Chapter Fifteen: Is he a pig? He sure eats like one

When you’re on tour with a band, as surprising as it may seem, you end up with this little family unit. Everyone takes on a role and finds a way to live together. As immature and as rubbish at being a woman as I am, I sort of take on the female roles ‒ I certainly end up playing mum to Dylan all the time. Sometimes it’s mum, sometimes it’s part-time wife (although not with Dill) and sometimes you’re like an annoying sister, winding the boys up about their hair or the girls they bring back to the bus. Whatever role you take on in the family, you are a family, with an unrelenting, unconditional love for one another and lots of weird and wonderful traditions. When I visit my parents at Christmas we always watch It’s A Wonderful Life on Christmas Eve because it is tradition. When I’m on tour with Dylan we also have our traditions... only they’re a little different, and much less traditional.

Dragging me out of the hotel by the wrist – and not in the direction of the bus – Dylan leads me along the pavement until we are out of sight of the front door.

‘I told you I’d find one. Spotted this one last night at some point,’ he says proudly.

‘Oh, so you do remember parts of last night?’ I tease.

‘Only some, but I’m working on it,’ he replies, swigging a bottle of beer that he didn’t have five minutes ago when we were in the lobby, so God knows where he got it from.

We are standing in front of a large map of the town. You know, the ones they put up for tourists that usually have a ‘you are here’ sticker on them. We are standing here because one of our traditions is to, how shall I put it, decorate them with a few family heirlooms. I’m not sure how it started, but I know where. We were in Glasgow for a gig and for some reason (we were hammered) we ended up decorating the ‘you are here’ map like a Christmas tree with our underwear, hooking it on the fancy corners of the metal frame. We ended up taking photos of ourselves posing in front of the sign, and then when we were in Manchester a week later we thought it would be funny to do it again. A new tradition was born. These days I don’t wear fancy pants when I go places with Dill because I know I’ll be ditching my drawers at some point. No one knows about this little tradition, not even Dylan’s bandmates. I don’t think anyone would understand why we do it ‒ I don’t really know myself, it’s just a silly drunk tradition, but it’s our silly drunk tradition and I’ll do it until I run out of underwear or we get arrested, because I’m starting to think it might be frowned upon by the authorities.

Dylan removes a pair of black boxer shorts from his pocket and waves them at me. No, he didn’t remove them in advance to make this quicker and easier, they were probably just holding him back last night and cutting into his sexy time.

‘Did you leave yours in Troy’s mouth?’ he teases me. ‘I can wait here while you go and get them.’

I fake a laugh before impressively removing my thong without taking off my new shorts. We check to make sure the coast is clear and that there are no cameras on us – because we’re pros at this now – before swiftly leaving our mark on this weird little town and snapping a few photos.

Like nothing happened, we stroll back along the pavement towards the front of the hotel. Another one for the family album.

‘You there,’ a man’s voice calls from behind us.

I feel a wave of panic wash over me – did someone see what we just did?

‘Dude, I didn’t forget you,’ Dylan calls back.

Dylan wanders over to a homeless man and empties out his pockets, dropping a variety of sweets into the man’s lap. The man is clearly delighted and Dylan looks all warm and fuzzy because he did a nice thing for someone other than himself.

As the homeless gentleman tucks into his Skittles with real enthusiasm, Dylan turns to me.

‘Nic, check it out, we’re like E.T. and Elliot.’

‘Dylan, he’s a man not an alien,’ I whisper.

‘It’s the same though. Can he come on tour with us?’

At this, the homeless man stops chewing and looks up, he’s clearly up for a little partying.

‘Oh, you know it would be OK with me,’ I lie, them both staring at me expectantly, Dylan like a child asking his mum if his friend can stay for tea, ‘but it’s up to Claire, she’s in charge.’

The homeless man looks back down at his Skittles in disappointment.

It’s not because he’s homeless that I don’t want him tagging along, it’s because he could be anyone – a murderer, a psycho, a Steps fan – it’s just too much of a risk. It’s funny because I’m not even going with them, and yet Dylan asks me for permission. I know Claire will say no though.

‘Let me go run it by my manager,’ Dylan tells the man excitedly.

As we hurry in the direction of the bus, I look at my watch and realise it is actually ten past six – ten minutes after Claire told me the bus would be leaving. As I worry about how Dylan is going to react to being marooned by his own people in a crazy town where he has slept with almost everyone, we turn the corner and there is the tour bus, with Claire standing outside.

I link up with Dylan and, moving my lips as little as possible, warn him, ‘Do not ask Claire if you can bring some random man on tour with you. Oh, and be nice to her, you mistook her for a fan earlier.’

He laughs, neither trying nor wanting to hide his amusement.

As we approach the bus, Dylan jumps on first.

‘Please, I’m just trying to do my job, if you want an autograph write to my fan mail address,’ he teases Claire as he passes her. She doesn’t look amused, but at least she waited.

‘You didn’t leave at six,’ I say to her once Dylan is inside.

‘I knew you’d be late. You’re always late, Nicole.’

We laugh together. She is absolutely right, I am always late.

‘I knew you’d get him here though,’ she continues. ‘You’ve always been able to control Dylan, I wish you’d teach me.’

‘It’s a gift and a curse. Well, I’d better head to the train station.’

I wave at the blacked-out windows of the bus, just in case anyone is looking out at us.

‘You got much work over the next couple of days?’ Claire asks me.

‘Not much, just typing up yesterday’s events ‒ from the gig, that is.’

‘Did Dylan cause trouble last night?’

There is no sense in telling Claire the truth, so I shake my head.

‘I found him, he was in his bed. He was in bed for most of the night, actually,’ I reply – because that is technically true.

‘Sure he was. Well, we’ve got the charity gig tonight, Sheffield tomorrow and then Leeds the day after that. Tag along. We can drop you right at your door.’

‘You just need someone to look after Dylan,’ I reply with a laugh.

‘True, but you’re a part of the team and I hate being the only girl on this stinking bus.’

Before I get chance to reply, the driver approaches us.

‘If we’re going to get there on time we need to leave now.’

‘Well, Nicole,’ Claire prompts, ‘are you up for a few days on the road?’

Am I up for a few days on tour? With no clean clothes (or any clothes of my own for that matter), no knickers, little make-up and a dying phone battery/no charger? I open my mouth to speak but we are interrupted again, this time by Dylan.

‘Come on, wild thing.’ Dylan grabs my arm and pulls me onto the bus. ‘You can help me start a rumour about how small that X Factor kid’s cock is. I’m thinking via Twitter.’

And, just like that, I’m hitting the road for a few days. Never mind the fact that I have an actual job, and people who will expect me to turn up for work in the morning. It’s a good job I was going to say yes to Claire, isn’t it? But I’m sure the office can manage without me for another day or three...