on first?’ he grumbles. ‘I might miss my slot and then it would all be pointless.’
‘We’ll be fine,’ I say, reassuringly. Then I have to slow for a crossroads, which also allows me to double check that we’re heading in the right direction as this is unknown territory for me. It gives me time for a quick panic, too. What if we are late? Lucas will never forgive me – even though it’s his fault! ‘I’ll drop you off and then find somewhere to park. That will save some time.’
Thankfully, the country lanes get wider, then houses and streetlamps start to appear – which is always a good sign. I’ve been over this way before, but not for a long time and I’m struggling to get my bearings.
‘I feel sick,’ Lucas says giving me a bleak look. ‘We should turn round and go home.’
‘It’s only natural to have nerves. Try to harness the feeling. It will add an edge to your performance.’
‘As if you’d know,’ he sneers.
Oh, give me a field full of unruly sheep any day over a stroppy teenager. I concentrate on my driving. To add to our woes, I think they’ve changed the road layout since I was last here and Google just keeps telling me we’ve arrived at our destination when we haven’t. We do two turns round a one-way system before I spot the pub.
I pull up outside the King’s Arms on the High Street. ‘Jump out. We passed a car park round the corner. I’ll try to get in there.’
Lucas does as he’s told. ‘Don’t be long,’ he says and, suddenly, all the grumpiness and bravado has gone and a scared boy stands on the pavement.
‘Five minutes,’ I promise. ‘That’s all.’
I drive away, and as I look in the rearview mirror, he’s still standing there looking forlorn. I hurry to find a parking space so that he’s not by himself for a moment longer than necessary. I know that Shelby isn’t pleased, but I feel as if I’ve done the right thing in coming to support Lucas.
A few minutes later, I’m hurrying into the pub. There’s a sign that indicates the poetry slam is taking place upstairs and I head towards it. The room is small and crowded – most of the seats already occupied. Lucas is hovering at the door.
‘OK?’
‘Yeah,’ he says. ‘I’ve registered and I’m on towards the end.’
‘Good. We can relax a bit.’
‘You might be able to, but I’m bricking it.’ He fidgets anxiously.
‘Do you want a Coke or something to take your mind off it?’
‘Is a double voddy out of the question?’
I raise my eyebrows.
‘Coke it is then,’ he sighs.
I queue at the small bar, get our drinks and then we find a seat. There are lots of people dressed flamboyantly – poets, I guess. Lucas is younger than any of them, by quite a long way. I start to get nervous for him. There’s a man at the front fiddling about with microphones and the like. Five people sit on chairs at the side of the tiny stage – the judges, I expect.
‘Can we keep a seat for Aurora?’ Lucas asks.
‘Is she coming?’
‘She said she would.’
First I’ve heard of it. Lucas tries to pretend that he’s not bothered whether she does or not, but spoils the effect by turning to look at the door every few minutes. I put my handbag on the seat next to me as there are many people eyeing it up.
About fifteen minutes after the allotted start time, the poetry slam kicks off. A comedian, of sorts, tells a few off-colour jokes and then introduces the first act. I know very little about poetry, but it sounds OK to me. It’s an earnest piece about the power of the internet and I wonder what Lucas’s poem is about. I wish he’d let me listen to it ahead of time. I wish I knew more about poetry.
I whisper to Lucas, ‘Why is it called a slam?’
‘I don’t know,’ he admits. ‘Maybe it’s a vain attempt to make poetry sound sexy.’
Aurora arrives and Lucas waves to her. She squeezes along the row to sit next to us and I switch seats so that she’s next to Lucas.
‘Hi, Molly,’ she whispers to me.
‘Hi.’
She and Lucas exchange a brief kiss and he takes her hand, holding it tightly.
When the act finishes, there’s much applause. I look to Lucas and Aurora to solicit their opinion, but they’re too engrossed in each other to care what I think. So I take