Will scrunched up his nose, dismissing the idea. ‘It all looks pretty natural from where I’m standing.’
‘That’s good, I guess …?’
‘Yeah. Ooooh, look, yourotherman’s up to sing.’
Will was right: Jack had stepped onto the stage and was adjusting the microphone. The sound of keyboards and percussion filled the room, and Rachel recognised the opening bars of ‘Common People’ by Pulp.
‘Ohno,’ Will said. ‘Terrible song choice.’
‘Why?’ Rachel asked, perplexed. ‘This is a great tune.’
‘Bloody hell, Rachel. Surely I don’t need to explain toyouof all people that someone who went to Harrow has no business singing about renting a flat above a shop. Anna would call this “cultural appropriation”, and – donottell her I said this – she’s right. I wouldn’t dare sing this song as if it meant something to me. I’d be murdered.’
Rachel laughed, but as Will’s words sank in she felt the truth of them. As far as she could remember, Jack hadn’t even needed to take out a student loan – he’d lived off an allowance from his parents the whole time they were at York.
This was definitely a bit rich, she thought, as he belted out the lines about working-class hardship in his RP accent.
He was really going for it, though. As she looked around, Rachel noted that there were plenty of women who seemed entranced – and in no way politically affronted – by his performance. The irony of it was clearly lost on them, but Rachel wasn’t sorry Will had brought it home to her.
Jack bowed and then sauntered off stage, heading straight for them. Rachel’s stomach swooped – as if she were standing on a high ledge, about to jump off.
Before he could say anything, Will pointed. ‘Ah. Tom’s up – this’ll be worth hearing.’
Rachel looked up at him in surprise. ‘Will it?’
Will nodded and grinned. ‘The man’s a dark horse. Irritatingly good at almost everything.’
Tom shook hands with the compère, who slapped him on the back as if he were an old pal he hadn’t seen in years. Rachel remembered what Anna had said about him knowing the people who owned this place. Then, to Rachel’s surprise, the band’s keyboard player vacated his stool so Tom could sit on it.
‘What the …?’ she started. But before she could finish, the beginning notes of a song she knew rang out of a nearby speaker: a mellow, familiar piano riff. AndTomwas playing it.
And then there were words: ‘It’s nine o’clock on a Saturday …’
‘Ugh.Billy Joel?“Piano Man”?’ Jack snorted. ‘I suppose tonight’s cheese course is served.’
Rachel felt a sudden urge to hit him, but limited herself to hissing, ‘Shutup.’
Will was smiling serenely. ‘This isn’t cheesy, it’s classic. And this is apiano bar, mate – he’s going to bring the house down.’
Tom’s voice was right on the melody and full of character. His singing wasn’t showy, but every word he uttered was authentic –believable. Rachel’s skin started to prickle, goosebumps breaking out on every exposed inch of flesh.
By the time Tom got to the chorus it seemed that everyone in the bar, including the staff, was singing along. Rachel joined in too – though she discovered that the line about a drink called loneliness couldn’t get past the lump that had formed in her throat.
Will had been right. When Tom sang the final words of the song, the whole place erupted – people were clapping, stamping and shouting for more. Tom motioned for the keyboard player to take his seat again, then placed the microphone back on its stand at the front of the stage and stepped back into the crowd.
‘I’m going to go and see where Anna’s got to,’ Will said.
Rachel gave him a thumbs up, then realised that Jack must have slunk off partway through Tom’s performance.Huh. She hadn’t noticed.
Tom was walking towards her, and she shuffled forward through the mass of bodies to meet him. As soon as she was close enough, she threw her arms around his neck. It was pure and instinctive, and she hadn’t thought it through. As their bodies collided, Rachel registered that she was a little drunk, as well as suddenly emotional.
‘That was … I don’t evenknowwhat that was. It was amazing,’ she said, staring up at him. ‘How did I not know you could sing? And sincewhencan you play the piano?’
‘I had lessons as a kid,’ he said, pushing a dark-blonde wave off his forehead. ‘And you don’t know everything about me, Rach.’ He raised one eyebrow and made an exaggerated Bond-villain face. ‘I have my secrets.’
Rachel gave a short laugh, then registered the presence of Tom’s hands on either side of her waist. Their noses were only centimetres apart.
She knew she should find some way to move, open up a gap – spin around playfully and pull him towards their friends, perhaps. Holding hands so they could pretend to be a couple felt fairly innocent, but this full-frontal closeness did not.
