Page 116 of Under Your Spell

Serena nods. ‘Yep, all sorted. But you’d better leave if you want to make it in time to catch him before the show. He’s on in…’ – she looks at her watch – ‘about an hour.’

I jump in the car, jittery with nerves and flying high on adrenaline. While this isn’t the most practical plan, I don’t care. After five weeks of painful agonizing, I’m ready.

Am I scared out of my mind? Yes. Am I going to risk my heart anyway?

You bet I am.

Because I love Theo Eliott, and right now I’m choosing him over being afraid. I am choosing a messy, beautiful, complicated life over one where I am safe but unhappy. Seeing Sam and Len yesterday made me realize even more clearly just how far I had shrunk my world down, how little I had let myself feel for so long. This summer has been an awakening. The fear that has been controlling me for so long doesn’t get to have this.

My blood is pumping and I turn on the radio. They’re playing a song I don’t know but it’s catchy and bright and I turn it up, up, up, roll down the windows and dance in my seat.

Almost an hour later, I pull into the car park in Shepherd’s Bush and rush over to the venue. Theo will be on stage in only a few minutes, but there are a bunch of people still hovering around out the front. Serena told me that word of Theo’s gig leaked a few hours ago and there has been a mad scramble for tickets. Evidently quite a lot of people who were unsuccessful have turned up anyway.

I push my way through the crowds towards the box office where a frazzled-looking man is trying to turn away wave after wave of eager fans.

‘Excuse me,’ I say, then I try again because, unsurprisingly, he doesn’t seem too interested in listening. ‘Excuse me. EXCUSE ME!’

Finally he turns to me, his expression grim, and I lean forward, lower my voice.

‘My sister, Serena Ojo-Harris, organized a ticket for me to collect.’

‘There are no tickets left for tonight’s performance,’ the man says with the tired, robotic quality of someone who’s had to repeat themselves a lot.

‘Oh no, I know. Um, but she’s with EMC – the label? It might be under my name? Clemmie, Clementine Monroe?’

The man fixes me with another hard look and crosses his arms. ‘Look, love, I’ve heard them all tonight so don’t start. There are no tickets left. None. Please vacate the premises.’

‘Oy, we’re… err, we’re with the record label too,’ a young girl gasps, shoving me unceremoniously to one side. ‘This is Theo Eliott’s manager.’ She points to her friend who looks about sixteen but tries to affect the appearance of a world-weary music manager who’s seen it all.

‘I said, clear off before I call security,’ the man at the box office snaps.

‘Oh well, at least we tried,’ the girl says to me consolingly. ‘Maybe he’ll come out and do autographs later.’

I hover for a moment until I’m pushed aside by the next wave of hopefuls. Shit. I head back out to the front and pull out my phone, ready to call Serena. When I’m greeted by an ominously blank screen I realize that somewhere between here and home the battery has died. I left the house in such a hurry I didn’t think to check. Oh, God. What do I do now? I don’t even know a single person’s phone number off by heart anymore.

I rub my forehead. Right. Okay. I can do this. I’m making a grand romantic gesture here. I will not be deterred.

That thought comforts me for another five seconds, until I realize I don’t really have a lot of other options. Maybe I can sneak in? Sneaking into a music venue is not very Clementine Monroe behaviour, but this is the new me – bold! Fearless! On a mission for love!

I skirt casually round the side of the building. I stuff my hands in my pockets and for some reason start chewing on an imaginary piece of gum. I look up at the graffiti-covered concrete like I am simply a humble architecture student fascinated by the quality of the workmanship. It’s only when I realize that I’ve started humming the Mission Impossible theme tune under my breath that it occurs to me I might not be pulling off the role of stealthy outlaw.

Also, I am far from the only person who has had this plan. There are tons of people crowded round the side and they’re being held at bay by a small army of very serious-looking bouncers in black suits.

I check my phone again in case it has miraculously come back to life. Nothing. Without any more of a plan I go back round to the front of the venue, sit down on the edge of the pavement and stare at my hands.

It doesn’t matter. I can call him later. It’s not like this is the only chance I have to tell him how I feel. Even though the thought is logical, I feel a deep pit in my stomach. It’s not just that I want to be with Theo now, it’s that I wanted to show him that. I wanted to do something to make him understand. Serena’s ticket was supposed to get me backstage; he was supposed to know that I was there, cheering him on. Way outside my comfort zone but proud of him and his work.

I can tell him that, I remind myself. I can make him understand.

That’s when I hear a familiar voice.

‘… and then maybe we’ll see where the night takes us.’ A pair of expensively distressed shoes step out of the car that has stopped in front of me and I look up, confronted by the last person I expect to see.

‘Ripp?’ My mouth drops open.

My father looks down to where I am sitting on the curb and frowns. ‘Clemmie? What are you doing down there?’

The twenty-something blonde bombshell who’s wrapped around him pouts. ‘Riiiiiipp,’ she whines, ‘I thought we were going to see the show.’