June 1993

Graduation was upon them, but Alastair had barely noticed. In a strange twist of fate, graduation week had coincided with A-La-Stair’s release—thanks to the help of Ian Baldwin—of their first single. Even more bizarrely, graduation day fell on Sunday, the same day BBC 1 released the Official Chart that would tell him how well the single had done in its first week. On the exact day Alastair graduated from uni, he would also find out if he was on his way to becoming a rockstar.

In the meantime, the song was out on the air, being played on independent rock stations all across the UK to commuters driving home from work, shoppers perusing window displays at the mall, and kids lounging around parks with their portable walkmans. On top of that, the single was being sold on CDs and cassette tapes at all the major music stores. All of this was being promoted and supported by the band, which was playing five nights a week at London venues. Alastair was simultaneously always exhausted and full of a constant, buzzing energy. It was the strangest feeling of his life—and helped along by the little baggies of cocaine that Ian Baldwin had started providing to all the members of A-La-Stair.

“Just a little pick-me-up,” he explained to Alastair, the first time he handed him the small plastic bag. “To get you through this busy time.”

The result of all this hubbub was that Alastair barely noticed that his graduation day was upon him and had to ask last-minute if they could cancel their gig for the night. Ian wasn’t pleased, but Alastair had to insist. It was a miracle that he’d been able to graduate uni while starting a rock band, and he wanted to celebrate this moment, and this achievement, with his friends.

The day after graduation, A-La-Stair would be leaving on tour. It was a modest endeavour, just around the UK. But it would help them gain exposure. So even if the single wasn’t a success today—or in the next few weeks—it could become so. Baldwin told him he had to be patient, that success didn’t come overnight. “We’ll build you up through word-of-mouth,” he’d said during their last meeting. “You’re not a pop artist, so exposure will take time. But once people hear your sound, they’ll be hooked.”

Of course, it could all turn out for naught. The single could flop, Ian Baldwin could turn out to be a dud, the record label could drop them, and he could find himself starting all over. Except it would be even harder, the older he got, to get a band off the ground. Producers wanted acts that were young and in touch with the zeitgeist. If A-La-Stair failed, then he would just be older and more washed up—not to mention probably still broke. At least he’d have a university degree, he supposed, although the idea of working an office job felt particularly bleak.

This thought was looming over him the morning of graduation as he and Sebastien walked the familiar route to uni in their caps and gowns.

“Are you feeling nervous about the single?” Sebastien asked him, as they paused at an intersection.

Alastair quickly smoothed out his expression and let out a laugh. “No way, mate. I’m buzzin’.”

Sebastien nodded and shoved his hands into his pockets. There was a distant look in his eyes that felt incongruous with the jovial spirit of the day.

“Are you nervous?” Alastair asked, although he wasn’t sure what Sebastien would have to be nervous about. He had landed a job working as a policy advisor to a Labour MP in Greenwich. It even paid well, which those jobs never did. Anyway, Sebastien wasn’t exactly prone to dread about the future. Alastair loved the man, but everything in life had been handed to him, and it had given him an outsized notion of what lay in store for him.

Not that Alastair ever said this. He didn’t like to bring down the good mood by bringing up class dynamics.

“I’m not nervous,” Sebastien said slowly. “It’s Jess, actually…”

Alastair gave him a bracing smile. “I’m sure you two will stay together after graduation. You both seem really smitten.”

“It’s not that. Did she tell you she got a job writing for a lads mag?”

“A what?”

“You know, one of those magazines that have naked women on the covers. They’re all about lad culture.”

“Oh, no, she didn’t. But that’s great! Good for her.”

Sebastien frowned. “Yeah, it’ll be great for her. I just wish…”

The light changed, and in the surge of people crossing the street, the friends got separated. It was only once they reached the other side that Sebastien was able to finish his thought.

“We talked about it, and she said she wasn’t going to take it,” he said, as they turned left up Morpeth Street. “But then she went ahead and applied without telling me.”

“Maybe she changed her mind.” Alastair was always the first to give someone the benefit of the doubt, and he wasn’t entirely sure what the problem was. Jess was her own woman, and she was allowed to apply to a job without consulting Sebastien first.

“I just wish she’d told me…” Sebastien grimaced. “I mean, I think she’s too good for that kind of magazine, but she still should have told me. I would have been happy for her. It makes me feel like she doesn’t trust me.”

“Maybe she knew you disapproved and didn’t want to disappoint you,” Alastair said gently. “You know, your approval means a lot to people.”

Something in his voice made Sebastien turn towards him, his eyebrows knit together. “Does it mean a lot to you?”

Alastair looked away. He tried to appear casual as he shrugged. “It doesn’t mean nothing. I’m not Imogen, after all. I can feel self doubt.” They both laughed, and Alastair threw an arm around his old friend, trying to lighten the mood. “When you’re very opinionated, it can make the people worry they’ll do something that will piss you off. It’s not a bad thing. We all love your opinions. We just don’t want to get on the wrong side of them.”

