The Aid

I

Three weeks before the move, I was sitting in the study buying tickets for an upcoming gig on my husband's laptop. When the final screen loaded to approve the sale of three tickets in the nosebleed section, I thought twice about making the purchase. Not because they were nosebleed, but because Strawberry was still very young. That's my daughter. It was her first concert, and she seemed just as feverish as her stepdad, Christopher, to see Ace McNaughton live in the flesh. Christopher and I mulled over bringing her for some time, but ticketed seats in comparison to standing room near the front of the stage was enough to convince us that the event would be safe enough for my seven year old. I confirmed the sale and then a couple of weeks later, we were at the show.

I can't tell you the full story at Gunnersbury Park, even if I want to. The truth is, after the pyrotechnics went off, my memory has been hazy to say the least. I've been gradually piecing it back together, but for the most part, my recollection on how that horrific night unfolded remains lost. The following story I'm about to share with you is therefore told through the accounts of what I can remember and what others have said.

It was a blustery spring evening, and they were shuffling in through the turnstiles by their thousands. Christopher walked through in front with Strawberry sandwiched between us.

"Hot chips!" she said, pointing to a kiosk just inside the entrance.

I pulled up Christopher. "We're going to buy some chips. I'll meet you at the seats."

He nodded and hastily disappeared among a sea of people, heading towards the small hill at the back of the park. I knew just how excited he was to see Ace; he had been waiting a while for him to tour England with his band, and had even learnt one of his hit songs in between "Blackbird" and "Let It Be" by The Beatles which he was practising for a forthcoming show with Sharon Spritz. A song that is held close to my heart is "Chariots of Fire" by Vangelis because Christopher played it on piano at our wedding to the prelude of our first dance. Boy, could he play a stunning rendition of it. It warms my heart every time I hear it on a TV commercial or throughout the halls of the academy.

  Being a piano accompanist you see, Christopher marvelled at what Ace McNaughton could do on a keyboard, and I too found myself becoming a fan. Although playing the keys isn't my forte, I was surrounded by brilliant pianists at The East London Piano Academy, and that is where I met Christopher. There is a small wing in there dedicated to tutoring aspiring singers such as myself. Christopher and I played a few shows over the years, here and there, in and around London at venues such as The Windmill Theatre, Lady Macbeth and The Cambridge Oval Centre, some more prestigious than others,  but we never got the chance to maximise our reach. The terror at Gunnersbury Park changed all that.

Strawberry and I bought our bucket of hot chips and made our way around to the hill in front of the trees on the edge of the park. Our seats were well and truly nosebleed seats alright - right in the back row of the grandstand against the fence, three seats squeezed in the corner. Christopher at a distance appeared wedged right up against the railing, and then I remember observing everyone else in the crowd and realising that there was very little leg room, let alone enough space to swing a cat.

"Nola!" he shouted, and waved us over, just as Ace had just taken the stage with his band.

"Hi ya London. How we doing out there tonight?" Ace yelled.

The crowd responded and then started chanting, "Astronaut! Astronaut! Astronaut!"

It was then, at about the fifth or sixth chant when my memory mostly lapsed, only for the rest of the horror to be explained to me in the aftermath of my now miserable life, right in that bed in Saint Mark's Hospital a long time after. Police officers, event organisers, and other members of the audience, all collaborating with one another, have filled in the rest of the details. My widowed mother was the one who relayed the particulars to me of what happened. She had a way of explaining it with her softly spoken voice. It just seemed less painful to hear coming from her, like she had taken the edge off as horrifying as the incident was.

Strawberry and I took our seats next to Christopher. I remember that part. And then right before Ace and his band launched into the first song, I recall a unique-looking fellow with peroxided dreadlocks in front of us who for some reason - which still eludes me to this day - turned around and said, "The five second rule". And that is all I remember. I've never been able to track him down to question the context. But it doesn't matter - it's a trivial thing. Besides, it may jog my memory of other moments, and I don't know if that's something I desire. I figure some things are better left forgotten.

I recall nothing else of the opening number, nor how I soaked up the performance. It was most likely spectacular, but it may as well have been lacklustre because I just can't remember. The looks on Christopher's and Strawberry's faces have also been erased from my recollection. I'm sure I would have glanced in their direction when Ace struck that first note on his keyboard during the opening song to absorb their joyful expressions, but I've not been able to visualise anything.

The first song soon ended, then the crowd applauded. Ace then immediately unleashed his brilliant vocal melody to the beginning of his megahit and second song of the night, "Never Let Me Go", majestically ringing it out to the masses. And then the disaster transpired. That's what the police said, and that's what Mum relayed. Christopher had gotten out of his seat and pushed open the temporary metal fencing and wandered towards some trees about twenty metres away from where we were sitting. Some misplaced fireworks went off right into the area Christopher had roamed into. All 140 decibels of them. Like an F-14 jet soaring into the eardrums of the nearby crowd and ripping a hole straight through them, including Strawberry and I.

A large section of the crowd was injured, some worse than others, but Christopher copped the brunt of it. Why he had ventured to the other side of that fence still eludes me to this very day. I battle mercilessly with the understanding all the time, sometimes not wanting to get out of bed and to just sit in a dark hole where I can forget the world, but then I'd be doing a disservice to Strawberry. Or I imagine drowning my sorrows with a bottle of wine every night with dinner, but then I'd be no better than my alcoholic ex-husband, Colin, who became that way ever since his business went bad and became bankrupt and turned to the drink.

The best guess I can come up with as to why Christopher ventured towards those trees beyond the fence that night is that he needed to relieve himself, but I don't know, and to be honest, it doesn't matter. What's done is done, and there is no going back in a time machine to correct the past. Because you see, on that harrowing night at Gunnersbury Park on June 12th, 2024, I permanently lost my hearing. And I permanently lost Christopher.