could use a climbing frame like I knew
Jesse had done during the Curiosity Tour, and anything that involved moving platforms or wires that whisked me
up above the stage were a big nope. So it was me, the backing band, killer lighting, and effects projected onto a
screen at the back of the stage.
“Hallå, Stockholm!” I shouted.
The crowd went wild.
“Har ni det bra?”
A unanimous “Yes!” was screamed at me.
“Then let’s sing another song from the new album,” I said, having exhausted my incredibly limited Swedish
vocabulary. “This one’s called ‘Love Fever’.”
More screams, which didn’t die down until after I started to sing. It was another high-energy song. I got them all
out of the way during the first half of the concert while I still had enough stamina to bounce around the stage like
a kangaroo.
It was hard maintaining the attention of sixteen thousand people for two hours straight. They were all there to see
me, and I had to entertain them. I had to make them feel like they’d seen the best concert I’d ever performed. It
was exhilarating and tiring at the same time. An amazing experience but also nerve-racking as I wondered if I was
doing enough to make them leave the concert buzzing and desperate to tell their friends how amazing I’d been.
Even better if they took to social media to rave about me. My album sales always spiked during a tour, which
was one of the reasons why I now toured so close to a release date. When I’d first started, arranging a tour hadn’
t even been an option until an album had earned a certain amount.
I belted out the next few songs, pausing between them to drink some water, wipe my face and neck with a towel,
and talk to the crowd. My set was a mixture of the Live and Learn tracks along with fan favourites from previous
albums. Songs I knew would make my fans weak at the knees and scream their hearts out.
One of my favourite things to do about halfway through was to ask if it was anyone’s birthday. There was always
someone, often several fans. I’d pick one at random and have a security guard bring them up onto the stage so I
could sing “Happy Birthday” to them. They got given an exclusive T-shirt as a gift—which I always had waiting in
the wings—a backstage pass for after the show, and a card to fill in with their name and a charity of their choice.
The card held a promise that if they handed it to me after the concert, I’d make a donation in their name. Seeing
the look on the face of the lucky birthday boy made my day. That night it was a burly alpha who got all tearful as I
sang to him. I gave him a hug when I was done, which probably wasn’t all that nice, considering how hot and
sweaty I was from performing energetically under a ridiculous amount of hot stage lighting, and then he was
escorted off the stage.
I slowed the tempo down in the second half, sitting on a stool in the centre of the stage to sing soft, melodic
songs. The audience used their mobile phones as torches, creating a sea of light.
“Next is my favourite song from Live and Learn,” I said towards the end of my main set, “‘Midnight Promises’.
Sing it with me.”
It was my favourite, but not for reasons any of my audience could have guessed. It was the reason Austin and I
were together, in a roundabout kind of way. Plus, it was easily the best song on the album. Our voices combined
were something else. I needed to ask Jesse to do a joint album with me one day. It was also the song that was
closest in feel to something Austin might have written. I really wanted him to write me a song one day, preferably
one we could sing together. A love song. I’d invite him onstage during every concert, and we’d stare into each
other’s eyes as we belted the words out, showing everyone we were in love. It would be amazing. I put my hand
to my chest, touching the ring Austin had given me, which rested beneath my shirt. The metal was cool against
my skin, a constant reminder that it was there, close to my heart.
The set ended. I bowed and blew kisses to the crowd as they threw flowers, cards, and teddy
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