In the Sandown Festival aftermath, the band took some time off.  After so many months of exhaustive rehearsal and living like sisters – culminating in that sensational but draining weekend – they craved a break.  From each other as well as the stage.  They had no gigs for a month or so – the summer often being a hiatus season for groups – so devoted their focus to non-All the Rage concerns for a while.

Chantal and Kris got to know – and love – each other all over again.  They were virtually at square one, for they’d only been together four months before separating in the first place, and they’d spent far longer apart and pining than actually together. 

Kris proposed ‘officially’ and presented her with the Fanta ring’s rather classier replacement: a blue topaz set in a cluster of tiny, brilliant diamonds.  The dainty design and the stone’s colour were precisely to Chantal’s taste, and she was besotted with it.  So that fraught afternoon he’d spent in the Jewellery Quarter had not proved such a waste of time after all.

The pair of them wasted no time either in leaping back into bed to resume where they left off, sex-wise.

Chantal had started to wonder if she’d dreamed all that bedroom bliss that last year ended her protracted stretch of virginity – but its resumption more than reassured her.  Shags with Ross were so loveless and brisk in comparison.  Ross’s nob may have worked overtime, but it didn’t provide as satisfactory a service as Kristian’s.  Definitely a case of quality being better than quantity. 

Chantal took Kris home to meet her parents properly, and this time Ken and Shirley extended to him the proverbial open arms that should have greeted him when he first seriously started to court their daughter.

Chantal was similarly welcomed back into the Savage fold, where Rose fussed and foisted biscuits on her as though she’d never been away.  Kara was typically thorny at first – but then she was not yet mature or conversant in ways of the heart. 

‘If I can forgive Chantal, so should you,’ Kris remonstrated.  ‘After all, I’m the one who was wronged in the whole business!’

He wasn’t going to let Kara’s teenage huffing vex him, though.  Little sis would have to get used to Chantal being his wife one day.

But leading up to that, a long betrothal was in store.  Weddings didn’t come cheap these days, and in any event neither were in a zooming hurry to tie the knot.  After all, most couples only started to ponder getting married following a rather more considered courtship than theirs!  Both were content for the time being to let Chantal’s rock speak for itself of their commitment and love. 

These lovers were different people, in many ways, to the rather yucky couple of last year.  At times Chantal found it surreal to have an engagement ring on her finger when she was in what felt like a totally new relationship.  But they were both positive they were doing absolutely the right thing; each knew the other was the love of their life.

Their first priority was to look for a place to live – they concentrated on saving their respective band wages towards a deposit on a flat or small house.

They did decide to splurge a little of their pooled dosh, though – rewarding themselves with an impromptu week in Tenerife.  A last-minute bargain on a ‘Building Sites R Us’ style holiday website – but, in its own way, no less special than a sojourn in Antigua.  Chantal and Kris bonked all night, and slept, drank, tanned and swam all day.

Both were determined not to balls things up this time around.  Now that she was versed in the stresses and attentions that went with band life, she had a greater idea about where Kris was coming from; she was far less insecure and jumpy.  Kris meanwhile, while still professionally focused, had far fewer moody, insular moments.

Joe and Faith had meanwhile purchased a brand new, tiny townhouse in Wolverhampton, into which they moved in early July – the same week Faith’s feared exam results were revealed.  Once again, she dumbfounded her classmates by gliding through without appearing to do more than about five minutes revision.  She graduated from her much maligned Marketing course with a laudable 2:2 – a ‘Desmond.’

‘Can’t see as I’ll be putting Desmond to much use in the real world,’ she shrugged – though in fact she was chuffed beyond measure.

Faith was not as lazy a student as she would have people believe.  Joe was a wonderful influence on her.  He made her aware if what she’d be chucking away if she didn’t see through the course of study upon which she’d embarked, reluctantly or otherwise, three years ago.

‘You’ve had a ball these last three years, babe – wouldn’t it be a bostin’ bonus if you gained a qualification at the end of them?’  Joe had such a way of making the logical indisputable.  He was the only boyfriend to whom she’d ever listened; whose opinion she actually respected.  He was sensible, though not in a didactic, square way.

Faith couldn’t wait to blurb her good news to Chantal and Justine, who reciprocated with big shrieks down the phone and hearty cards congratulating the ‘group swot.’

Joe took her to Rollo’s – ‘their place’ since that fantastic first date – to celebrate more intimately.

They then decided to take a little impromptu holiday in Scotland…

In Faith’s absence, Justine was phoned at the pub – typically, during another frantic lunch rush.  The next thing the hungry patrons heard was an octave of squeals.

‘What is it, love?’  Mo, engaged in filling a glass from the Fosters pump, grinned, guessing what his daughter’s exhilarating news would be.  Every phone call for weeks now – ever since a certain audition – had sent her capering up the hallway.

