The Faking Game, page 15
I sigh. Everything sounds so bad.
‘We’ve got the Christmas party tonight,’ he reminds me. ‘So I’ve arranged for me and Tally to get an early train back, so we can get some work done.’
‘Wait, don’t rush off,’ I insist.
‘It’s fine, Cara,’ he says – quite firmly for Millsy, actually. ‘Get some sleep, you seem like you need it.’
Millsy grabs his already packed overnight bag and heads for the door.
‘Can we talk about this?’ I call after him.
‘Later,’ he replies. ‘I’ve got to go.’
Oh, boy. I should have known I would stuff this one up.
20
Everyone is dressed in their best, stomachs are lined, the emergency services are on standby, it can only mean one thing – it’s a night out in Leeds in the week before Christmas.
I suppose I should be grateful that we’re doing our night out on a Thursday this year, because last year we went out on Mad Friday (the last working Friday before Christmas). The notorious Friday night has earned its various nicknames over the years, with Black Eye Friday being the first one that springs to mind. It is a night where office Christmas parties are in full swing – because for some reason the craziest night of the year seems like a good idea for that – and others fancying a wild festive-themed night of chaos flood the streets, ready to indulge in all the night has to offer, to see how much chaos they can cause.
That’s why I’m out tonight, on a work night out, but no, it isn’t my work, because that would be just me and Charlie sitting here. Thankfully it isn’t Millsy’s current work night out either, because that would be just me, him and Tally and, my God, can you think of anything more awkward? We’re actually on the Christmas night out for one of Millsy’s old jobs, and it’s one that I am glad we’re still invited out on, because I look forward to it each year. Oh, and just because we’re doing it on a Thursday this year, it doesn’t mean it will be any less wild.
Before Millsy started trying to make it as an actor on the big screen, and before he was working as body double to the stars, he was just a regular guy, doing bits in plays here and there around working in a coffee shop, but he did have one regular sort-of acting job: he was the Leeds Lions mascot. Well, he himself wasn’t the mascot, he was the man inside the Leo the Lion costume, who used to breakdance on the side-lines and wave to the kids at rugby league games. Millsy said that his dad – a diehard Leeds Lions supporter – wanted him to be a player, and started him playing rugby when he was a kid, but no matter how hard Millsy tried, no matter how big he got, he just always lacked the aggression needed to play. He’s this tall, broad, muscular giant of a man, he’s got all the ingredients he needs, except the little voice in his head telling him that it’s okay to tackle people to the ground and potentially injure them. Isn’t there just something so, so attractive about that? He could plough through players like a hot knife through butter, but his soul is just too gentle. It’s one of the things I love about him the most. Anyway, his dad wanted him to play for the Lions, Millsy wanted to be an actor, so in the end he decided that being the man inside the mascot – an honorary player – was a good compromise. I don’t think his dad thought so but, even now, after most of the players have been and gone since Millsy’s time in the lion, they have always treated him like part of the team so, here we are, at the Leeds Lions Christmas do.
It’s nice, hanging out with the team, everyone feeling like a family. Players are from all over the world, many of the Aussies and Pacific Islanders whose families couldn’t be further away, but with their annual Boxing Day friendly in less than a week, they’re all here for Christmas. It’s nice, that we all get to do this together, and I can’t say that I hate hanging out with rugby players, even if I can only drink about 10 per cent of the amount they can.
After a delicious meal in the Japanese restaurant downstairs, while some have chosen to go home, or somewhere swankier, a bunch of us have decided to go upstairs, to the karaoke bar. It isn’t technically supposed to be a late night, with the boys having training tomorrow, but when did that ever stop professional sportsmen from having a good time, huh? It seems to me that the rule is basically ‘it’s fine, so long as no one finds out’ which is a rule I often live my life by, so I can’t really say anything.
Things are wild in the main room of the karaoke bar, so we decide to hire one of the private booths, upstairs, which are basically little rooms with big screens, squishy sofas, and lots and lots of lights. It’s probably for the best we’re tucked away from the public. The last thing the players need is to wind up on TikTok if someone films them off their heads, screaming down a microphone, the night before training.
