The Life We Once Knew

Her Majesty's A Really Nice Girl

There are very few places on Earth where I haven't played. Whether it be in the largest stadium in America, or in a concert hall in front of The Royal Family, I've played it all. Revolution played twice in front of The Royal Family, and now, it was Storms Over London's turn.

"I can't find my pick," Minerva mumbled, "Where's my pick?"

"Minerva, calm down, it's in your guitar case," I placed a hand on her shoulder.

She gulped, "I-I looked there."

"Look again."

I opened the lid to expose a pile of picks where the guitar should be. Minerva picked one up before she gasped, "Where's my guitar?!"

"Oh, bloody hell," I mumbled.

Minerva was like Janice on steroids. Janice may have had anxiety, but Minerva had a chronic case of petrifying fear. Every time we were about to go on stage, Minerva found something to worry about. She made problems where there were none, but I suppose that is a symptom of anxiety. As much as I wanted to help her, there were bigger things to worry about at that moment. 

"It's on the couch, Minerva," Linda smiled sweetly, "So is your strap."

"Thank God."

Tabitha scoffed, "Forget about that, we need to figure out the setlist."

"It's the same setlist we always play," I replied.

"We're playing for The Royal Family, we ought to change it up a bit!"

Tabitha had been getting on my nerves more often lately, and I didn't think that was possible. It was like every word she said was nails on a chalkboard, set up just to annoy me. She counteracted everything I said just to spite me and did everything she could to get under my skin. Perhaps the worst part was she was actually succeeding. If it weren't for the Lovely Linda, I can't say what could have happened. 

Linda shook her head, "We did, we shortened it."

"And we did fewer covers. We're only covering three songs now," I said. 

Tabitha flung up her hands, "And they're rubbish!"

I rubbed my temples, "Alright, listen-"

"Amelia, why don't you go to the canteen and get a drink of water?" Linda asked, "Let me handle this."

When I looked in her eyes, I saw it wasn't a suggestion. I nodded, "Alright, Lindy, whatever you say."

This show was stressful for all of us. Not only because we were playing in front of The Royal Family, but because we were doing it without a manager. Ellen had fallen gravely ill this morning, leaving us to manage ourselves. That responsibility fell onto Linda and I. I could barely look at Tabitha without yelling at her, let alone managing her. This entire thing was doomed from the start.

On my way to the canteen, I was met with four familiar faces. This show was an important show with important people in the audience besides The Royal Family. British dignitaries, politicians, and celebrities all filled the theater. Among them were notable musicians such as The Rolling Stones, Gerry and The Pacemakers, Marianne Faithfull, and, last but definitley not the least, The Beatles.

"Mel, fancy running into you here," John winked at me.

I laughed, "It's only my show."

"It's a bit odd, sittin' in the audience," Paul shook his head, "Usually we're waitin' to go on after you."

"It's nice though, ain't it, Macca? We can sit back and relax while Mel and the other birds do all the work," John wiggled his eyebrows.

I rolled my eyes, "You're a bunch of gits."