them," he muttered. "Weird sort of vegetable name they've given themselves."

There was something of the vegetable about Ben Davies himself. He looked like an anaemic stick of celery. He had a beige smile and a beige face and wore exquisitely tasteful beige clothes.

 There was nothing particularly awful about him. There was nothing particularly interesting about him either. He was merely a background sort of person, utterly unmemorable.

"And that singer bloke seems rather full of himself, don't you think?" said Ben.

Vanessa giggled, vicious as a hyena. "I'd kill for a taste of him. Eh, Rae?"

"Er."

"Oops, I forgot you two were an item now."

I heard Ben say: "Maybe", at the same time I declared, "We're not."

A small silence followed. Talk about awkward.

Ben inclined his head. "Rae's right. We're just getting to know each other. We've no rush. No rush. I'm going to get some air, ladies. Call me if you need anything."

With a sigh, Vanessa watched him leave. "He's the perfect match for you, Rae. And I'm not just saying so because he's my friend, mind. Give him a chance, go on."