“Give me an example,” Sebastien said.

“Well… why do you think I never dropped out of Eton? Or uni? I mean, Jesus, I was close a couple of times. But I could always hear you in the back of my head, telling me that my education would be something I could fall back on, if the music didn’t work out. Jess is probably the same way. She wants a career in writing, but she’s afraid to go about it in a way that the effortlessly perfect Sebastien Montague wouldn’t like.”

“I’m not effortlessly perfect,” Sebastien said, frowning.

“I know, dude,” Alastair said, giving his shoulder a squeeze. “I know you work hard at it.”

They both laughed again, and Alastair felt the usual surge of joy he got every time he managed to cheer someone up. Apart from making music, it was the thing he was best at. That was part of what he loved about music. It brought people together, made them feel good. And that’s what Alastair was all about: making people feel good.

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

“Just give Jess a break,” he said now. “She’s just starting out. We all are.”

“You’re a far cry from just starting out,” Sebastien pointed out. “You released a single this week!”

“Yeah, well…” For a moment, Alastair thought about telling Sebastien the truth: that he was scared shitless; that the pressure to succeed was making him turn more and more often to the baggie of cocaine; that he worried constantly he was too old, too stubborn, and too talentless to make it big. But he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Sebastien was already worried about Jess, and he didn’t want to add to his anxieties. Anyway, his friend seemed so excited for him. How could he ruin that by expressing his doubts?

So instead, he pointed to an off licence on the corner and said, “Speaking of, we should celebrate! Why don’t we get some cheap bottles of bubbly to split with the girls?”

“It’s ten in the morning,” Sebastien said uncertainly. “And do we really want to be drunk when we pick up our diplomas?”

“Fuck yeah we do!” Alastair shouted, causing a few passing people to stare at him. “If we can’t drink the morning of our graduation, when can we?! C’mon, Seb, I released a single this week, we’re graduating uni, we’re young and full of life… Let's celebrate!”

“Alright…” Sebastien still looked doubtful, but he followed Alastair into the shop, and by the time Alastair had purchased the bottles and opened one outside on the street, all his sadness seemed to have evaporated.

They met the girls outside of the auditorium where they were going to get their diplomas. All around them, their fellow students were dressed in their caps and gowns, drinking beers, and posing for pictures. Alastair opened the second bottle, and the four of them took turns swigging from it. They were all delirious with excitement, and when they finally separated to line up in alphabetical order, Alastair’s head was spinning: not just from the alcohol, but from the magic of the moment. He had no way of knowing how the single was doing. He had no idea if things would work out. He was still scared shitless. But as he filed into the auditorium, seated himself in a metal folding chair, and listened as an anticipatory hush fell over the audience, an unprecedented optimism filled him. Whatever happened next, he was here now, and it was exactly where he wanted to be.

Afterwards, the friends met at The Book End to celebrate. None of Alastair’s family had been able to make the ceremony, so he had no well-wishers to shake off and arrived early. Both Jess and Imogen’s families had come, so they took a bit longer to arrive at the pub. Sebastien’s father, of course, had been in attendance. The university president had made a point of welcoming him during his opening speech. But things were frosty between the younger and elder Montague, and Sebastien turned up to the pub fairly quickly, looking mutinous. Seeing his father always did that to him. In fact, it was their mutual strained familial relationships that had drawn Alastair and Sebastien together in the first place. And the moment he saw his friend, Alastair slid a pint across the table towards him.

“Something to help the pain go down,” he joked.

Sebastien grunted and seized the pint, gulping down half of it in one go. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he said, “Leaving uni will be a new start, right?”

“Of course it will,” Alastair assured him, grinning broadly and signalling to the waitress for another round. Now that he was good and loaded, he was feeling good. It was amazing how a few pints could wash away all his fears and doubts.

The girls got there soon after, and then the party really started: rounds of pints, open bottles of sparkling wine, and greasy pub food to keep them from getting too drunk and passing out. There were other graduates in the pub, as it was a favourite of the more artsy Queen Mary crowd, and the atmosphere was boisterous. Even Jess, who was usually more restrained than the rest, was getting proper pissed. It made her looser, and as the afternoon wore on, she put her arm around Sebastien’s shoulder. Alastair had never seen her acknowledge their private relationship in public before, and he was warmed by the soft, dewy look Sebastien gave her. It seemed that all had been forgiven in regards to her taking the lads mag job.

Ian Baldwin had told Alastair to call at four o’clock, which was when the Official Chart would be announced on BBC Radio 1. And as four o’clock approached, Alastair’s nerves intensified. Even with the blunting effect of alcohol, he could still feel his heart rate beginning to pick up and the back of his neck and palms beginning to sweat. It only made him louder and more exuberant, however, in order to disguise his feelings from his friends.

