One Day Like This, page 18
Matt took a sip of the piping hot coffee and winced as it burned the tip of his tongue. “What did you get up to last night?”
“Stuck around with Chaya to watch Stryker, then we went for a walk around the city for a bit. Ended up at a kebab place and brought them back here to eat. Wasn’t sure a kebab would work with Sukkot?”
“Sukkot?”
“Honestly, mate, not entirely sure. Sort of like a harvest. But Chaya’s dad has this sukkah, like this glamping set-up, in the back garden they’re meant to eat in. Anyway, Chaya’s feeling remorse for breaking Shabbat yesterday.”
“Oh, the no electrical devices thing on Saturdays.” Chaya’s religious rules were almost as baffling as Ben and Chaya’s friendship. They were pretty much like an old married couple, except they’d never even kissed, and Ben clearly didn’t have a problem hooking up with other women.
“Yeah. Anyway, took her some breakfast, said I’d give her space to sit with her bible for a bit, and thought I’d come eat with you.”
“Can I ask you a personal question? Did Chaya sleep with you?”
Ben pulled a face as if he’d just asked the dumbest question in the world. “Nah. The couch in my room was a pull out.”
“How long have you known each other?”
“Fourteen years since I found her.”
Found her. It was such a funny term for what happened. “Do you ever wonder what would have happened if you hadn’t gone messing around in that warehouse?”
Ben ran his hand over his face. “It’s only since I became an adult I’ve had nightmares about it. As a kid, seeing her tied up felt like something out of a movie. Like being one of those kids in the Goonies or something. Now I’m older, I see her in that chair, crying, and I realised what Trevor Foster could have done to her. Scares the fucking shit out of me.”
Matt couldn’t help but think finding Chaya after she’d been abducted by a neighbour had left an irrevocable mark on both of their hearts. Chaya only ever felt safe with Ben, and Ben felt an unprecedented need to protect Chaya. As a pair, they were impenetrable, and Matt wondered what would happen when one of them found the person they wanted to spend the rest of their life with. He didn’t know how he’d feel if Izabel had a male best friend who shared every facet of her life, including bedrooms.
Jealous.
Yeah, that’s what he’d feel.
Matt finished his breakfast sandwich before crushing the wrapper into a ball and lobbing it at the bin. He missed and Ben picked it up and dropped it into the bin. He looked twice at the bin then raised an eyebrow in Matt’s direction and then laughed. “You know, Alex is obsessed with the idea you have some chick in the wings. I called bullshit. Three condom wrappers and a lame excuse of leaving early last night because you had a ton of work to do says he might be onto something.”
Matt’s stomach tightened. He didn’t want to lie to Ben, but he had no choice. “Just a woman I’ve been chatting with.” It wasn’t an outright lie. He’d been chatting with Izabel, a lot.
“Did a lot more than chat by the looks of things.”
Matt shrugged. “It’s not like I’m doing this every night.”
Ben grinned. “Listen, I’m not judging. Chaya wasn’t here, might have done the same thing.”
Matt reached for the coffee Ben had placed on the desk and accidentally knocked over the glass of water Izabel had left there. “Fuck me,” he muttered and lifted his laptop off the desk.
“I’ve got it,” Ben said, dashing into the bathroom. He returned with a towel and began to move the papers out of the way, drying as he went.
Matt put the laptop on the bed. When he turned, Ben had Izabel’s necklace hanging from his finger. “Please tell me it’s not Izabel you’re fucking.”
Somewhere between lack of sleep and shock and fear of what would happen next, Matt couldn’t even find a lie.
“She was wearing this last night. I thought it was really unusual. She’s the chick you’ve been chatting with?”
Matt took a deep breath. “Ben, it’s way more complex than chatting.” He grabbed his coffee and dropped down onto the bed.
“That’s why you kept staring at her when she was talking with Niles.”
“Ben, please.”
“Are you fucking brainless?” Ben glared at him, Iz’s necklace still in his hand.
“Obviously.”
“How long?”
“A month. Physically. Nearly a decade, mentally.”
