Love is a Laserquest - Alex Turner/Arctic Monkeys Fan Fiction

2006

The Arctic Monkeys' first official UK tour sells out on their website within an hour.

I think of Alex and I sitting in the Fat Cat when Dad calls me at my London dorm room to tell me. I can still see the scruffy-haired Alex in his bright blue polo, hear the excitement as he told me the news, as my planned confession of love evaporated on my tongue. But Dad is prattling on about how chuffed he is for the boys, how he's going round to the Turners' for champagne. He tells me that they've got tickets– a whole group of us from Sheffield– to go see them in London. Dad's never seen them perform before, and from the way he's gushing you'd think it was his own son who's gone celebrity.

Truthfully, I haven't seen much of Alex the last couple of months. Though we both technically live in London now, we're living very different and separate existences. He spends most of his days recording or writing– late nights performing and networking and drinking like a fish– whereas I'm stuck in lectures, libraries, quiet cafes for hours revising. He's been on a world tour since that day in the Fat Cat, and I haven't even seen him perform since their album came out.

So, I'm feeling a thrill of excitement to take a night off my studies to go to the Forum in London to see the boys play. Dad is practically bouncing on the balls of his feet as we walk through Kentish Town to the venue, giddy with excitement.

"This is brilliant," he gushes. "The lads– our lads– sellin' out a whole tour! It's brilliant!"

I laugh, knowing full-well Dad is going to be returning to Sheffield kitted out in Arctic Monkeys memorabilia.

We sit with the Turners and the Helders at a booth in the balcony, and Dad hoots and hollers like a fangirl the whole time. After each song ends, he turns to Penny and David and says, "Brilliant! Just brilliant!" as if he hasn't heard another adjective in his life. But he's beaming– absolutely chuffed for them and their success. And I have to admit, I am too. Seeing my friends– my best friend in the whole world– doing what they love best, with a whole crowd of people singing along and cheering for them, makes my heart swell. I probably yell even louder than Dad.

And when we end the night in their dressing room, and the Turners offer Dad the pull out sofa in their hotel room suite, he looks hesitant. I have no room for him in my dorm room, and taking the train back tonight would be murder, so it seems like a no brainer. But he's looking at me as if he doesn't want to leave me– as if he doesn't want us to part ways.

"I'll take her 'ome, Major Tom," Alex says.

"No," Dad says. "Not after your big night, lad."

Alex shrugs. "We were just goin' 'ome anyway," he replies. Throwing an arm around my shoulder, he squeezes me comically and says, "It'll be nice to catch up."

"Bills?" Dad prompts, seeing what I want to do.

"I don't mind," I tell him, because he looks knackered, and I haven't properly spoken to Alex in probably a year. "Go get some sleep. We can get breakfast if the morning if you're still here!"

"I'd love that," he says, smiling so big his glasses move up with the apples of his cheeks. He pulls me out from under Alex's arms and bear hugs me. "'Ave a good night, my girl."

I breathe in his familiar scent of soap, mint tea, tobacco– and tonight, ale– and smile.

When he releases me, he turns to Alex and says, "You get 'er to King's College in one piece, Aladdin, you 'ear?"

Alex salutes him goofily.

"I don't care 'ow famous you are," Dad jokes, giving his shoulder a friendly squeeze. "She's still my best girl."