‘We’re gunna be on telly!’  Justine came yomping through to the bar, in the usual pigtails and cheesy pinny (success would never spoil this girl).  ‘That was Talent Scout!  On the fifteenth of October, All the Rage will be battling it out, on liiiive TV, in the last heat before the grand final!’  She clung to her dad in an oniony bear-hug, like the excitable little ‘bab’ she still was in his eyes.  ‘Free drinks all round!’

‘Watch it – you’m not on megastar wages yet!  Don’t want you bankrupting me.’  Mo made sure the punters heard him, so they wouldn’t hold Justine to her rash offer.  ‘Seriously, though, I’m that thrilled for you, bab.’  He dropped a paternal kiss on to her little forehead.

He knew it had been the girls’ goal for ages.  They applied months ago, submitting a CD of their erstwhile encore, It’s Raining Men.  They’d refused to elevate their hopes at the time – so consequently were euphoric, a few weeks later, by an invitation to audition at Carlton Studios.  That was shortly prior to – and thus eclipsed by – the Sandown Festival.  But, now they’d got the momentous ‘Yes,’ Talent Scout was by far the huger deal.  Viewing figures averaged at eight million – EIGHT MILLION – which blew even the Isle of Wight ten-thousand out of the proverbial water.

The show had only been running a couple of years, but had taken off to such an extent, it had earned itself two series per year: a summer one, in June, and a new autumn run - it was the latter which the girls were going on.  Past competitors were already known to have secured record contracts and roles in West End musicals.

Faith and Joe, home from north of the border, replayed Justine’s screamy message on their new answer machine.  Faith called her friend back before she’d even unpacked her suitcase.  She curled up with the cordless on the divinely comfy brown leather sofa upon which she and Joe partook of the in-front-of-the-telly cuddles that a few months ago she’d have scorned as ‘domestic’ and ‘old-fartish.’ 

Joe rolled his eyes and lugged the cases upstairs.  If he knew his sister, he’d have time to unpack, wash and iron his holiday T-shirts before the conversation’s close.

‘Faaaaith!  Oh, I couldn’t wait to tell you the news.  I tried your mobile, didn’t like ringing you on your hols, but I thought you’d want to hear the news – but you’d both switched your mobiles off.’

Faith beamed at the large photo framed on the Ikea lounge table.  The three girls on New Year’s Eve, with their arms round each other and gleaming, bubbly faces.  She might be loved-up now, and a-whirl from recent happenings, but suddenly Faith was missing her mates.

‘Yeah, sorry about that, but me and Joe – well, we wanted to get away from it all; enjoy a spot of quality time, as they say!’

‘Oh ar?’  Justine’s dirty, market-place laugh blared down the line.  ‘Like that, was it?’  You pair of monkeys!  I can see why you wouldn’t want the Friends theme disturbing the crucial moment.’

‘Well, we were on – ’ Faith bit off the rest of her protest.  It felt wrong harbouring a secret from the girls – but never mind, they would learn of it soon enough.

‘Anyway, me and Chantal are having a bit of a get-together on Wednesday.  At the Hare.  It’s a kind of reunion seeing as we haven’t met up for a bit.  And we need to have a chat about Talent Scout now, of course.  Dad bought a lovely bottle of champagne when he heard we were gunna be on telly.  Thought we’d have a bit of a lock-in and crack it open!’

‘That’d be ace.  I’ve been so looking forward to seeing you again – and there’s, er, something else as well.  We’ve got a bit of news of our own.’  Faith winked languidly at Joe, who had just returned down to their immaculate new lounge.  She stretched up her arm in an ‘I need a cuddle’ gesture.

‘News?’

‘Yeah, news,’ Faith tantalised.  Joe slithered across the settee into her proffered arm, like a cat, all in black.

‘Even more exciting than getting a slot on primetime TV?’

‘Well, actually, yes!’  Faith giggled as Joe gave her neck a ticklish peck.

‘Aw, come on!’  Justine was doing one of her little hops on the spot – as Faith knew she would be.  She could hear the vibration in her voice.

‘No, I really can’t divulge.  I want to tell you and Chantal together.’

‘Fair enough.’  Justine was placated.  It contravened the All the Rage friendship code to leak a secret to one girl before the other.  ‘See you Wednesday then.  ’Bout eight.  And give that lovely brother of mine my love.’

‘Oh, I will!’

She barely had time to hang up before the phone dropped to the floor and she sprawled back with bliss across that brown leather.

Not until post-shag did Joe and Faith notice the second message on their answerphone.

The great All the Rage reunion was a gala of hugs, champagne cheers and adoring coos over Chantal’s engagement ring. 

