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“Oh, good, you’re already here,” I comment. “We don’t have long. I told Archie I was taking a piss.”
“So?” Robbie says with a shrug. “Old men always take ages to piss.”
I show him my middle finger while Alex just shakes his head in exasperation. “Ignore him, Tom. Here, this is for you.” He hands me a red plastic guitar and a shaggy black wig.
I eye the wig with distaste. “We agreed we weren’t dressing up.”
“Do you want to give Milly a happy birthday or not?” Robbie asks pointedly.
I shrug. “I’ve already given Archie a happy birthday. Several times.”
Alex’s face screws up. “TMI, mate.”
“Just take the sodding wig and your fake guitar, John,” Robbie insists, shoving everything into my hands. Then he cocks his head in thought. “Wait—is it Lennon or McCartney who sings “Birthday”?”
“Who the fuck cares?” I grumble. “Where’s Davey? I thought you were going to get him to be Ringo?”
Alex shakes his head, smiling wryly. “He can’t keep a secret to save his life. But you’ll be happy to know I’ve recruited someone who can actually play the drums.”
I roll my eyes. “You two know we’re not actually putting together a Fab Four revival, right?”
“We want to do our best for Milly, though,” Alex says. At my narrowed eyes, he holds up his hands. “Because he’s amate.Jeez.”
Gideon of all people joins us then, tapping a pair of drumsticks against his palm. “Apparently you guys need a drummer?”
My brows shoot up. I’ve known the guy for years and had no idea he plays drums. It’s pretty hard to imagine, to be honest; he’s one of those blokes who looks like he sleeps in a three-piece suit.
“I still can’t believe I’m doing this,” I grumble, shoving the ridiculous wig on top of my head, one hard glare enough to wipe the stupid smirk off Robbie’s face.
“I don’t know what you’re complaining about,” he says with an eye roll. “This was your idea.”
That’s debatable. My idea was to organise a birthday surprise for Archie. I’m not sure how we landed on serenading him with a Beatles cover.
I vaguely remember Robbie suggesting we play into Archie’s love of karaoke, and Alex commenting that Archie seemed to enjoy watching me sing on initiation night. And somehow we’ve ended up here, with me about to make an absolute arse out of myself.
It doesn’t matter, though. Archie’s going to love it, and that’s all I care about.
“We ready?” Alex asks, glancing around the group. He, Robbie, and Gideon all have wigs on now as well, and Alex and Robbie are holding toy guitars similar to mine.
“Is Gideon just going to drum the air?” I ask.
Obviously none of us are actually going to be playing our instruments, or really singing for that matter, but considering the trouble they’ve gone to in getting fake guitars for us, it’s strange that there’s nothing for the drummer to ‘play’.
“Rory’s on it,” Robbie assures me. “There’ll be a suitable drum substitute waiting on the pitch.”
I quirk a sceptical brow. “A drum substitute?”
Alex gives a wry shake of his head. “Pretty sure it’s the drinks tub.”
I nod. “Right. Okay. That’ll work, I guess.”
“Rory’s also got the music covered. It’ll start as soon as we’re in position,” Robbie says.
And this is why I brought Robbie into this plan. We’re far from mates, and, to be honest, most of the time it takes a lot of self-control to stop myself from punching him, but he’s a guy who can get things done. And he and Archie seem to have become friends recently, so I guess I’m going to have to put up with him.
I let out a heavy breath, the knot of dread in my gut disappearing as I imagine the look of delight on Archie’s face when he sees us. He’s going to love it, and that outweighs any potential humiliation on my part. “Okay, let’s do this.”
Unsurprisingly, our performance is met with a lot of laughter and ribbing from our unsuspecting teammates, although we do get quite a big cheer once the song ends. Of course, that could be simply because they’re just so relieved for it to be over.
