By the time I left the office it was dark and I was in a foul mood. End of the month, a few more days till pay day, nothing in the fridge at home. Kids would be asleep by the time I got home, then tag team with husband so he could go out. I was facing a boring early night at home and a tedious, stop-start journey getting there by bus because the tubes were on strike. Again. At least I had a seat.
I was staring out of the window when the bus came to a stop at some lights, and I saw something that made me look twice. A plump old lady came tearing out of an alleyway between two shops wearing nothing but a green dress, no shoes and a clear shower cap on her head, looking terrified, dishevelled and confused. She was yelling incoherently at someone presumably ahead of her and waving what looked like a red dog collar in one hand and a blue tea towel in the other. It was really cold and wet so the no shoes thing struck me more than anything else; in the part of London where I live you get used to seeing all sorts, but she was clearly distressed and ran straight out into the road and into the path of the car which was overtaking my bus, and it obscured my view of her at first.
There was a dull ‘thunk’ noise and a screech. Alarmed, I stood up to look over the car to see what had become of her – there didn’t seem to be any serious impact, but there was obviously some sort of commotion, and without thinking I ran off the bus to help. The car had red driving school ads all over it so it probably wasn’t going fast; from what I could make out the man at the wheel was staring straight ahead, frozen in fear and dread. His driving instructor was shouting and gesturing at the windscreen, swinging open the car door in panic.
She was lying in the road looking skyward, very dazed. Her eyes were rolling and she was groaning ‘It’s gone, it’s gone, it’s all gone.’ Someone said that classic thing about giving her some air but the air was so cold she was more in danger of hypothermia than suffocation so I took my coat off, crouched down and placed it on her. I lifted her head and put my scarf underneath her, which I later realised is the absolute worst thing I could have done. The terrified driver and his teacher joined me and a few others around her, everyone talking at once. The attention seemed to shift from the injured party on the ground to the driver of the car, and initially I assumed it was basic fury at his general incompetence until I heard a girl say, ‘No way! I can’t believe it!’
I looked up then and saw what the all the fuss was about. Someone looking awfully like Liam Gallagher was peering down at the scene looking shocked, arms folded awkwardly; Liam, who caused me to pass out on the stairs in a strangely public exchange about a very private matter barely a month earlier on the other side of London. I did a double take. What on earth was he doing taking driving lessons in Tooting High Road? The traffic is notoriously bad round here, he must have rocks in his head. He was a long way from home as well. I doubted he could place me amid all this drama and he seemed uncharacteristically mute. Dark glasses during a night time driving lesson? What was the man thinking? No wonder he’s never passed his test. I’d heard he couldn’t drive, I thought it was because he wouldn’t drive, that it was all part of being a Rock n Roll Star. He looked deeply uncomfortable; I almost felt sorry for him. Phones were being whipped out of pockets and selfies taken, it was completely inappropriate; in spite of my thumping heartbeat and disbelief at having run into the world-famous subject of my fantasy not once but twice in a month, now was not the time to be swept up in a celeb spot situation.
I asked the lady her name; Elsie, she told me. That was good, she was conscious and could hear me. I asked her if she knew where she was and she groaned again, so I took her hand in both of mine and told her not to worry, we were there to help. I made soothing noises and asked her if it hurt; she turned her head and I saw some blood behind her ear. I asked Liam to call an ambulance, seeing as bizarrely I knew him better than anyone else assembled there. He was non-responsive, staring down at the mess he’d made, so I looked over at his teacher who had gone very white and said, Hello?! Seriously? Call an ambulance! Now! More fiddling with phones.
The bus driver came over with two community support officers who cleared the people out of the way. The people that get called ‘onlookers’ in situations like this. Unless they’re dead onlookers, or overseas onlookers, and then they’re generally called Britons, I’ve noticed. You’re never a Briton unless you’re missing abroad, or dead abroad.
An ambulance and police pulled up fairly quickly but it still seemed a terribly long wait especially for poor Elsie, whose feet were going blue and she had likely gone into shock. Liam and his teacher were blaming each other by this stage, voices raised, foul language was being exchanged. It was almost like an Oasis reunion. I can’t say it was Liam’s or the instructor’s fault exactly; Elsie did run right into their path, but the dark glasses would not have helped Liam’s defence.