‘It feels so weird having a ring on that finger,’ she told her friends, twiddling that digit as if aware of it for the first time, ‘I’m so conscious of it.  I’ve been wearing my other rings for years, and hardly notice they’re there – but I’m just not used to having one on that finger!’  (At this, Joe and Faith exchanged clandestine, empathetic grins, which went unnoticed in the Chantal-focus.)

That cute blue gem didn’t sparkle half as much as Chantal herself, though.  After just a month being re-loved by Kris, she glowed with a kind of voluptuous peace.  Besides happier – and Caramac coloured from her holiday – she seemed stiller somehow; more chilled.  She was holding Kris’s hand dotingly but with none of the ‘I can’t believe he’s with someone like me – I’d better hold on to him’ panic that, now the others came to think of it, used to be ever present in her grip. 

But then the girls all noticed subtle alterations in each other tonight.  They were bound to – they’d just had their longest period apart since All the Rage’s formation.

‘Ooh, it’s so fab to have the whole gang back together,’ Justine fizzed, resplendent in Baby Spice plaits and a tiny dress.  ‘So, bro and Faith, what’s this juicy news you’ve got for us then?’

Faith and Joe exchanged knowing, sheepish grins and ‘You tell them; no, you tell them’ nods that made the others inwardly yell: Get the fuck on with it!

Finally Faith spoke, in a maddeningly halting manner for she did love a bit of theatrical tension.  ‘We kind of went to Scotland for more than a holiday.’

‘Oh yes?’  Justine bounced.

‘Yes.’  Another bloody pause.

‘We took a little de tour,’ Joe continued, just as aggravatingly stop-starty.

‘Via Gretna Green!’ Faith blurted, flailing out her hand to display the white gold wedding band she could conceal no longer.

‘Guys,’ Joe announced importantly, if a touch superfluously now, ‘you’re looking at the new Mr and Mrs Oliver!’

More cuddles and hubbub and ring admiration ensued.

Mo and Audrey, Justine noticed, were beaming with parental joy but not quite the same degree of astonishment as their guests.

‘Did you pair know about this?’ she chuckled accusingly.

‘Well it was only polite that the boy came and informed his mater and pater of his intentions!’  Mo affected a joky ‘austere father’ voice.

‘You swines!’  Justine play-thumped her dad’s podgy arm.  ‘How did you keep it secret?  And, more to the point, why?’

Mo cuddled her, chuckling.  ‘Cuz our Joe and Faith wanted it kept that way.  And you’m such a nosy little madam, you’d have bin on the first train up to Scotland demanding to be chief bridesmaid!’

Everyone else laughed too, for his reasoning rang all too true.  Justine hid her face in Dad’s shirt front, mock-offended.

‘Don’t think it wasn’t tempting to spill the beans, though, love,’ said Audrey.  ‘All the while your brother was away, me and your dad would say to each other: “Wonder if he’s done it yet?  And should we tell our Just?”  But in the end we had to respect his wishes.’

‘My parents knew too,’ Faith confessed.  ‘Joe, in the old-fashioned way, asked Dad for my hand.’  She gazed proudly at her gentlemanly hubby.

‘And your folks weren’t pissed off to miss out on the big white family wedding?’ Justine asked, now over her little disappointment.

‘Mom and Dad just want me to be happy.’  Faith gave a blithe shrug.  ‘We could have gone for a swanky civil ceremony, meringue dress, bridesmaids, Dad giving me away – the works.  But when it came down to it, Joe and I realised neither of us would feel comfortable with a huge showy-offy affair packed with second cousins twice removed who we’d never met.  We just wanted to get on with it – make our vows in a romantic, private setting.  We thought: We’ve bought a place together, we wanna make this concrete commitment to one another, why wait another two years – most of these hotels have enormous waiting lists, y’know – let’s just do it!’

‘We could have nipped down Dudley or Wolverhampton Registry Office, done it quick, like,’ Joe put in, ‘but those ain’t exactly romantic locations.  We’d talked for a while about taking the plunge – then the opportunity arose, so and we just booked a guest house, bought wedding rings from the Jewellery Quarter, got in the car and darted up north!’

‘I know it’s a slightly cheesy cliché, getting wed at Gretna, but eloping is quite rock ’n‘ roll really!’

A year or so ago, those were not words Faith Jephcott would have used in reference to wedlock.  Then, she hadn’t visualised ever getting married – or at least not until she reached some decrepit age, like thirty or something.  Now, here she was eloping at twenty-one for a quiet, modest ceremony (a ceremony through which – shock of shocks – she’d cried).  Faith – the mirror-worshipping show-off!

‘So exactly what day did you actually do the deed?’ asked Chantal – who, despite laughing dismissively when people enquired whether she’d done any planning for her own distant nuptials, already had a sneaky stash of bridal magazines under her bed. 

