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1981, Stockholm
The room still pulsed with the aftershocks of the show—low chatter, glass clinks, and bursts of laughter from where the band gathered around the corner bar of the small venue. The venue staff had dimmed the lights, letting the band relax without too much fuss. Nick was animatedly recounting a moment from the performance, mimicking Simon’s wide-eyed expression when the mic nearly slipped from his hand. Roger nursed a drink, his laughter quiet but genuine. Andy was already halfway through his second beer, still sweaty from the heat of the stage lights.
But John was withdrawn, his bass propped carelessly against the wall behind him, a thin crease between his brows.
Valerie slipped in quietly beside him, sliding onto the tall bar stool next to his. Her hair was pulled back loosely, a bit tousled from the rush of the crowd when she walked between tables from the other side of the room. She placed a hand over his.
“You were amazing,” she said softly.
He let out a breath that was almost a scoff. “I couldn’t even finish the song, Val.”
“Because your bass cut out for five seconds. The audience didn’t even notice. You kept going, the rest of the band kept going. That’s what counts.”
John shook his head, still staring into the untouched drink in front of him. “You know it wasn't five seconds… It’s not about whether they noticed. I noticed. That was supposed to be the moment—my moment in that part of the set. And it just... sputtered out.”
She squeezed his hand gently. “Do you think the guy in the front row who was shaking his shoulders like a maniac during ‘Careless Memory’ gives a shit if your bass dropped for five seconds? Even, I could see him from the corner in the back.”
A beat. Then the corners of his mouth curved slightly.
“That’s a bold theory,” he said, turning to finally look at her.
Valerie smiled. “Well, it’s true. And the only person who's allowed to mope about it tonight is the guy whose guitar string snapped mid-solo, and he’s already talking with two girls over there.”
John chuckled under his breath, visibly relaxing.
A moment passed.
“Ok, let’s talk about something else,” he said suddenly, eyes brighter, voice still low. “Let’s talk about our children’s names.”
Valerie blinked. “What?”
John turned fully on his stool to face her, his smile turning mischievous now. “Yeah. Our future. We have to think about it all. Marriage, names, you know. It’s important.”