There are six of us in here – but with four of the six being rugby players, and Millsy being an absolute unit, it actually makes the space feel much smaller. Still, it’s nice to feel like the shortest, smallest person in the room for once.
It’s also nice – and I know it makes me sound like a cow for saying so – that Tally decided to go back to her hotel after the meal. It’s just not the same when she’s around. Millsy doesn’t quite seem himself, and he has to do his accent which is just so bizarre, and she just stands next to him for every second of everything and I feel like I don’t get near him. Without her, we feel a bit more like us again.
So there’s me, Millsy, Kai who is from Australia, Laki who is from Papua New Guinea, Anjelo from Tonga (yes, the Angelo Aholelei, the Leeds Lions’ star player), and Josh, who is from Wigan.
‘I’m first,’ Josh insists, grabbing a mic before tapping away on the touch screen that sits on the round table in the centre of the room.
‘Surely there are only so many songs you can do with that accent,’ Millsy teases him as he removes his suit jacket and loosens his tie.
‘What do you mean?’ Josh replies, offended, in the strongest Wigan accent I’ve ever heard.
‘Oasis, maybe,’ Millsy persists.
‘Piss off,’ Josh replies. ‘I’ll pick my own song, tar.’
‘He can’t sing, so it doesn’t really matter,’ Kai says with a shrug.
Kai must be at least 6’4, with one impressive pair of shoulders. He takes off his jacket which, without his body for context, looks enormous. He’s got his black shirt unbuttoned to close to his tummy button and no matter where he sits, stands, or even slouches, he looks like a statue of a Greek god. He leans over Josh, towering above him, as he peeps to see what songs he’s choosing.
‘Right, sit down, watch how it’s done,’ Josh insists.
The song he’s chosen is ‘Shotgun’ by George Ezra and perhaps it’s because George almost speaks the lyrics in the original, but as Josh tries to copy his style, his Wigan accent couldn’t be coming across more powerfully. Still, it’s one of those songs that just sets a room on fire with joy – it’s almost impossible not to enjoy George Ezra’s infectious music – so we’re all up and dancing. Millsy and I gravitate towards one another. He grabs my hands as we twist together and he only let go so I can turn around and playfully back up to him, sliding up and down him like a bear trying to itch its back on a tree – and yes, I know that doesn’t sound very sexy, but I’ve had a fair bit to drink this evening, so it probably isn’t sexy at all. Anjelo, ever the joker, and probably the drunkest person in the room, grabs me, locking his arms around my waist as he practically throws me up and down to the beat of the music. Honestly, I cannot stress this enough, if you ever feel like you might not be as petite as society wants you to be, spend a bit of time with rugby players being effortlessly thrown around like a ragdoll because it reminds you that there will always be people bigger than you, and smaller than you, and none of it matters. It does wonders for your self-confidence.
Kai is up on the table, pretending to surf, only lasting about five seconds before he rips open the remaining buttons on his shirt and removes the thing entirely.
Released from Anjelo’s arms, I find myself naturally gravitating back towards Millsy, and I don’t think it’s part of the act, it’s just us and the rugby boys, there’s no one here to pretend for, really. I think it’s more that this, us, here, with our friends, having our one wild night out of the year (one is about all I can manage now I’m in my thirties, which I never thought would be true, and it’s not because I feel old physically, it’s because I have big granny energy, with a love for being cosy, drinking tea, and wearing jumpers – hilariously, both mine and Millsy’s grans are less of a granny than me).
‘Are we going to do a song next?’ he asks me.
‘Oh, go on then,’ I reply. ‘I don’t remember the last time we sang a duet. Oh, wait, yes I do, this time last year.’
‘This place has never heard a “Love Shack” like ours,’ Millsy says with a smile, the memory (or what pieces we have of it, at least) coming back to him.
‘What song shall we do this time?’ I ask him as I look at the screen. There’s a section for duets so I load it up. ‘Laki, pick a duet for us.’
‘Anything?’ he replies.
‘Anything,’ I say.
Laki scans the list as Josh winds down his performance.
‘Let’s have a look,’ Josh says. ‘Oh, mate, perfect.’