‘It was on the Wednesday,’ Faith went all filmy-eyed at the seven-day-old memory, ‘so I’ve been Mrs O for a week now!  Halfway through our holiday, we took ourselves off to the Anvil Hall.  These two American tourists were our witnesses.  Chad and Nancy – lovely old couple from Philadelphia.  Think they were more emotional than us.  “How romaaantic, how cuuute,”’ she imitated in her Tallulah drawl.

‘And what did you wear, Faith?’  This was Chantal again, doing secret dress research.  ‘Surely you didn’t get time to shop for an actual wedding gown?’

‘I wore purple – you might know!  Splurged a bit of festival money on this royal purple creation from Selfridges – well I was getting married!  It was sort of gauzey, with spaghetti straps and a little fishtail – that was the only resemblance it bore to a wedding dress.’

‘Beautiful, it was,’ Joe nodded gratifying agreement.

‘I also got myself a little silver tiara from Accessorize.  I was never into the idea of wearing white anyway – I’m hardly Mrs Conventional, and it doesn’t go with my complexion.  Makes me look like I’ve just risen from the dead.  Besides which, it’s not exactly a colour which I’m – or any of us, for that matter – qualified to wear!’

‘Photos, photos!’ Justine demanded.

‘Chad took a few with our camera.  We haven’t used the film up yet, though.’

Justine went insane at that.  ‘You haven’t used the film up?  Faith, what are you like – how can you be so casual?  I thought you’d be taking shots of anything and everything, just so as you could whizz down to the Boots one-hour service!’

Faith laughed at her friend’s comic outrage.  ‘I can only imagine what your wedding’s gunna be like – all I can say is brace yourself, Mo!’

‘More importantly,’ Justine banged on, ‘we haven’t been able to give you a proper hen night!’

‘Perhaps I can rectify that when Chantal gets married – we could have a big noisy joint effort!  Anyway, Just, my life before I met Joe was one long hen night, believe me!  But moving on…we’ve actually got another snippet for you, to add to the excitement – or rather my lovely husband has!’

Faith stretched her arms proudly around Joe’s waist.  Chantal unconsciously mirrored the loving gesture with Kris.  Faith and Joe were her ‘couple’ role models.  They were so intimate and comfortable with each other.  She and Kris, in their ‘first’ relationship, were besotted but not always at ease.  But it was a different story now.

‘You’re not only looking at the new Mr and Mrs Oliver – you’re also looking at the next Chris Evans!’  It wasn’t Joe who delivered this newsflash but Faith, vaunting on behalf of her modest husband.

‘You’ve got a job, Joe?  That’s mega!’  Justine launched her little arms around her brother.  Joe nodded, typically nonchalantly behind the hug, but his chuffed grin showed just what this break meant to him.

‘At Radio Black Country.  They’re a brand new station setting up in Brierley Hill.  Those new studios at the Waterfront, by the Merry Hill Centre.  They start broadcasting next month.’

‘Yeah, yeah, I’ve seen the poster ads.  And my twin bro’s going to be presenting on it?’

‘Three through five with Joe Oliver,’ he jingled cheesily.  ‘That’s afternoon, by the way, not early morning!’

‘Even if you had got the graveyard slot, we’d still listen to you,’ effused Justine with sisterly loyalty, still clasping him.  ‘I think it’s fantastic news.’

There followed yet another whirl of hugs and congratulations.  More champagne materialised out of the ether.

‘I went for an audition ages ago,’ Joe explained, ‘and thought no more of it.  But I got the phone call while we were away, telling me I’d got the job.’

Chantal took a bubbly sip from her magically replenished flute.  ‘So you’ll make sure you give us plenty of airplay, won’t you?  And do loads of interviews with the hot new girl band of the moment!’

‘I will, provided you actually make it on to the playlist!’

‘Cheek!’ Justine retorted.  ‘The radio stations’ll be fighting to play our stuff.  But we’ll give you all the exclusives.’

‘Well aren’t we all going places, and no mistake!’  Even as Faith made this exclamation, though, the buoyancy in her voice was belying a rising sick feeling.

Faith, the girl who’d dreamed of jet-set fame, with a lover tagging along to lug her suitcases, was suddenly not so certain she wanted to go too many places – not without Joe, anyhow.  He couldn’t easily be All the Rage’s manager, or accompany the girls half so often now he had his own brilliant but Brierley Hill-based career.

Faith looked at her luscious husband and thought of the pristine, cosy ‘love nest’ they now shared.  She hated the fact those trite adjectives were the first that came to mind, and hated herself for thinking like a twee wife.  But not as much as she hated the idea of fame – or at least a more exhaustive touring schedule – dividing her from either.  She couldn’t admit such a hunch to Chantal and Justine, but stardom was suddenly appearing less alluring.