The paramedics had her up in a stretcher and in the back of the ambulance very swiftly and the police were talking to Liam and his instructor; I was then involved as a witness. Elsie left the scene for St George’s Hospital, sirens wailing. The police insisted Liam take off his glasses, and when I told the officer my name he looked at me properly for the first time.
He recognised me then and exclaimed, “Fuck me!” and maybe it was the shock of what had happened and surprise at seeing me, I don’t know, but I could see he was trying not to laugh. I mean, really. The officer was taking his details and in the middle of it Liam glanced up at me with a searing look that went straight to my nether regions. It was hardly the time or place but I couldn’t help it, I did it straight back. We stared at each other for a long time while the officer was taking notes, and amid all the commotion he mouthed at me ‘you look lovely’.
A crowd had gathered on either side of the street and the bus was stationary, heaving with people; phones were flashing and I could hear shouts of ‘I love you Liam!’ and ‘Liam you fucking rock man!’ It was kind of amazing being at the epicentre of this. I could just picture Twitter trending with #liamgallagheraccident, or #liamdriving, or worse. Imagine what Noel would be thinking, he’s so straight, so righteous, he’d be furious with his little brother. As I say, I almost felt sorry for him. But really. Learning to drive – learning to drive! At night in Tooting! In dark glasses! He had it coming to him, Elsie or no Elsie. I didn’t think his driving instructor would last long.
The police were slow to recognise the futility of trying to interview a world famous rock star on Tooting High Road surrounded by shouting fans but eventually they invited us to continue all this at the police station, about a mile away. In a surreal moment I found myself squeezed in the back of a police car with a by now very animated Liam Gallagher, pumped up by all this drama, back to his old self, a gibbering driving instructor and two very excited male police officers, one of whom lost all protocol once we’d left the scene, turned to Liam and asked him for an autograph. The dark glasses returned to Liam’s face and Rock Star mode was switched back to On.
I felt a leg pressed hard next to mine while the driving instructor was growing increasingly agitated defending himself to the police, who were trying to calm him down. Liam turned to me and said in a low voice, “Bit of a coincidence isn’t it? If you wanted to see me again you only had to ring,” and he peered at me over the top of his glasses, eyebrows raised. He took my breath away.
“You’re ex-directory,” I replied and looked out of the window. He laughed, squeezed my thigh and left his hand there; nobody seemed to notice, but then we were in a fairly unorthodox situation I suppose. My entrails went liquid and I nearly licked the glass with excitement. I pushed my leg back in his direction and his hand moved further up my thigh.
We pulled up outside the police station and headed up the steps one by one, the police and the instructor ahead of us. As we made it up the steps Liam tugged the hood of my coat and said, hey. I turned around one step ahead of him so we were more or less the same height.
“What are the odds?” he laughed. “It’s mental bumping into you like this.”
“Well, I think you bumped into Elsie first,” I said.
“I know, I feel really bad. Do you think she’ll be alright?”
“I don’t think it’s that serious. But I’d avoid the dark-glasses-at-night trick in your next lesson.”
“Fuckin’ smart arse, aren’t you?” He moved closer to me.
“What are you even doing south of the river?” I asked him.
“Am I? I don’t know where I am. Driver brought me this way. I’m on an intensive course.”
I looked at his mouth and said, “Intense is right.” And he kissed me hard, right there in front of the station. He did that thing again and held me by the small of my back so I could just fall into him, it was glorious. I groaned and snaked my arms around his neck. The door swung open and one of the male officers cleared his throat. We sprung apart.
“I… take it you already know each other -?” He looked confused.
Liam nodded. “She’s my official biographer,” and patted my bottom.
“Well if you could tear yourselves away, you are required to provide a statement, Mr Gallagher, Ms…?”
We were separated into different rooms. Liam turned and shot me another paint-stripping look on his way out. I rang home and explained the bizarre circumstances, feeling very guilty as I obviously didn’t give all the details. What on earth was I playing at. I had an anxious feeling in the pit of my stomach. The whole thing had a dream-like quality to it, like it wasn’t really real. Not that that’s any defence of course. ‘It didn’t feel like it was real, your honour.” No I need to work at that one.
