The Butterfly Effect Read Free Page B

from their jobs, all of which were stressful in their own ways. They didn’t compose their own songs and there was no musical genius amongst them, but they were pretty good at what they did. They knew their audience liked to hear familiar songs, but didn’t mind if they were given a new treatment, so they pushed this as far as they could with some songs and left others more or less alone, to produce an eclectic mix that was pretty well guaranteed to leave the average pub audience happy. That was the aim and it had seemed fairly simple a few weeks ago, as I sat at the back of the room and watched them rehearse. Now it seemed a lot less certain.
    One by one, the band played the songs on their list. The audience were appreciative insofar as there was a ripple of applause at the end of each number, but nobody was dancing yet and most people were sitting in groups and chatting, only pausing to clap politely when convention demanded. This was quite normal for a first set, and the playlist was designed to recognise it. Most of the faster and more popular tracks were saved for later, when the audience would have had a few more drinks and might be in the mood for dancing.
    I was quite grateful for this as, inexorably, my slot drew closer and closer. Maybe they wouldn’t even notice my presence. Three more songs and then it’s me. Two more songs. This song, and then I have to stand up, walk across the space that has been cleared for dancing, climb onto the stage. What if I trip? What if I freeze? I had barely even thought about Richie, so caught up was I in the moment, in the excitement and the anxiety of it all. And anyway, people often came later to these things didn’t they, I told myself on the couple of occasions the thought rose to the surface.
    And then, suddenly, it was time. Olga introduced me but there was no obvious response from the crowd. I managed to walk across the tiny dance floor without incident even though it appeared to have expanded to the size of a cricket pitch, and then I was behind the mic with Olga and we were singing. Just like that. I can’t describe it properly, even though I thought about little else the next day, but it was as if someone had thrown a switch in my head. Click. One minute I was a nervous wreck, convinced that I would chicken out when the moment came for me to sing, and the next I was belting it out with Olga, our cheeks almost touching. I may not have been Aretha Franklin, but I was giving it my best shot.
    Just like in the lyrics of the song, that moment will stay in my heart forever, even though without it I probably wouldn’t be lying on this bed right now, trying to quell the waves of panic that could so easily overwhelm me. Trying to think it all through, just in case my memories provoke some tiny little clue about what went wrong and what I can possibly do now, now that I am on my own with no Nat to protect me. No Nat to shore up my defences, to make it all OK.
    Despite all this, I still treasure that moment when the song ended and there was more than just a ripple of applause. I hadn’t been able to see it whilst we were singing, as the lights were in my eyes, but now, as Anton announced the break and the stage lights were replaced by the wall lights around the room, I could see that people were looking at us, exchanging a few words, nodding their heads. They had liked it, and Olga gave me a huge hug as I stood there, bright spots from the lights still dancing in front of my eyes and my blood coursing through my veins at twice its normal speed.
    “That was fantastic!” she said. “Can’t wait to see what they think of the next one!”
    That was the thing about Olga. She was absolutely lacking in any kind of mean-spirited jealousy or self-interest. She had a great voice and I wasn’t any threat to her position, but it wouldn’t have been surprising if she’d felt a little put out. The only song that had aroused any interest in the audience was the one that I had been