Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance > The Tour
I spent ages trying to reassure Bob that Bri was just trying to do what’s best for the bus, not herself, but I don’t think he was buying it. The first of the crowds were drifting in, the hum of conversation filling the silence between me and the gloomy drummer. As we walked amongst the rides Franks voice ghosted past my ear.
“Play along, thrust me.”
I looked around and he was no-wear near. I’m imagining things.
“Hey Bob, will you take a photo of me and Os on the pirate ship?” Frank literally popped up between us, camera in hand and grin on his face.
“Don’t they have cameras on the rides?” Bob glared a Frank. I felt a kick to my leg and Frank was staring hopefully at me. I’ve never noticed before, but we’re exactly the same height. Dam he’s short. I must have been spacing out as another kick snapped my brain into gear.
“Uh, yeh. But you never get a good shot and Bri can’t work the camera. Pretty please?”
“Urgh, fine. Give it here.” Bob snatched the camera and Frank dragged me off towards the pirate ship entrance. Once we got around the corner, Frank changed directions, taking us down a gravel path to a formal garden.
“I relay hate the pirate ship!” We leant, panting, against a highly decorative wall. A lowered garden stretched out before us, a big ornamental lake and fountain its centre piece. Frank stood in the sun, one foot casually against the wall, soaking up the heat like a reptile.
“Thank god. I hate rides! Thought I’d actually have to go through with that then.”
“You should have said. I don’t want to give you a panic attack.” Frank looked across to me, sympathy showing in his creased brow. I shifted uncomfortably under his scrutiny, hating admitting to him my fears.
“I thought you’d laugh at my chicken-ness.” I mumbled head down.
“No way. It takes a brave soul to not fall for my ludicrously innuendo filled advances.” Frank playfully nudged me. I could hear the smile in his voice. Thinking back to this morning, and it all being too soon, I realised I don’t care. I only have myself to answer to, no-one else. Fuck’em all.
With a devilish grin, I turned to face Frank square on. “Who’s to say I haven’t?” As I leant in, the world span and tarmac grated across my hands. Dazed I looked around to find myself sprawled across the footpath, a crowd of black clad teenagers around Frank. Well at least I think Frank was in there somewhere, he’s too short to see.
I sat up and dusted off my grey jeans, glad the colour hid most of the dirt unless you looked closely. Watching the excited chatter of fans, a blond haired girl glared bitchily at me as she clung to Frank, whilst an equally blond girl took a billion photos on her phone.
“Are you alright?” An English accent sounded almost alien, despite travelling with Bri.
I turned around to see a middle aged man leaning over. He had a full head of silver hair and designer glasses perched on his face. His red v-neck over a shirt and beige chords made him remind me of Dad.
“I’m ok thanks. Americans can be so rude.” He smiled politely and the sun glinted off his chrome frames.
I took the hand he offered and got to my feet, wincing at his grip. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome. I love holidays but I’m never sad when I touch down on English soil.”
As I picked the bits of gravel out of my skin, blood began to seep into the voids they created. Hissing as I pulled a small piece of glass from my palm, the Englishman stepped closer to inspect my hand.
“You should get that seen too. There’s a medical centre by the entrance, would you like me to show you the way?” I was taken aback by the mystery mans politeness.
“I don’t want to intrude on your day.” I mumbled.
“Don’t be silly. I only came to look at the gardens to avoid my screaming kids dragging me on all those horrendous roller coasters. It will be a pleasure.” He put a gentle hand on my back to guide me in the right direction and we began a slow stroll to the medical station. I’ll text Frank in a bit, he can deal with his crazy ass fans by himself.
“Thank you…” I didn’t know his name. I raised an eyebrow in question.
“Ron.” The grey haired man smiled, laughter lines showing. I swear my Dad has a long lost brother.
“Ron. I’m Osla.” I went to shake his hand then realised my mistake. Ron chuckled as he led the way.
