I'm With The Band (Catfish & The Bottlemen/Sam Fender)

Part 34

"Larry! Get your arse in here now!" I cry out, grunting with exertion as I try in vain to shift the zip on my bulging Louis Vuitton suitcase. It's stuck fast, refusing to budge as I pull on it with all of my might.

"Ahh shit!" I curse, exasperated, flopping down on to the bed. Items of clothing and shoes are strewn over every surface and the floor's covered too. It's utter chaos and I can feel my stress levels rising.

"What's up Bells?" Larry calls from just outside the door, stopping short as soon as he enters and surveys the mess. "Christ, what on earth have ya been up to? Looks like a bomb's gone off in 'ere!"

"Packing," I inform him sulkily. "Well... I've been trying to anyway. It's near-on impossible with your stupid one-suitcase rule. How the hell do you expect me to fit all of these in there?"

I indicate the straining case before I sweep a hand around the room, watching as Larry's eyes bulge wide. "All of it? But you don't need all that lot. We're only going to be away for three weeks for this first run!"

I huff in frustration, hands on my hips. "You really think I can fit three weeks of outfits into one suitcase? I've actually been very selective if you must know, I figured I wouldn't need my evening dresses..."

My eyes flick to my most beloved and extravagant purchases which are hanging on the wardrobe door, swathes of silk and tulle and sequin-spangled satin which wouldn't look out of place on a red carpet.

"Can just see you wading through mud in a field in Reading in one of them," he sniggers. "Would look great with your wellies!"

"Wellies?" I wrinkle up my nose. "But we'll be in the VIP area won't we?"

Larry's face cracks into a wide smile. "Yeah, but it's not that posh ya know. We're not big time yet. Don't know what you're expecting, it's still a festival. You'll still have to shit in a portaloo like everyone else!"

"Portaloos?"

Now I'm really horrified, visions of living it up in exclusive fully furnished, air-conditioned Coachella-style accommodation shattered in an instant. Never having attended a UK festival before I'm not sure quite what I'm letting myself in for. "Next thing you'll be telling me we'll be camping... in actual tents!"

"Where's ya sense of adventure?" Larry grins teasingly. "Had some of me funniest, most memorable festival experiences in tents! This one time me and Van pitched up right next to this ditch at Glasto and it rained all night. Well you can imagine what it was like in the morning! The whole field was a swamp, all our stuff was soaked through! It was hilarious!"

I give him a withering look as I try to wedge another pair of sandals into the over-stuffed luggage. "If that's your idea of fun you've got a serious problem. Now come and help me shut this case will you?"

Larry and I are still good-naturedly bickering by the time the taxi comes to transport us to our first destination of the tour which happens to be a venue in Newcastle. Johnny had already gone home two days prior and is all set to meet up with the rest of the band and crew when they arrive to play that evening. Then after the gig the tour bus is booked to come and pick everyone up so we can travel up to Glasgow for TRNSMT that weekend. From there on it's a packed schedule of gigs and festival shows and various interviews planned all over the country, culminating in the lads' biggest sets to date, two late summer slots on Friday and Saturday night respectively at Reading and Leeds festivals.

I'm a mixture of excitement and apprehension. The thought of travelling the country with the guys and potentially meeting numerous eligible rockstars has my heart practically leaping out of my chest with anticipation, but the prospect of being cooped up in an enclosed space with said guys also fills me with dread. I've had the pleasure of spending just a week at my cousin's house so far and I've already witnessed some less than desirable habits that I'm sure will only prove to be the tip of the iceberg. I can only imagine what sort of unsavoury behaviour passes for acceptable when they're on the road and trying to impress and outdo each other like boys invariably do when they're together.

Larry had finally given in after a morning of my incessant moaning and was now allowing me to bring three suitcases of my belongings with me. I'm still feeling a little smug as I watch him struggling to lift the heavy loads into the boot of the taxi. "You got bricks in 'ere or summat?"

"It's good exercise, don't complain," I giggle, teasingly squeezing his bicep. "You look like you could do with a good work-out."

He scowls at me as he tosses his comparatively tiny suitcase in the boot and slams it shut. "The manager's gonna have a fit about this lot. We've got loads of kit to get on to the bus and everyone else's stuff too. It's not just us ya know, it's the crew as well. Don't know why you need so much anyway."

Of course Larry wouldn't understand. Seduction's a serious business and I need to shine to my full potential to get noticed. I'm already imagining cosying up next to Bondy in a cute but revealing sundress whilst he tries to concentrate on those guitar lessons he promised me or brushing past Van that bit too close in the narrow tour bus corridors in the shortest of skirts. And then of course I have my little arrangement with Sam... He's not going to know what's hit him when I break out my carefully curated festival wardrobe. Mind you, I'm hoping that he might see me out of it more than actually wearing it if all goes to plan.

"Well, I wouldn't be seen dead wearing the same outfit twice on this tour. I'm not like Van who lives in the same pair of skinny jeans and black shirt all year round."

"He has more than just one pair ya know," Larry defends his friend as he opens up the taxi door for me to get in. "I should know as I do his laundry on tour."

This shocks me and I can't resist the opportunity to wind my cousin up. "Oh my god! You actually do his laundry for him? What did his last slave die of? I thought you were supposed to be his guitar tech, not his maid!"

Larry shoots me a pointed glare as he slides into the back seat next to me. "We all pull our weight when we're on tour... and that includes you too. If you're coming along for the ride you're part of the crew as well. We all work together to make sure everything runs smoothly."

I scrunch up my face in disgust. "Well if Van thinks I'm going anywhere near his sweaty post-gig laundry he can get fucked!"

Larry just chuckles. He knows me well enough not to argue.

Much as I'm starting to love those boys, if any of them think that I'll be lifting a perfectly manicured finger to do anything remotely resembling work on this tour they're very much mistaken. I recline in my seat, clicking my seatbelt into place, head filled with thoughts about what the next few exciting weeks are going to hold.