October 27th, 1970

    The road crew were still loading up equipment into the truck by the time the band, including myself and Sylvia, boarded the bus. The performance had ended about two hours ago and now we were on the road to Inverness, where we would play tomorrow.
    I’d managed to keep Sylvia’s situation to myself today, despite Cameron asking me twice if I was alright. I had known my face would betray me, and it was only a matter of time until I told him.
    By the time we got to the hotel it had just passed three o’clock in the morning. Cameron showered, while I opted to lay on the bed. When he came back into the room, he asked me again.
    “Are you going to tell me what’s wrong?” he asked.
    I lifted my head and saw his worried expression as he pulled on underwear. 
    “I didn’t mean to worry you,” I sighed. “It’s not me, it’s Sylvia.”
    “What’s happened?” Cameron put his towel back in the bathroom.
    “She’s pregnant,” I answered.
    “Has she told Clyde yet?” he asked from the bathroom. “He’d be happy.”
    “I’m not so sure,” I said in a mumble. “It’s not his. It’s Dale.”
    Cameron walked back into the room with a stunned expression. “You’re joking.”
    “No. She told me yesterday,” I confirmed. “Begged me not to tell anyone.”
    Cameron sat down beside me on the bed and shook his head. “I had no idea.”
    “Neither did I. Though she must be nearly what I was because she’s missed two cycles,” I explained. “I’m going to the hospital with her when we get to Aberdeen. She’s got an appointment for a test.”
    “Emily,” he whispered. He took my hand and gazed down at our interlocked fingers. “You’re braver than I am, that’s for sure.”


    Cameron and I spent the day exploring Inverness, as I’d never been. We centered around Craig Dunain Hill, an area that was home to a Neolithic standing stone. It was mid-afternoon when we returned to the hotel to relax for a short time before heading to the venue.
    “What are you looking forward to the most?” I asked Cameron. “When the tour is over.”
    He pondered for a moment before answering. “Sleeping in my own bed,” he laughed. “And being at home with you.”
    I smiled sweetly and kissed him. I wanted to kiss him until time stood still, but the phone rang and interrupted us. I walked over to the dresser and picked up the handset, but before I could ask who was calling, I was being yelled at.
    “Clyde, you bastard!”
    It was Dale, and he was noticeably drunk. I motioned for Cameron to come closer so he could hear.
    “You don’t treat your woman right, so I did. We’ve been fucking, for months now. She doesn’t love you any-”
    I pulled away from the phone and whispered to Cameron. “He thinks he’s calling Clyde.”
    Cameron took the handset and slammed it back down. “We should get over there.”
    Dale’s room was only down the hall from ours; luckily, Clyde and Sylvia’s room was on another floor. Cameron knocked on Dale’s door and he opened it, swaying to and fro and very drunk.
    “Cameron, Emerly, what are you two doing here? Came to see little ol’ Dale?”
    Without giving him an answer, we barged into the room. I looked around the room and then in the bathroom to see if Sylvia was there, but she wasn’t. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror and I heard Cameron shout to me.
    “Run a cold bath,” he instructed.
    I turned the cold tap on fully and put the stopper in the drain. I could hear Cameron trying to get a sentence out of Dale but having little luck. He dragged Dale into the bathroom and spoke loudly.
    “Dale, I am doing this for your own good. With Emily as witness, I’ve told you this beforehand.”

    With that said, Cameron grabbed Dale by the shirt and pushed him into the tub of cold water. He gasped and coughed as water went into his mouth and he tried to stand. I’d been uncomfortable, but less so at the sight of him struggling in the water.

    Dale fought gravity and his drunkenness as he tried to stand. After a few moments of thrashing, he accepted that he wouldn't be able to, and contented himself with simply hanging over the edge of the tub.

    “Sober enough, now?” Cameron asked rhetorically. I couldn't help but stare at the growing pool of water on the tiles as we waited for him to speak.

    Dale looked at Cameron with a burning rage. “What the fuck was that for?”

    “You fucking asshole!” It was my turn to be enraged, and I wasn’t holding back. “You think you can just call people and ruin their lives? With no consideration for anyone but yourself? Who do you think you are?” I demanded.
    His face changed completely, going from rage to remorse. “I called you, didn’t I?”
    “Yes, you did,” Cameron answered. “And you’re fucking lucky you did, or else you’d be dead right about now.”
    Dale put his head into his hands and sighed. “How am I going to do this?”
    “Do what?” I spat.
    “Keep this from Clyde,” he explained. “I don’t know if-”
    “That’s for you and Sylvia to figure out,” I told him, anger rising in me once again. It was clear that he was unaware of Sylvia’s suspected pregnancy, and her words echoed in my mind. “Now, you’re going to shut the fuck up and listen.”
    “Don’t say a word at the show,” Cameron warned. “Or I’ll beat you myself.”


    The atmosphere at the venue was thicker than cold butter, and worsened when Dale didn’t show up for soundcheck. Lee sang a few verses into the microphone to make sure everything was in working order, and I realized I’d never heard him sing. He had a nice voice, but it was more suited to blues rock than what Amoeba performed.
    Dale finally appeared at the club thirty minutes before the band were set to take the stage. I had to vouch for him, as security didn’t recognize him and refused to let him in. I glared at him to remind him of what Cameron and I had said this afternoon, and let him into the dressing room.
    The show went surprisingly well, despite the stress that was felt by half of us. Dale disappeared afterwards, not even bothering to linger backstage for more than two minutes. Sylvia was, as I knew, acting happy with Clyde but in reality was riddled with anxiety and worries.
    I walked over to her when I saw Clyde go to the drinks table. I sat beside her and told her the plan.
    “We’ll take a taxi to the hospital. Your appointment is at ten?”
    She nodded.
    “Good. Afterwards, we’ll go to the house and set up for the party,” I told her.
    “You don’t want to see the last show?” she asked, surprised.
    I shook my head. “I’ve seen them all, what’s one to miss?” I asked rhetorically.
    “You’re a lifesaver,” she breathed. “I’ve been really nervous.” She raised her glass to her lips but I stopped her.
    “Slow down a little. It’s not good to drink when you’re anxious.”
    “I suppose you’re right,” she said, though she wet her lips with the wine regardless. “Thank you, Emily.”