I think maybe the rock’n’roll medley should be thrown in?’ This was met with loud protests from all of us, which D’Wayne lifted his large hands to still. ‘I know you hate it but it’s what the punters want. Most of the guests at the party are Baby Boomers. You’ve got to work with your demographic, guys.’
‘But it’s like death on a G-string,’ Tom moaned. ‘Six songs with identical chord structures. I might as well get Jack to sequence it and just go to the bar for the whole medley.’
I laughed. ‘Any excuse, Tom.’
‘What can I say? It’s a vocation.’
‘Maybe we should be looking for gigs that cater for a younger crowd,’ Jack muttered, as Wren and Charlie groaned. This was a frequent source of disagreement within the band and was unlikely to be resolved any time soon.
‘Older crowds have more disposable income,’ Sophie said, topping up her wine glass. ‘If you go for younger crowds all the time you’ll have to do more gigs to make it financially viable.’
‘Which is fortunate, then, that all the gigs in the diary for next year are going to pay well,’ D’Wayne interjected, clearly pleased with himself. ‘So do you mind if we return to next year’s programme?’
Tom shrugged and took a handful of nuts. ‘Don’t let us stop you, Duh-Wayne.’
‘Thank you. In January we have a fiftieth birthday gig on the 14th and on the 21st there’s a winter wedding at Elstone Farm Estate down in Somerset – smaller crowd but they’re all booked into the accommodation onsite so should be in the mood for a party. In February I’ve managed to get you playing at an exclusive Valentine’s Night bash at a venue to be confirmed – two forty-five-minute sets before the DJ comes on and they’re happy to pay a premium to secure us, so that should be around £250 each.’
A murmur of surprised approval rippled through the room. February is traditionally a dead month as far as gigs are concerned and, after the usual shock of post-Christmas bills in January, any money coming in during that month is a definite bonus.
‘March-wise, bit quiet at the moment but I’ve almost secured a medieval banquet wedding gig in Northumberland. Bride and groom both work for a big City law firm in London, so it should be more than worthwhile. I’ll have more on that next month, hopefully.’
‘Ah, the madrigal set then, guys,’ Jack quipped.
Tom laughed. ‘Must dust off my mandolin.’
‘Usual set, actually,’ D’Wayne countered. ‘And the type of younger crowd you’re looking for, Tom.’ He finished his wine and flicked through the list on his phone. ‘Two weddings in April, then May is more or less booked for weddings – three Saturdays and a Sunday, including a very nice one at a Scottish castle near Fort William. There’s a Regency wedding in June, a summer ball for a major accountancy firm in London in July and possibly a late July beachside wedding in Devon, so we might blag a free weekend break out of it. Obviously there are more I’m working on but it’s all good stuff, I think you’ll agree.’
‘It’s a start,’ Charlie said. ‘But ideally I think we need to be trying to gig most weeks from May to end of September.’
D’Wayne raised his eyebrows. ‘Hey, feel free to do better if you think you can.’
‘Actually, I already have,’ Charlie replied, his coolness disguising the irritation I knew he was experiencing. We all turned to look at him, including our manager, who looked slightly winded by this. ‘My sister’s getting married at Combermere Abbey in Shropshire, on the second weekend of September, and she’s booked us for the whole day. She’s hired a string quartet for the ceremony and wants some smooth jazz for the afternoon reception, so I suggest that Rom, Jack and I do the American Songbook set we put together for Soph’s mum’s fiftieth last year, and then we’ll have the whole band set in the evening. We get £250 each plus travel, two nights’ accommodation and expenses. Added to that, the event planner at the venue is an old school friend of hers and is interested in taking us on to her recommended entertainment list, so there’s definite potential for repeat gigs. That OK with you, Mr McDougall?’
D’Wayne’s voice was small and resigned when it came out. ‘Fine. Well done.’
‘You kept that quiet, Charlie,’ Sophie said. ‘Did you know about this, Rom?’
I shook my head, my heart sinking at the fact. Usually, I would be the first to know. After what happened on Saturday, was this how things were going to be between us from now on?
‘They’re not really talking at the moment,’ Wren interjected.
Horrified, I stared at her. ‘Wren!’
‘I’m just saying.’
All eyes swung to me, then Charlie, who was looking as uncomfortable as I felt.
‘Why? What’s up?’ Tom demanded.
Charlie’s gaze dropped to the carpet. ‘Nothing. We’re fine.’
Jack pulled a face. ‘Awkward!’
I considered throwing out a lame excuse to leave the room, but it would only further fuel my friends’ interest. So I remained rooted to the floor, hoping against hope that nobody would pursue it. Luckily for me, Tom had a bigger bombshell to drop.
‘Forget Pinstripes’ domestics, I can trump your gig, Chas.’
Relief washed over me as all attention switched to our guitarist.
Clearly happy to be let off the hook, Charlie laughed. ‘Oh really? Pray tell.’
‘I was chatting to my boss Julian last week about the kind of events we do. It was just a bit of small talk on the last day of work and I didn’t expect anything to come of it. But yesterday he called me and asked if we would be interested in playing for his daughter’s wedding in June. Point is, the guy’s loaded – we’re talking multi-millionaire – and he’s booked an amazing stately home in London not far from Kew Gardens. We had the most mental conversation. He was casually reeling off names of some of the guests who have already accepted, and we’re talking major celebs.’
It took us all several minutes to process this. It was D’Wayne who finally broke the silence.
‘How much?’
Tom’s smile was confidence personified. ‘Five grand for the full band, and he’ll throw in accommodation in Central London.’
‘Wow,’ Wren breathed. ‘That would make a major dent in my credit card debt. And staying in London, too? I’m thinking shopping …’
‘So much for settling the credit cards, Wren,’ I laughed.
‘How many sets?’ Charlie asked.
‘Two one-hours with a break for the evening buffet in the middle.’
‘Ah, music to my ears,’ grinned Jack.
Sophie leant forward. ‘When you say “celebs”, what calibre are we talking?’
‘Put it this way: the happy couple have sold their wedding pictures to Hello! magazine for several million pounds. Reckon we could tempt you out of retirement to play some wicked sax for us, Soph?’
Sophie whooped and threw her arms around Tom. ‘Yes! Please!’
‘How definite a booking is it?’ I asked.
‘As definite as us saying yes. He listened to the demo tracks on our website and decided we were perfect. Which of course, we are. So I said yes. Was that OK?’
All of us agreed together, even D’Wayne, who was looking decidedly deflated by the news.
Later, I stood in the kitchen with Jack making hot chocolate as the hum of excited conversation drifted through from the other room. Even though he’s two months younger than me, Jack’s always assumed the role of an older brother, watching