Ben slumped down into the desk chair. “Fuck me, Matt.”
Matt sipped on his coffee. It was finally cool enough to drink, and he really needed some caffeine. “Yep.”
Ben studied the necklace in his palm. “This from you?” he asked.
“Birthday present.”
“I’m guessing Luke doesn’t know.”
“I still have my balls and the band is intact, so that would be a negative on Luke.”
Ben leaned forward and rubbed a hand over his face. “What are you going to do?”
Matt leaned back on the bed and rested his coffee cup on his stomach. “I was hoping we’d ride this wave of success we’ve been having, get us to a more secure position. Then tell Luke.”
“You honestly think where the band is at will make a difference in how he takes this. You know how he was after Jase.”
Unable to get comfortable, Matt sat up again. “Do you know how I was after Jase? It fucking broke me. All these years I’d been carrying a torch for Iz, torn between my feelings for her and my promise to my best friend, and Jase just blows the fucking doors off. And I couldn’t say a word.”
“I had no idea, Matt.”
“Yeah, well. No-one did. Not even Izabel.”
“Why didn’t you try and talk with Luke about it? You two spend so much time together.”
“When was I supposed to tell him? We were mates. He told us to stay away from his sister. I valued his fucking friendship.”
Ben scoffed. “Not so much now then, eh, mate? He’ll kill you.”
“Fucking cheery thought.”
“Alex seems to think it was more than a one-night thing for Jase. Like not that he slept with her more than once. But that he fancied her for ages, too.”
Matt chugged the rest of his coffee. “Something Izabel said would concur with that.”
Silence fell between them. The radiator in the room clanged. A door in the hallway slammed shut. A child ran down the corridor laughing. Life going on as usual while his own world fell like it was crashing down.
“You won’t tell Luke or Jase, will you?” Matt asked eventually.
“Ah, don’t put me in the middle.”
“I’m not asking you to take sides. I’m just asking you to keep this to yourself until I figure out what the hell I’m going to do.”
Ben held the chain out towards Matt and dropped it into his palm. “I don’t think you don’t know what to do. I think you know and are scared of the outcome. The band will implode. Jase and or Luke will quit.”
Matt groaned. “You think I don’t know, Ben? I live with it every day.”
Ben stood. “Is she worth it?”
Is she worth it?
The way she always asked him how his day went? The way she slid him handwritten notes beneath his door when she left for work, the way she held him and listened to him as he talked and ranted and played. The way the darkest room was illuminated by her very presence, the way he could feel the living vibration of her when they lay next to each other in bed. The way she held him and sucked him and made love with him and fucked him.
“For a million reasons I’m not ready to share, she is.”
Ben sighed. “Fine. I’ll not tell Luke. For now.”
Matt stood and squeezed Ben’s shoulder. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry I’ve put you in this position.”
“Yeah, well, just don’t leave me hanging here. It’ll only be worse the longer this goes on. You need to tell him, Matt.”
Matt nodded.
But as the door clicked shut, he realised he was no closer to figuring out how.
13
Izabel fiddled with her necklace, rubbing her fingertips over the smooth rose gold surface, and shivering as she recalled the way Matt had fastened the chain and laid a trail of kisses down her neck. The last of the late September sunshine warmed her face.
“Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.” The Irish lilt could only belong to one person.
Joe Lockwood, owner of Lockwood Fades, the barber shop over by Affleck’s Palace, walked towards her with the confident stride of a man who knew his place in the world. With a severe fade on the sides and a mess of hair on the top, his hair walked the talk for his barber shop.
He was joined by two other barbers from the shop, Dominic, a transplant from Devon, and Jackson, a former resident of the shelter who’d been given an apprenticeship by Joe.
“Somehow I’d manage to forget it was the last Monday in the month.”
Joe mimicked a dagger being plunged into his heart. “And here I was, living under the illusion you lived for my monthly visits.”
Izabel laughed. “Dude. Don’t joke about monthly visits with a woman.”