I raise my eyebrows expectantly.
‘“A Star Is Born”,’ Josh cackles. ‘That’s what we’ve been calling Millsy, with his new accent.’
‘You’ve seen “A Star Is Born?”’ I say in disbelief.
‘Well, no, I haven’t, but my missus has,’ Josh replies. ‘I’ve seen enough – and everyone has heard the song, right? “Shallow”, right?’
‘Erm, yeah, that’s the one, but I’m not sure my mouth has the audacity to open for it,’ I insist. ‘Do you think I can sing like Lady Gaga?’
‘There’s only one way to find out,’ Josh says.
‘There’s actually two ways, I’ve heard you sing in the shower,’ Millsy says, leaning into my ear to whisper, resting his hand on the small of my back as he talks to me.
I feel the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.
‘You did say anything,’ Laki reminds me. ‘Come on. You can pick one for me next.’
‘Fine, fine,’ I say, giving in with a smile on my face.
Millsy and I take our microphones and then our positions in front of the big screen. The lighting seems to match the songs as the lights dim slightly and the disco ball switches from all the colours of the rainbow to a simple warm white.
This isn’t a song I listen to, and I haven’t seen the film, but with pop culture and the internet, it’s easy to know everything these days, so I basically know how it goes. I also know that it takes some serious pipes and I don’t have them.
I grab my cocktail – my God knows how many-th of the night – and take a big swig as Millsy sings his verse first.
My eyes widen and my grin is nothing but impressed as I hear him sing. He’s always had a good voice – or a confident one, anyway – but he had a bunch of singing lessons earlier in the year to refine his voice for the Billy Gill role. Now he’s got the accent just about in the bag too, wow, he really sounds the part. My heart is swirling with pride and, oh, it’s my turn to sing now.
I’m okay at first, the verse isn’t so bad, and less is more – the softer I sing, the easier it is to hold a tune. Ah, but then the chorus comes, and with no choice but to screech it, I know that I have to let go of my inhibitions and let the cocktails do the work for me. You know, it feels almost therapeutic, just belting something out at full volume, without a care in the world. The boys let me have my moment, for what it’s worth, before they all join in too. Anjelo plays air guitar while Kai moshes next to him – not something I’ve ever seen done to a ballad, but there we go. By the time the song is finished, we’re all falling about laughing.
‘I’m picking you a song, Laki,’ I tell him.
‘And I’m off for a piss,’ Josh announces.
I tap the screen, scanning the list. Millsy comes up behind me and wraps his arms around my waist.
‘Give him a Britney Spears song,’ he whispers into my ear. ‘He once – just once – quoted “Baby One More Time” in a training session and everyone called him Britney for months.’
I laugh.
‘Okay, I like the way you think,’ I reply. ‘“Toxic”, what do you reckon?’
‘Perfect,’ Millsy replies, kissing me on the cheek before darting off to give Laki the mic.
I take in a sharp breath. My God, I miss him. I miss us.
As the intro plays, Laki laughs and rolls his eyes, instantly getting the reference.
‘Joke’s on you guys, I love this song,’ he says with a smile.
I cackle at his commitment to the bit. He sings, he dances, he does really seem like he’s loving it.
‘I’m going to the toilet,’ Anjelo tells us as he stumbles towards the door.
Millsy, Kai and I carry on watching Laki until Anjelo catches all of our attention.
‘Guys, the door won’t open,’ he says. ‘It’s like it’s locked.’
Anjelo pushes the door, then he pulls it, then he pushes it again. Wow, it won’t move an inch.
‘Could Josh have locked it?’ I ask.
‘Why would he?’ Kai replies.
The music keeps playing as we all take it in turns to push and pull at the door.
‘Cara, locks are your thing, anything you can do?’ Millsy says.
‘There’s no lock,’ I reply. ‘Not that I can see. Do you want to see if there’s a metal nail file in my bag? Maybe I can use it to feel if anything might be stuck around the latch or… something.’
I’m not even sure I know what I’m talking about.
