‘I have to set up my tent and stuff,’ Ryan says, obviously playing for time.
‘We’ll help,’ Jake offers.
‘Oh....OK, thanks,’ Ryan says, glaring at me again.
Jake and Ringo help him set up his tent and when they’re all up I’m suddenly glad to be going for a walk. There’s so many tents here its making me feel claustrophobic. Miles and miles of tents as far as I can see.
It's completely pitch black by the time we set out walking, the only light coming from small fires and the dim temporary lights along the main pathways. It reminds me of every scary movie I’ve seen, but I feel safer knowing that Ryan is with me. Unlike short arsed Ringo, he’s strong enough to fight off a crazed killer. Ringo probably couldn’t even fight off Justin Bieber.
It takes us a good half hour before we get to the stage and when we do, I can't believe the size of it. If I thought that the tents were making me feel closed in, then this was sure to make me lose my mind. There must be at least twenty thousand people dancing in front of this stage alone, and they all look completely off their faces on drugs; their pupils black and crazed.
‘Come on,’ Jake signals to us, weaving himself through the crowd to try and get a better spot.
Ryan follows him and I cling instinctively onto the side of his t-shirt, scared of getting parted from him. Everyone seems taller than me, and images of me being crushed underneath them flash through my mind. I probably wouldn’t be found for days. But then it would probably be a cool way to go. Everyone would think I was a cool, mad rocker who parties all the time. They’ll say ‘she died doing what she loved best – partying hard’. Then they’ll put on that song ‘we like to party hard’ and everyone will dance around my coffin.
Jake finally finds a spot he finds acceptable and starts dancing around like a crazy person. I say dancing, it's more jumping up and down and waving his hands in the air. Like Dad dancing, while having an electric shock. I look around, still at a loss. We’re still miles away from the stage, the performers seeming like tiny ants, listening to shit music, being crushed by thousands of people and the beer stand is about, well about two thousand people away.
I seem to be getting pushed continuously, from either side, as women with rainbow coloured hair in dreadlocks, and body hair down to their knees dance around me. Each time I turn automatically to apologise, they ignore me, seeming on another planet; their blood shot eyes reminding me of an animal. It's far too un-nerving.
Ryan catches my eye and I know he’s just as miserable as me.
‘Do you wanna go?’ he shouts in my ear, resting his hand on my lower back so I can hear him.
My skin burns at his touch and I shudder, wondering if he has any idea of the effect he has on me.
‘Yeah, do you?’ I shout back, loving how close I have to get to him so that he can hear me.
‘Hell yeah,’ he shouts, smiling widely. We both collapse laughing and I feel warm, loving how we have our own inside joke. I begin to imagine what it would be like to be with him, to own him. Images of us laughing on our wedding day flash through my mind. Then us laughing over our baby spitting out porridge at the breakfast table. I know I’m getting ridiculously ahead of myself, but I allow myself the indulgence for half a second.
‘We’re going,’ I signal to the others, getting a hold of myself. There’s no way they’ll be able to hear me.
Ringo comes running over.
‘I’ll come with you guys,’ he shouts, signalling at Jazz and Jake who’re snogging each other’s faces off again.
Oh great.
Ryan puts his arm around my waist and guides me out of the stage arena. I feel so safe and protected when he’s around. When we get out of the stage arena and begin walking amongst hundreds of tents, his hand drops. The urge to grab hold of it, with it being so close to mine that I can feel the heat from it, is unbearable. Literally unbearable. Every now and again the back of his fingers will brush against mine and we’ll awkwardly apologise to each other.
‘You getting tired Pops?’ Ringo asks me after about twenty minutes of walking, breaking me out of my concentration not to touch Ryan.
‘No, I’m fine,’ I lie, wishing he’d just leave me alone. He’s really beginning to annoy me.
‘Don't worry,’ Ringo says, slipping his arm round my waist. ‘You can always lean on me if you’re tired.’
I look down, horrified, realising that he intends to leave his hand there. Oh God, this is terrible. His clammy hand is staying draped around me. I resist the urge to throw him off and punch him in the face, reasoning that it would probably be mean. Ryan looks over, a comical grin on his face. I try to show as much discomfort on my face as possible but he just seems to find it even funnier.
