Sarah had moved over to the Media Centre, and was untangling the headphones cords before putting them back in their holders. I approached the CD unit and pretended to be engrossed in reading the backs of the CDs. I had my back to her, so she made me jump when she appeared next to me.
‘Oh god, I love those guys,’ she said.
I looked up and saw her nod towards the CD in my hand. I turned it over. The Sneaks.
‘I saw them at Reading,’ she went on, ‘at like eleven o’clock in the morning or something, when no one knew who they were. And I said to my mate Davey, “They’re amazing, they are,” and then what do you know? Two weeks later they’re on Radio 1 and then they’re everywhere. That one’s OK but their best album is The Office Stereo.’
‘Oh yeah, I love that one,’ I heard myself saying.
But why was I saying that? I had never heard of The Sneaks. I had never heard any of their albums. I suppose it just seemed like a good thing to say to keep the conversation going.
Sarah’s eyes lit up. ‘Isn’t it lush?’ she said. ‘Like when the intro kicks in on “Endless Ends” I’m just like …’ She opened her eyes wide and shook her head rapidly from side to side, like someone with their head in a washing machine.
‘Yeah,’ I agreed, smiling. ‘Totally.’
Oh god. What was I talking about?
‘You know they’re playing at Concorde 2, the day after tomorrow. But the tickets all sold like that.’ She clicked her fingers. ‘So gutting.’
‘Oh, I know someone who can get tickets,’ I said.
WHY? Stop talking, Grace. You have actually gone mad.
Sarah’s mouth fell open and she looked at me, blinking. ‘Shut. Up,’ she said. ‘You serious?’
I nodded. What else could I do?
My claim wasn’t complete, one-hundred-per-cent fiction – although it was close – because I was thinking of Niall Gregson, who I sat next to in maths and who worked in Reboot Records where tickets were sold. But I had no idea if there was any truth whatsoever in the idea that he could get me tickets to a sold-out gig. It was, I immediately realised, highly unlikely. But the conversation had taken on a life of its own. I couldn’t back-track now.
‘We should go, shouldn’t we?’ Sarah said, her eyes still shining. ‘We can’t not go. I can pay. If you can get the tickets, I’ll pay. How amazing would that be?’
It was at this point that I realised that my dubious plan was actually working: Sarah was asking me out. The one small problem was that I’d managed to orchestrate the situation only by saying something that I was pretty certain was a monumental lie.
But what to do? Back out and throw the opportunity away, or plough on and hope for the best? I decided on the latter.
‘It would be amazing,’ I agreed. And I meant it. Despite never having heard of the The Freaks or The Sneaks or whatever they were called, I had the definite feeling that seeing them with Sarah would be pretty special. ‘Leave it with me, I’ll see what I can do.’
Leave it with me? I don’t think I’d ever said something so commanding, so self-assured. I have no idea if I managed to pull the sentence off. If I did, then I’m a better actor than I thought I was.
‘Ah, brilliant!’ Sarah said. ‘Tell you what, I’ll give you my number and you can let me know if you can sort it?’
Sarah was giving me her number. Just volunteering it. I hadn’t even asked.
She reeled off the digits, I typed them into my phone, then she said she’d better get on and wheeled her trolley back over to the main desk.
I was left there, The Sneaks album still in my hand, wondering how on earth I was going to get myself out of this.