Paparazzi by Jo Fenton (best free e reader .txt) 📕

I click on the Call button.

“Why the hell are you freaking out?” If anyone should freak out here, it’s me. Better left unsaid though.

“Thank God you’re okay. I thought I’d sent you into some crazy panic.”

“I just phoned Alison for a bit of info on Band On The Wall. She endorsed what you said about the separate area.”

“So will you come along then tonight? Are you allowed out on Friday nights?”

“We’re not religious. We like to have a Friday night dinner as a family, but it’s no big deal if I miss a week. I suppose I can come along. But I’m not going inside. Not while the band’s playing. It will be way too noisy for me.” I take a large gulp of now lukewarm coffee. “How do we get there?”

We spend the next few minutes arguing the relative merits of bus, tram and taxi, before I bravely offer to drive.

“I won’t be drinking, will I? We can park in one of the nearby streets, or I think there’s a car park not too far away.” I’m breathing fast now, trying to block out the realisation that we’ll be less than a mile from the warehouse where everything happened.

“Becky, give me five minutes, hen. I’ll call you back.”

I spend the next few minutes using the loo, then raiding the tin for chocolate digestives. I’m halfway through my third biscuit when my mobile rings.

“Hi.” I know I sound antsy, but my nerves are on the edge of a cliff now.

“Relax. It’s all sorted. I told Penny we were coming tonight. She said she’ll pay for a taxi both ways. She’s ordered an Uber for us. Picking me up first at half past seven, then I’ll come and get you. Do you want to pop around here after lunch and we’ll plan strategy?”

I agree and disconnect. I’m actually relieved I’ll be seeing her this afternoon. Otherwise there are far too many hours to sit and stew.

***

It’s shortly after 8pm when we arrive at the club. I’ve been close to hyperventilating in the taxi, and despite Joanna’s anxious reassurances, I feel nauseous by the time we arrive. I wipe my damp palms on a tissue from the pocket of my jeans as we leave the cab. They’re the only jeans I could find that still fit me, but they look okay with a pretty, flowery top that hides a multitude of flabby bits.

My business partner throws me a concerned look over her shoulder as she opens the door. I follow her in, curiosity temporarily overcoming my nerves.

The place has a trendy vibe, with a bar at the far end, opposite the door, and a hatch behind which cool-looking ticket sellers are seated. Tables and chairs occupy most of this area, and the glorious smell of pizza hits my nostrils on entry. Surprisingly, this settles my nausea rather than exacerbating it.

About half the tables are occupied, so I grab a free one, facing the door through to the gig area. I settle my thick coat on the chair next to me and dig in my purse for some money.

“I’ll keep the table. Do you want to grab some food and drink?” I hand the money over to Joanna.

“Sure. What are you drinking?” I settle on a white wine and ask for any veggie pizza. I’m not veggie, but have a mild aversion to meat on pizza.

While Joanna’s at the bar, a pretty girl with a camera slung around her neck emerges from the internal door. I take a few seconds to place her. She looks much more confident than at Joanna’s house.

“Becky. Thanks for coming tonight. Troy’s not on until later – about 10ish – so I don’t know if… if the person we’re expecting will turn up before then.”

“Hi Penny. How are you?”

“Okay, thanks. No spine tingles yet, so I reckon they’re not here. It always seems to be when Troy’s on, so I’m sure they’ll turn up.”

“Have a seat. Do you want a drink?” I ask, but she shakes her head.

“I prefer not to drink while I’m working. Increases the percentage of blurred photos.” She grins, and I’m surprised by the difference compared to the shy, quiet girl I met last week. “Anyway, I’d better get back in there. Other bands to photograph. See you soon.”

I wave to her and then smile at Joanna, as she unloads paper plates loaded with pizza.

“I’ll just go back for the drinks.” She gives a curious glance in the direction of the door, following Penny’s departure. “Then we’ll talk.”

A minute later, I’m sipping wine. Joanna’s seated, facing me.

“Was that Penny? I almost didn’t recognise her. She looks very different.”

“It’s just posture. She seems much more confident here. I guess she’s in her comfort zone, but if I was being stalked in a particular place, I’d be a gibbering wreck. I don’t get it.”

I look around the room. There are a few people at the bar, but most are going through now into the other area, where the first band are now in full swing. Screens overhead show the band and the audience, and the music is audible out here too, but not blaring.

“When you go in there, I think you should keep an eye on her too.”

“Obviously. I’ll go inside shortly. I want to get a kind of baseline. Do you know what I mean?”

“Of course. Compare a non-Troy band with what happens when Troy and his lot come on. That makes perfect sense. If you meet anyone interesting, send them out to me. Or monitor them and we can interview them in the interval.”

Joanna goes inside shortly afterwards, and I retreat to a chair where I can have my back to the wall. Not being able to see potential enemies behind me is a source of extreme stress. My new seat is roughly level with the old one, in that I still have an excellent view of the door through to the gig, and I now have a slightly