Chapter 10

What a Performance

“Ladies and gentlemen - put your hands together for the best rock band in the world - IRON MAIDEN!” the voice over the loudspeakers bellowed.

The crowd went wild. They were already psyched up after a cracking Metallica set, but now it had gone up another stratospheric notch.

Lucas felt sick. Cuch was ecstatic. Janine was admiring Bruce Dickinson’s tight leather trousers. Alex was rockin’ out at the side of the stage with Tom, Louis and Grace.

The band burst into a number of upbeat classic tracks followed by a quieter rock ballad.

It was during the quieter sections of the song that something extraordinary happened.

At first Lucas thought he was imagining it.

But no, in the darkness, there was a definite chant building up in the audience, “We want Cuch! We want Cuch! We want Cuch!”

“Do you hear that boy?” Lucas shouted over the din. “They are actually chanting your name! How cool is that?”

By now his parents and mates had clocked it too. Unable to talk because of the noise they simply exchanged wild gestures as if to say ‘this is all just totally mental’.

The chant got louder and louder and more insistent. Lucas had now forgotten his nerves and was laughing with excitement instead. He was now bursting to get onto that stage.

The ballad came to an end - and the chant was now deafening.

Thousands of fans were demanding, “We want Cuch! We want Cuch! We want Cuch!” And they were pronouncing his name properly.

Bruce took the microphone.

“And now...” he said in typical dramatic fashion.

“You’ve seen him in the papers, you’ve seen him in the magazines, you’ve seen him on TV. It’s the rock world’s first ever headbanging dog. Please welcome - Cuch!”

Lucas and Cuch burst onto the stage and the roar from the crowd was deafening.

They ran up the few steps to the specially built, circular, high rise stage positioned above the band.

Lucas posed with fingers spread in arrogant, rock fashion. He was already headbanging slowly in anticipation. Cuch was on his hind legs, his front paws on Lucas’s waist.

Then the music started.

‘Six, Six, Six, the Number of the Beast’ and ‘Bring Your Daughter to the Slaughter’ - tracks which Lucas and Cuch had danced to dozens of times in their front room.

Now they were dancing as if their lives depended on it - not in their front room but in front of an audience of thousands.

Cuch was a superstar.

He leapt higher than he had ever leapt before.

He headbanged with attitude, his wayward, scruffy collie fur being blown in all directions by the on-stage fan as he danced. The breeze gave him even more of a wild appearance.

The giant screens beamed the image even to those at the back of the audience. They could clearly see Cuch’s refined moves - and that special grin.

Cuch was having the time of his life. He was surrounded by dry ice, with lights changing from red to bright white to atmospheric blue.

Cuch leapt, shook, pranced and - at the end - right on cue - ran down the steps and launched himself into the audience. He surfed over a sea of fans before being manoeuvred back onto the stage, just in time for the final bars of the song.

It was a triumph.

Bruce could barely speak for laughing.

“I have just been upstaged by a dog!” was all he could say.

Lucas and Cuch bowed dramatically and the thunderous applause went on for about 10 minutes.

That applause stayed in Lucas’s head for many years to come.