Page 81 of Escape to the Country

He had been to the festival once before, a few years previously when he was first starting out. The stage had been miniscule then. He smiled at the memory. The small audience must have thought one of the crew had wandered on stage by mistake.

And yet, here he now was. Tommy King. A multi-platinum Grammy-award-winning artist.

He had never expected anyone to buy his first album. And then everyone bought it and the awards and acclaim followed.

But so had the fame and hassle.

Only the previous evening, he had been approached by another manager.

‘Look,’ the agent had said, placing a chubby hand on Tom’s shoulder. ‘That Sam Harris is okay, but I can take you cosmic, yeah? I’m talking product placement. It’s all about the ker-ching, isn’t it, baby?’

Tom had shrugged the hand off his shoulder and pulled on his leather jacket. ‘No, it’s not,’ he’d replied, before walking away.

Why did everyone think he was in it for the money? He just wanted to write and play his music.

The previous evening, he had crept backstage and looked out to the audience beyond. There were flags waving everywhere. Lights. Mobiles held up. And people. So many people. More people than he had ever seen in one place in his life.

He gulped now, trying to keep confident about what kind of reception he would receive. Chances were that most of the audience would think he was some kind of washed-out addict, just arrived out of rehab. Luckily, his foot had finally stopped hurting which was something less to worry about when he finally made it onto the stage.

In the far distance, as the day faded and night began, he could just make out the fields of tents. Everyone would probably be a bit jaded by now. But they needed one more party. One more singalong session. And he was going to make them forget about the mud and give them the rousing finish the great festival deserved.

He was trying to keep his nerves in check. Trying to remember his set.

And trying to ignore the feelings that Eleanor was stirring up inside. He glanced over to where she was chatting with Annie and Megan. Her short denim skirt showed off her fabulous legs, even though they were splattered with mud and she had wellies on. She wore a leather jacket with a Rolling Stones T-shirt underneath. She looked like every pop artist’s dream girl. He liked the braid and the lack of heavy make-up. It made her look less polished. More real.

He shook his head. He needed to focus now. He took a deep breath and began to get into his zone. He looked out at the people jammed in front of the Pyramid tent. A sea of one hundred thousand people. An ocean of faces. There was mud everywhere. But now the rain had finally left the shire. A shaft of sunset peeped through the heavy clouds as they began to clear away, leaving clear skies above.

The voice came over the tannoy announcing his name. His heart thumped. This was it.

He took a deep breath and walked on, clutching onto his guitar.

The crowd screamed and yelled as he appeared on stage. He managed to make it to the middle without falling over, which he figured was a good start.

‘Hi,’ he said, giving them a small wave. ‘You’ve been wet and cold, but are you miserable, Glastonbury?’

‘Noooo!’ shouted one thousand people in response.

He grinned. ‘Let’s go then,’ he said, launching into the opening bars of one of his hit records. It was an up-tempo number and everyone was now jumping up and down to the beat.

As he played and sang, he could feel himself relaxing. He could do this and do it well, he knew.

He stared out, seeing the different colour anoraks and hats in the dusk. Everyone appeared to be caked in mud. There were pretty girls sitting on their boyfriend’s shoulders. And so many flags waving in front of him.

He felt instantly at home.

*

Eleanor watched, amazed that this was the same person that she had met only a month ago.Thiswas quiet ‘just call me Tom’ who had been playing with the dog and drinking tea on the patio at Willow Tree Hall?

She had heard his songs on the radio so many times, of course. But here, on stage, he was a rock god. He played superbly, his voice strong and pure.

He didn’t banter too much with the crowd. He just wanted to play his music for them. But during one of his many hits, he let them sing the main lyrics. Their voices soared as one and made him grin in response.

‘You sound great,’ he told them after the song had finished. ‘Better than I could have done. Ready for another?’

She realised that he was giving the people what they wanted. The audience wanted to sing along. They wanted to jump up and down to the beat. They wanted to have a good time.

And he just wanted to entertain them.