Joe waved Dominic and Jackson inside as they laughed. “How’ve you been, Izabel?”
“Did you know the building’s been sold?”
Joe cursed and placed his hand on the brickwork, stroking it as if it had feelings. “That’s too bad. Where are you moving too?”
Izabel shook her head. “Doesn’t look good. Rent is just too high in the city right now.”
Joe placed his hand on her shoulder and squeezed it affectionately. “If you can think of any way we can help, beyond coming here once a month to cut your residents’ hair, just ask me.”
Izabel looked up at him. He was a good man. He’d set up his barbers’ shop in Manchester and had gotten to know Dennis, the former cabbie who’d slept in the shop doorway every night. Joe had offered him a haircut and a decent outfit for a job interview. Even let him use the shop as his home address to apply. Dennis found a job, and Joe found a passion for helping homeless men get back on their feet.
“Thanks, I really appreciate it.”
She followed him inside but instead of heading into the main part of the centre, she went to the office she shared with Ibrahim and unlocked the door. Her laptop sat on the desk, and she opened it. An email from the Central Convention Complex. Her heart raced as she opened.
We’d be thrilled…
Avoid the Christmas rush…
Short notice…
Wednesday 24th November
Shit.
She had a venue. A really big venue. She was out of her depth. Why on earth did she think she had the skills to pull this off?
Izabel took a deep breath and put her head on her knees.
“You alright, Izabel?” Ibrahim asked as he stepped into the office.
“We got a venue,” she mumbled and took another breath.
“You’re going on a hen-do?” Ibrahim asked.
Izabel laughed and raised her voice. “No. We got a venue.”
“A venue? Oh, wait, you got a venue. For the fundraiser? Izabel, that’s good news.”
She took another deep breath. “Yeah. We got the Central Convention Complex. Eleven thousand people.”
“Do you think you can fill it?”
Little stars were spinning in the corner of her eyes, and she couldn’t decide if it was panic or hyper-ventilating. She put her head back down on her knees. “I’ve no idea.”
The door to the office burst open. “Hey, can we borrow your extension cable again?” Joe asked.
She heard the crack of a bottle of water before Ibrahim pressed the bottle into her hand. “One second, Joe. Stop breathing like you just ran a marathon, Izabel. You’re going to pass out.”
“What’s up with Izabel?” Joe asked.
Izabel sat up again, the world tilting. “My arms feel floppy. Can’t decide if I’m about to faint or I’m having a stroke.”
Joe looked stricken. “You’ve gone grey. Should we call an ambulance?”
Ibrahim clucked. “She’s being melodramatic. Pretty sure it’s just panic. Sip your water.”
“What am I missing?” Joe crouched down in front of Izabel and put his hand to her forehead. “You feel clammy.”
“Oh, I’m definitely clammy. Pretty sure I’m stress-sweating. Is it normal for your heart to feel like it’s dropping and hitting the floor with a thud every fourth heartbeat?”
“That’s anxiety, love. What happened?”
If she noticed Joe’s concern and affectionate name for her, she dismissed. Right now, she had bigger problems. “The Convention Centre, you know, the old G-Mex, have said I can have their building for free for a benefit concert for the shelter.”
Joe’s eyes went wide. “Well, that’s amazing…isn’t it?”
“Define amazing.”
“Well, once you have a venue, you can totally start to build the event. Caterers, security, parking, bands, sponsors, media and public relations and—”
“Not helping, Joe.”
“Ahh. Okay. Got it. Getting the venue - awesome. Having to plan the event - scary as fuck.”
Izabel nodded. “Now you understand.”
“When I said outside that I’d help if I could, I meant it. Dominic’s sister is a celebrity wedding planner. She does all the Man City and Coronation Street stars weddings. Bet she’d help you in a heartbeat.”
The pressure around Izabel’s chest released a little. “Do you think she would?”
“Yeah. How long have you got?”
“Eight weeks”
“Only eight weeks. Not long then.”
She raised an eyebrow at Joe.
Joe laughed. “Oh, yeah. Right. Eight weeks. Ages away. Tons of time.”