As we ambled though the masses of kids and teenagers that had piled through the gates in comfortable silence, Ron kept glancing at me from the corner of his eye. I was starting to regret trusting him without question. After a minute or two he spoke up.
“I hope you don’t mind me asking, but you wouldn’t be Osla Jones by any chance?”
“Guilty as charged.” I could feel my cheeks redden at being recognised. Least that explains the not so sly glances.
“A pleasure to meet such an extraordinary young chef.” He beamed. Feeling even more embarrassed I took an interest in my scuffed shoes.
“I still have allot to learn. But thank you.” We cut a left towards the entrance, the crowds growing as we approached the restaurant and shop.
“You’re welcome. So this is where you are hiding. I could pay for this entire holiday with a photo of you right now. I cannot abide tabloids mind. They are so obtrusive. I couldn’t imagine the difficulties it must create in your personal life.”
“You assume I have one.” I replied dryly. “It’s not the life it seems. But I wouldn’t trade it for the world.”
“I’m glad to hear it. I couldn’t live without the Griffin.”
“Really? I hate to burst your bubble, but it’s rare I actually get to cook there.”
“But you designed the menu. With a little help from Miss Hook I’m sure.” Miss Hook. He he. “Here we are. It’s been a pleasure to help and you saved me having to walk around some boring garden on my own.” I laughed at Ron’s admission, returning his kind smile.
“Heh. Thanks for showing me the way. If you give me your address I’ll make sure there’s always a table for you at the Griffin.”
Ron pulled out a business card form his wallet and handed it to me. “Don’t worry your secrets safe with me.” With a wink he turned and made his way back through the bustle of tourists. Turning over the crisp white card, I almost choked as I read it.
Ron Greenham
Sub-Editor
The Times, part of News International Group
He’s only sub editor of the biggest broad sheet newspaper in the UK. Well fuck me. Putting the card safely away I retrieved my phone from my pocket, or at least what’s left of it. The front cover was cracked and the key’s half fallen out. A big crack split my screen down the middle. Guess I will just have to wait by the gate till someone shows up. Sighing I put the remnants of my new phone back in my pocket and walked into the medical centre.
“Play along, thrust me.”
I looked around and he was no-wear near. I’m imagining things.
“Hey Bob, will you take a photo of me and Os on the pirate ship?” Frank literally popped up between us, camera in hand and grin on his face.
“Don’t they have cameras on the rides?” Bob glared a Frank. I felt a kick to my leg and Frank was staring hopefully at me. I’ve never noticed before, but we’re exactly the same height. Dam he’s short. I must have been spacing out as another kick snapped my brain into gear.
“Uh, yeh. But you never get a good shot and Bri can’t work the camera. Pretty please?”
“Urgh, fine. Give it here.” Bob snatched the camera and Frank dragged me off towards the pirate ship entrance. Once we got around the corner, Frank changed directions, taking us down a gravel path to a formal garden.
“I relay hate the pirate ship!” We leant, panting, against a highly decorative wall. A lowered garden stretched out before us, a big ornamental lake and fountain its centre piece. Frank stood in the sun, one foot casually against the wall, soaking up the heat like a reptile.
“Thank god. I hate rides! Thought I’d actually have to go through with that then.”
“You should have said. I don’t want to give you a panic attack.” Frank looked across to me, sympathy showing in his creased brow. I shifted uncomfortably under his scrutiny, hating admitting to him my fears.
“I thought you’d laugh at my chicken-ness.” I mumbled head down.
“No way. It takes a brave soul to not fall for my ludicrously innuendo filled advances.” Frank playfully nudged me. I could hear the smile in his voice. Thinking back to this morning, and it all being too soon, I realised I don’t care. I only have myself to answer to, no-one else. Fuck’em all.
With a devilish grin, I turned to face Frank square on. “Who’s to say I haven’t?” As I leant in, the world span and tarmac grated across my hands. Dazed I looked around to find myself sprawled across the footpath, a crowd of black clad teenagers around Frank. Well at least I think Frank was in there somewhere, he’s too short to see.