At 3:50, he excused himself to the bathroom. Bypassing the urinals, he locked himself in one of the stalls, then took out the bag of cocaine he’d hidden in the inner pocket of his suit. He’d promised himself he wouldn’t do any today, but now that he was a few pints in, he didn’t see the problem.

It’ll give me a boost, he told himself. In case things go bad with the single.

He dipped his pinkie into the bag and brought out a small bump, which he snorted quickly. The effects were almost instantaneous: a rush of energy and confidence, the feeling that he was invincible. Leaning back against the metal stall door, he closed his eyes. This is what being a rockstar would feel like all the time. He was sure of it.

After another minute, he did another bump—what could it hurt?—then headed back out into the pub. He was still sniffing a lot, so instead of going back to the table, he went straight to the bar. It was better if his friends didn’t know about the baggie of cocaine. Somehow, he knew they would disapprove.

“Hey Tom, can I use your phone?” he asked the bartender. “I want to check how the single’s doing.”

“Sure thing.” Tom slid the phone across the countertop. “We’ve been playing it all week, if that’s any comfort.”

Alastair grinned. “Cheers, mate.”

He dialled Ian’s number into the phone and then listened as it rang once, twice, three times…

“Is that you, Alastair?” Baldwin’s voice, always so cheerful, sounded euphoric as he answered the phone. Alastair’s hand tightened on the receiver. His mouth was so dry it was difficult to speak.

“It’s me,” he croaked. His back was turned to his friends. He didn’t want them to see the nervousness on his face.

“Well, I’ve got good news for you, my boy,” Baldwin boomed. “Great news, really. Are you ready for this?”

Alastair nodded into the receiver, but Baldwin didn’t wait for him to speak anyway. “A-La-Stair’s debut single, “Unsung Heroes”, has hit number 21 on the UK Charts. It’s happening, Alastair. You’re an indie rock musician, and within one week of releasing your first single, you’ve cracked the top 25. Congratulations, my boy. You’re a rockstar!”

Alastair didn’t hear any more. The phone fell from his hands and skidded across the countertop. Tom reached for it, looking concerned.

“It’s good,” Alastair managed to choke out. Then he turned around to face his friends. They were all watching him with anxious expressions.

“We hit number 21,” Alastair heard himself say. “We hit number 21!”

All three friends began to shout in delight, and they weren’t alone. Everyone who drank at The Book End knew Alastair. He’d been playing there for years, and they’d watched him hone his skills and signature sound. And as the news spread quickly throughout the pub, there were gasps, cheers, and applause from all corners.

“Alastair!” Imogen screeched, jumping up from her seat and running across the room to wrap her arms around him. “You did it! You really did it!”

Moments later, Sebastien had also barrelled into them, followed quickly by Jess. Alastair was crushed and winded, but he didn’t care. Energy like he had never felt it was coursing through him, and he didn’t think it had anything to do with the coke. He was on top of the world. Number 21 was better than he ever could have hoped for. It wasn’t unheard of for a new act to debut on the Official Chart, but it was rare for an indie rock band. Usually, it was shiny pop stars groomed by the industry—and who didn’t write their own music—who had chart-topping hits right off the bat. But here Alastair was writing heavy rock anthems about youth culture and his love affair with rock’n’roll and still cracking the Top 25. It was unbelievable. And it was happening.

The four-person hug disentangled, and then Alastair was being congratulated by a crowd of admirers. They all wanted to shake his hand and tell him how they’d always believed in him, how they’d been rooting for him from the beginning. Tom was one of the last to congratulate him.

“Don’t forget about us,” he joked, his eyes sparkling, “when you’re rich and famous.”

“Never,” Alastair promised. “I’ll never forget where I come from.”

It was almost too good to be true, and as Alastair sat back down with his friends in their booth, where Tom brought a complimentary bottle of bubbly, he couldn’t help but feel a nagging doubt that it was.

Much later, after the rest of the city had fallen asleep, the four friends sat on Imogen’s balcony and looked out over the rooftops of London. Dawn was just beginning to peak over the horizon, a splattering of pink against the dark greys of the capital. They’d been up all night celebrating. Now, the city was quiet; they were quiet. There was nothing more to say, nothing more to discuss. Each of them, Alastair knew, was thinking about the future: Imogen would be starting a residency in Hackney, secured for her by her agent; Jess would begin writing for BOOM; Sebastien would move to Greenwich to change the world; and he, Alastair, would be leaving on tour. He was calmer now. Less afraid. Accepting, finally.

Life would never be the same again, he knew, but he didn’t want it to be. Life was his for the taking, and now that he’d seized it, he was ready to see what unknown roads awaited him.