Luckily it's not long until we’re back at camp. I spot the leopard print tent first and then Izzy and Grace who seem to have been getting to know the bearded guys in the tent next to us a lot better. They’re sat on fold up chairs, flirting outrageously and smoking what I’m sure is weed.
‘Hey guys.’
‘Hey, you’re back,’ Izzy slurs. ‘Have a beer. These are our new friends.’
She goes around the group and introduces them to us, but I forget their names as soon as she’s told us, more interested in what their tattoos are of. So far I’ve spotted an eagle eating a chicken, a dog on a motorbike and a ‘love you mum’.
I get a warm beer and sit around the fire, as far away from Ringo as I can. I down the first one, thirstier than I thought and then grab another. My body begins to de-clench and I relax, glad to no longer have Ringo touching me. I listen to the distant hum of the rock music and stare into orange and blue flames of the fire.
It's funny, but from here the band doesn’t actually sound half bad. Plus, it seems that I judged the bearded guys we’ve adopted a bit too early. They’re actually really nice, with Butch telling me about his mum and the history behind his tattoo. Something to do with an ex-girlfriend and fried chicken.
‘You want some Poppy?’ Butch asks, offering the joint.
‘No thanks,’ I refuse politely.
Ryan takes a quick puff and I stare at him disapprovingly.
‘What?’ he says, glaring back at me.
‘Nothing,’ I snap.
If Ryan gets stoned then I really will have no-one to look after me. Calm down Pops. You can look after yourself. You’re a grown woman. Yet the nerves still seem to be getting to me. I need to get really, really drunk. A familiar nagging begins in my bladder.
‘Izzy, where’s the toilet?’
‘I don't know. Somewhere over there,’ she slurs, pointing vaguely into the distance. Her eyes are completely glazed over and I think that it's probably the first time I’ve seen her well and truly smashed.
‘Ryan,’ I ask, embarrassed that I have to show that I do in fact wee. ‘Do you know where the toilet is?’
‘Um...I think I saw a sign for them on the way back,’ he says, sounding vague.
‘Could you show me? Or better still...come with me?’ I whisper, feeling pathetic.
He studies my face for a second, obviously wondering if I’m joking.
‘Yeah, OK. But quickly, otherwise your boyfriend will want to come with us.’ He smiles towards Ringo and I dig him in the ribs.
We begin to walk into the darkness again and the same urge to hold onto Ryan takes over me. It feels like every nerve ending I possess is on high alert. Get a hold of yourself Poppy.
‘God, it's really dark isn’t it?’ I say, breaking the awkward silence.
‘Duh.’
Well that was comforting. I grab on to the edge of his t-shirt and clutch on tighter as we get further and further away, my mouth becoming dry with panic. I should have told him to stick to the main paths instead of picturing him naked.
‘Why are you so panicky?’ he asks, his eyes wide with confusion.
‘I’m not!’ I protest a bit too quickly. ‘I’m fine. Oh look, there it is!’ I point to a sign that says toilets. Behind it is a row of porta-loos.
‘I’ll wait here,’ he says, sticking his hands in his pockets.
I take another look at the line of porta-loos, immediately wishing I hadn’t. They look so grubby. There’s only one temporary light next to them which flickers every couple of seconds. It's like a horror movie set. When the lights aren’t flickering it's completely pitch black. Basically, the place you pee if you want to get raped.
‘Well?’ he says, giving me a quizzical look. ‘Are you gonna go or what?’
‘I...I don't think I can,’ I whimper, trying to ignore my bulging bladder.
‘Are you fucking joking?’ he roars, exhaling sharply with the strangest expression on his face. Anger flashes in his eyes, making him look hostile, even furious. ‘Did you seriously make me walk all of this way just to change your mind?’
I’m slightly stung, despite myself. He looks so pissed off that I wonder if it would be safer to just chance it and wee in these toilets. And possibly get raped.
‘I just...I’m kind of…scared,’ I stammer, dropping my eyes to the floor in a flush of embarrassment.
‘Scared? What the hell are you scared of?’ he snaps, abruptly exasperated.
Right, that's it. How dare he make me feel this stupid. My temper starts to flare and I glare defiantly at him.