Millsy grabs my clutch and I remember a split second too late what’s in there. I haven’t used this bag since the wedding, the one I went to with Lenny, and the photo of him all up close and personal with me is in there. I make a play for my bag, to get in there first, but the photo is already in Millsy’s hand.
‘Weddings,’ I say with a shrug, offering no further explanation.
‘And no nail file,’ he says simply.
‘Well, there’s only one thing for it, boys,’ Kai announces. ‘Scrum! Let’s break the door down.’
‘Let’s not break the door down,’ I say, sobering up suddenly. ‘As much as I would love to see you all do that.’
Wow, imagine!
‘Yeah, no one needs to take out a loadbearing wall today,’ Millsy adds.
‘I’ll just give it a bit of a barge then,’ Kai suggests. ‘Just to see if it budges.’
I wince. Is this really the best we’ve got?
‘What do you think?’ I ask Millsy in hushed tones.
‘I was hoping you would have an idea,’ he replies.
‘Why is there always a crisis everywhere we go?’ I ask no one in particular.
‘Right, I’m doing it,’ Kai says, taking as much of a run-up as he can.
Of course, the second he gets to the door, Josh walks back through it, and we all realise the only reason it hasn’t been opening is because it is, in fact, a sliding door. With nothing to charge into, Kai essentially runs through the open door and tackles Josh to the floor.
Laki whistles with his fingers and shouts, ‘High tackle!’
‘What the hell?’ Josh asks as he climbs to his feet. ‘Save it for tomorrow, pal.’
‘And, speaking of tomorrow, I hate to be a bore but maybe we should call it a night,’ Millsy suggests. ‘I promised I’d get you all home safe and sound – and in a state where you would be fine for training tomorrow. Two out of three isn’t a bad job.’
‘Anjelo has gone,’ Laki announces. ‘He said he was tired.’
I glance around and, sure enough, in the chaos he left.
‘But isn’t that his phone on the table?’ I point out.
‘Yes, I think so,’ Laki replies.
‘We’ll go after him,’ Millsy tells me. Then he turns to the others. ‘Meet us outside.’
I grab Anjelo’s phone and we head down to the street.
‘Where is he?’ I say. ‘He’s so drunk, he can’t have got far.’
‘Oh, there he is,’ Millsy says. ‘Getting into that taxi.’
‘Oh, God,’ I blurt. ‘That’s not a real taxi, is it?’
We watch as a man bundles Anjelo into a bright pink taxi – or what looks like a taxi – but Millsy and I both know what it is.
‘Tell me that’s not a Taxxxi,’ Millsy blurts.
‘It looks like it,’ I reply.
Everyone in Leeds knows what a Taxxxi is – well, everyone but a drunk Anjelo apparently. It’s essentially a pretend taxi, owned by an adult channel that’s based in Leeds somewhere, that picks up drunk people on a night out and gives them a chance to win money by answering seriously personal questions asked by a woman without a top on. Super classy stuff, sure, but absolutely not something you want your star player to be caught going along with in the run-up to Christmas.
‘We need to get him out of there,’ Millsy says.
‘I’ll grab us a taxi,’ I reply.
I run up to the nearest cab and, thankfully, there’s no one in it.
‘Can you follow that car?’ I ask him, pointing out the pink cab.
‘Oh, I’ve always wanted someone to say that to me,’ the driver replies excitedly. ‘Get in.’
I hop in the front seat, to help keep eyes on the pink taxi. Millsy is no sooner in the back when Laki, Kai and Josh all pile in too – thankfully it’s a taxi big enough for all of us.
‘Where are we off now?’ Josh asks.
‘Home,’ Millsy insists, not telling them the full truth.
The driver, over the moon to be involved in a real-life car chase, takes a few liberties with his driving – it is actually quite impressive – until the bright pink taxi stops at some traffic lights.
‘I’ll grab him,’ I tell Millsy. ‘You wrangle these three out and pay the driver. Definitely a big tip.’
‘The pleasure was all mine,’ I hear the driver say as I get out, running towards the pink taxi, flinging open the thankfully unlocked door where, sure enough, a dazed-looking Anjelo is staring wide-eyed as blonde woman holds a microphone in front of him.