I gave my statement. I know I should have been thinking about poor old Elsie but I was actually thinking about his clothes, how does he pull it off, looking that good all the time? Even in a road traffic accident he looked like he’d just left a photo shoot, expensive navy trench coat, desert boots, 2 day old stubble, tousled hair. In total contrast I didn’t even want to look at myself, bleary eyed after 10 hours staring at a computer screen, hem coming loose, roots needing doing.
Wouldn’t it be amazing if Liam, the driving instructor and I all head off for a curry on the High Road after this, I thought. We’d have a laugh over a lamb pasanda, clink glasses and say it’s a funny old game. Hopefully the driving instructor would be keen to get his car back and disappear. I was quite carried away with the possibilities of what might happen next when a female officer came in and told me I could go. My disappointment would have been obvious. I snapped back to reality, lingered outside for as long as I could without making a nuisance of myself and eventually left. God knows what he was being charged with.
By the time I got home it was nearly 11pm, too late to call anyone so I tumbled straight into bed, exhausted by all the excitement. It took a long time to get to sleep. I am just a crazed fan, not a girlfriend. Or even a friend. Get a grip, I told myself. You’re a married woman. And middle aged at that. This is just a mad coincidence. I tried to put all this in perspective but it all kept playing in my head and the image of him in the back of the police car with that lazy smile on his face kept swimming in front of me as I eventually drifted off.
Next morning my phone pinged. Up came the little Twitter bird and my new friend in Scotland @Zoe_C86 said, “Crazy news about LG – he must be feeling very silly x”
I didn’t reply straight away. We’ve never met, we are friends through my secret Twitter handle and a shared crush on Liam Gallagher, we have a lovely time talking nonsense to each other. She’d have never believed me if I’d told her I was there, as if London is a little village and we are all in each other’s pockets all the time. The PR girl thing is almost a step too far to be believable and that actually happened. She’d think I was a total nutter if I told her I had been involved in this. And how was Elsie doing? What had become of her and why DID she burst onto Tooting High Road like that anyway? The shower cap, the shoeless entrance, the dog collar? I was intrigued. Was Liam charged with anything or was it just considered a freak accident?
Back on the bus gazing into space, my phone pinged again with ‘OMG! I just saw you in the picture with LG – this never happened did it? Am I dreaming?! Tell me!!” And attached was an article in the Daily Mail featuring a very poor photograph, of me, unmistakably me at fairly close range, surrounded by people, bending over Elsie at a most unflattering angle, a concerned Liam looking over my shoulder, next to a tortured-looking driving instructor. There. On the internet. In living colour. My arse for all the world and @liamgallagher to see and inspect clearly. Forever. Oh the delight, the thrill of fame. If this is what he has to deal with on a daily basis I am disabling my Twitter account immediately.
There followed a long, borderline hysterical conversation with Zoe who was so sweet and supportive and kindhearted, actually considering we haven’t met in person just the sort of interaction I needed the day after something as bizarre as this. Elsie was in ok shape, being kept in for observation, and had only sustained a few cracked ribs and concussion amazingly. Strong lady. I didn’t find out anything else about the reasons for her distress. Once at work I obsessed madly for much of the day, pored over the web for details but that photo of me just kept surfacing again and again and my Facebook page was an absolute riot of activity. I gave everyone a stock answer about being glad to help in an emergency situation and kept the other details completely to myself. By 4pm it all got too much and in the end I just decided to do some work.
After about 40 minutes hard slog preparing a press release, my concentration failed completely and I felt compelled to write the whole story down, if for nothing else but to clear my head. I opened my blog and noticed a comment on my home page, my first one. Either Zoe or one of my mates. I clicked on it and felt the colour drain from my face as I read:
‘That was mental wasn’t it. Need to talk to you. LG X’
I nearly fell off my ergonomic office chair, then when realised I had no way of reaching him I nearly fell off it again. Aysha and Amber would have been the obvious route, and they are very nice but are also very professional and would quite rightly refuse to pass on personal details for their hugely famous client. So I did the only obvious and sensible thing. A sane and rational move. Anyone would have done it.
I went to his local pub.
Melissa Cogavin 