By the time we set off for the King George, I was nervous for Mark’s sake. I couldn’t explain why; he had a wonderful voice, and if the reaction was half as good as last time, I knew all would be well.
“Stop worrying,” Tom told me.
“I know. I’m being silly.”
“Yes you are. He’s a big boy.”
I laughed, hoping it didn’t sound hollow. I was trying to put on a front for the others, but inwardly I was worried, and I was angry at myself for being so pathetic.
Mark wasn’t at the pub when we entered. I must have looked concerned.
“He’ll still be at Tim’s,” Cliff said. “We’ll save some seats for them and your aunt and her friend. If you remember from last time, Tim doesn’t come until it’s almost time for him to play.”
“I remember,” I said.
“I think you could do with a large drink.” Tom smiled