I sat up and dusted off my grey jeans, glad the colour hid most of the dirt unless you looked closely. Watching the excited chatter of fans, a blond haired girl glared bitchily at me as she clung to Frank, whilst an equally blond girl took a billion photos on her phone.
“Are you alright?” An English accent sounded almost alien, despite travelling with Bri.
I turned around to see a middle aged man leaning over. He had a full head of silver hair and designer glasses perched on his face. His red v-neck over a shirt and beige chords made him remind me of Dad.
“I’m ok thanks. Americans can be so rude.” He smiled politely and the sun glinted off his chrome frames.
I took the hand he offered and got to my feet, wincing at his grip. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome. I love holidays but I’m never sad when I touch down on English soil.”
As I picked the bits of gravel out of my skin, blood began to seep into the voids they created. Hissing as I pulled a small piece of glass from my palm, the Englishman stepped closer to inspect my hand.
“You should get that seen too. There’s a medical centre by the entrance, would you like me to show you the way?” I was taken aback by the mystery mans politeness.
“I don’t want to intrude on your day.” I mumbled.
“Don’t be silly. I only came to look at the gardens to avoid my screaming kids dragging me on all those horrendous roller coasters. It will be a pleasure.” He put a gentle hand on my back to guide me in the right direction and we began a slow stroll to the medical station. I’ll text Frank in a bit, he can deal with his crazy ass fans by himself.
“Thank you…” I didn’t know his name. I raised an eyebrow in question.
“Ron.” The grey haired man smiled, laughter lines showing. I swear my Dad has a long lost brother.
“Ron. I’m Osla.” I went to shake his hand then realised my mistake. Ron chuckled as he led the way.
As we ambled though the masses of kids and teenagers that had piled through the gates in comfortable silence, Ron kept glancing at me from the corner of his eye. I was starting to regret trusting him without question. After a minute or two he spoke up.
“I hope you don’t mind me asking, but you wouldn’t be Osla Jones by any chance?”
“Guilty as charged.” I could feel my cheeks redden at being recognised. Least that explains the not so sly glances.
“A pleasure to meet such an extraordinary young chef.” He beamed. Feeling even more embarrassed I took an interest in my scuffed shoes.
“I still have allot to learn. But thank you.” We cut a left towards the entrance, the crowds growing as we approached the restaurant and shop.
“You’re welcome. So this is where you are hiding. I could pay for this entire holiday with a photo of you right now. I cannot abide tabloids mind. They are so obtrusive. I couldn’t imagine the difficulties it must create in your personal life.”
“You assume I have one.” I replied dryly. “It’s not the life it seems. But I wouldn’t trade it for the world.”
“I’m glad to hear it. I couldn’t live without the Griffin.”
“Really? I hate to burst your bubble, but it’s rare I actually get to cook there.”
“But you designed the menu. With a little help from Miss Hook I’m sure.” Miss Hook. He he. “Here we are. It’s been a pleasure to help and you saved me having to walk around some boring garden on my own.” I laughed at Ron’s admission, returning his kind smile.
“Heh. Thanks for showing me the way. If you give me your address I’ll make sure there’s always a table for you at the Griffin.”
Ron pulled out a business card form his wallet and handed it to me. “Don’t worry your secrets safe with me.” With a wink he turned and made his way back through the bustle of tourists. Turning over the crisp white card, I almost choked as I read it.
Ron Greenham
Sub-Editor
The Times, part of News International Group
He’s only sub editor of the biggest broad sheet newspaper in the UK. Well fuck me. Putting the card safely away I retrieved my phone from my pocket, or at least what’s left of it. The front cover was cracked and the key’s half fallen out. A big crack split my screen down the middle. Guess I will just have to wait by the gate till someone shows up. Sighing I put the remnants of my new phone back in my pocket and walked into the medical centre.
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