Izabel couldn’t help but grin. “Fine. Yes. Eight weeks. Dominic’s sister. How quickly can we ask if she can help?”
“Give me a sec. I’ll go ask Dom now. You okay now? You’ve got a bit more colour.”
She raised her hand to her forehead. “Yeah. And not quite as clammy.”
“Right. Well, don’t pass out while I’m gone.”
Izabel placed the bottle of water on her desk and shook her hands to get some blood flowing. Dear Lord, she had a venue.
Now she just needed to fill it.
Joe returned to the office with Dominic who held his phone to his hear. “Thanks, sis. You’re the best. Yeah, her name is Izabel.”
Joe tilted his head in Dominic’s direction. “Dom’s sister’s name is Rachel.”
Dominic handed her the phone. “Rach is happy to help you out.”
She studied both men for a second. “Thank you,” she said. “I know that sounds lame, but seriously, thank you.”
Izabel put the phone to her ear. “Rachel, it’s lovely to meet you. Thanks for agreeing to chat with me.”
“My pleasure. Dom says you’re planning a fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants charity event in eight weeks for eleven thousand people, right?”
Izabel’s stomach flipped. ‘When you say it like that, I start to feel faint again.”
Rachel laughed. “Ah, don’t faint. Eight weeks happens to be my favourite timeline. You don’t have time to second guess yourself, you just have to crack on. If you waste a day freaking out, you lose two percent of your schedule.”
“When you say it like that, it makes sense.”
“Why don’t you start with telling me the goals of the event, and what you’ve already thought about and lined up, and we’ll take it from there.”
Within an hour, the two of them had pulled together a far more detailed outline than Izabel would have been able to pull together on her own. Rachel had thankfully organised the weddings of members of four bands, one of them considered to be rock royalty, and had agreed to approach them to flush out the line-up.
“Ibrahim,” she said, looking across the small office. “I think I’m going to need to focus on this when I’m here.”
Ibrahim grinned. “I think you need to, too. We’ll manage.”
Two hours later, as Izabel walked to the door with Joe, she decided she needed to chat with Gemma too.
Dominic and Jackson walked on ahead to a dark blue van with the barber’s logo etched on the side.
“Do you ever struggle when you go home at night?” she asked.
Joe stepped out onto the street. The crispness of autumn settled around them and Izabel tugged her denim jacket a little tighter around her middle. “What do you mean?”
“I go home at night and I think about this place. It’s not enough. They deserve more basic humanity than they get. That a haircut is such a big deal. It just seems unfair.”
Joe ran his hand through his hair. “Yeah. It is unfair. But, before I go to bed, I look in the mirror and I ask myself if I made a difference today. And if the answer is yes, I let it go. I don’t measure it. I don’t ask myself did I do enough? Could I have done more? It’s a binary yes or no answer. Did I make a difference? And if the answer is yes, I put my head down on the pillow and sleep.”
“I’ve been trying to help Jon, but the hoops they’re putting him through to get housing is ridiculous. And that help isn’t scalable. I can’t help ten thousand Jon’s at a time.”
“Izabel, you don’t seem to realise you’re already the difference.”
“Some days it doesn’t feel like it.”
Joe placed his hand on her shoulder and squeezed it again. “Says the woman organising a huge concert to raise funds for the shelter. Says the woman who spends her evenings chasing down charitable donations from sock companies, and white goods manufacturers, and fucking pasta.”
“When you say it like that, I suppose it has to be enough.”
“Iz?” Matt’s voice cut through the silence between her and Joe.
Izabel turned to see Matt walking towards her in his work clothes, but instead of the smile and dimples she was expecting, his face looked like thunder.
“Hey, Matt. Do you know Joe? He runs Lockwood Fades over by Affleck’s. Joe, this is Matt from Luke’s band.”
Joe smiled and held out his hand. “Pleased to meet you. Great you can help Izabel out with her concert.”
Matt glared at Joe’s hand for an incredibly awkward moment before finally shaking it. “Of course we’re going to help her out.”
