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The music washed over him in smooth waves of contentment. ‘O mio babbino caro’. Puccini.
Liverpool’s Philharmonic Hall was full, as was the orchestra. The maestro on the podium a suitable reflection of the fact.
“What do you think?” Simon whispered, leaning towards him.
“It’s good. Just one question? Why are we the only ones wearing tuxedos?” Nicks whispered back.
“The guy at work who gave me the tickets told me it was a ‘black tie’ job. Twat. I’ll get him back.”
In silence, they returned to the music, the Humming Chorus from Madam Butterfly had just begun.
Several minutes later, a whisper, again. “Fancy some popcorn?”Simon ignored him. Nicks started to get up. Si quickly restrained him with a firm hand on his arm and murmured, frustratedly, “What are you doing?”
Nicks sat down. “I thought you might like a hotdog.”
“You’re bored now, aren’t you?”
“Well, I didn’t want to say anything.”
Simon hissed in his ear, tension now growing. “Jeez, Nicks, sometimes you’ve the attention span of a dead rocking horse. Listen, the interval’s coming along shortly. Just sit quietly and behave yourself. Just ... let me enjoy this bit, for god’s sake. Please?” Sometimes, he felt like he was babysitting a five-year-old.
Nicks ‘squidged’ his finger in his ear then slipped the envelope his ticket had come in from his jacket and carefully wrote on it. He passed it over. It said, “Where we going next then?”
Si leaned in to Nicks, pulled the pen from his fingers, scribbled something down and handed it back. Nicks read it and whispered, “There’s no need for that. I was just saying.”
He wasn’t sure why, but now and then it gave him an immense sense of pleasure to wind Simon up. A little smile flitted across his lips.