One Day Like This, page 5
“What good is me showing up for rehearsals if you can’t make it on time?”
Jase stepped up into Matt’s space the following day before he’d even had a chance to take in the fact everyone else was there ahead of him. Usually it was the other way around. He was the one pacing around their rehearsal space, an empty factory that still smelled of coolant from the ghosts of machines it once contained.
He shoulder checked Jase as he walked by. Today was not the day to get caught up in Jase’s whirlwind.
“You’re pissed because he’s the one who has been inconvenienced for once.” Matt said, dropping his guitar case on the table and turning to face Jase. “And you missed the last, what, three rehearsals. So, I’m down six minutes and you’re down three hundred and sixty.”
“And you just stroll in late so everyone else is waiting for you. You. So you can be the centre of attention.”
Matt laughed. “Get over yourself, Jase. I was just wrapping up the new song I’d been writing. Wanting to start working on it with you guys today and I knew if I stopped and tried to get here on time, I’d lose my flow. Anyway, it’s done. Want to hear it or do you just want to bust my balls for a bit longer so you feel good about yourself?”
Jase rolled his eyes but said nothing, and Matt wondered when they’d just accepted Jase’s anger. Hell, he’d even stopped worrying about where it came from or what caused it. Instead, he focused on what the band needed to get done.
“I was chatting with Luke, we’ve got the funds for some serious studio time after the summer gigs. We were thinking it might be time to try and put out another full album. There are a few songs bubbling, we’ve got some new material. Maybe practice and test songs now and plan to record near the end of the year.”
Alex grinned. “I’d be game. I’m getting fed up of playing the same songs.”
Ben opened his guitar case. “What were you thinking? Like October?”
Matt nodded. “Yeah. Try to get it done by Christmas and start the new year with a new release.”
“I’d kind of been banking on us seeing some of that summer cash though,” Jase said. “Is there enough for both?”
“Not really. Maybe a bit. But if we want to leave some cash in the pot for advertising and trying to tour the new album, we should probably avoid pulling any more cash out. But I get it. We’re skint. My car died the other morning and while I got a ride to the job, I had to take the tram home. It’s still sitting around the back of the apartment. I just don’t know how many more kicks at the can we have at this. I feel like if we’re going to do this, we need to make it a big one or not bother.”
The thought fucked with his insides. First, thinking about the tram, with Izabel’s arse pressed up against his dick. And how he still had to speak to Luke after rehearsal with words he hadn’t been able to come up with yet. Layer on the fact he’d just verbalised his worst fear, that the band was running out of time and money to become, well, anything.
“I’m ready,” Luke said. “I’ll deal with another six months of your Uncle Allan’s bad breath to get it done. Extra shifts, whatever we need to make this one perfect.”
“Yeah,” Ben agreed. “Same. I can pick up some overtime. If you need some cash, Jase, short-term, I can loan you some.”
Jase shook his head. “Thanks, but I’ll manage. It was more, just… shit, I fed up with being brassic.”
“Could you go full-time at the pub? Or perhaps find something full-time somewhere else? I bet Uncle Allan would take you on in a heartbeat,” Matt said.
“Don’t need you to figure my life out. I’m a big boy now.”
Matt lifted his hands in surrender. He should know better than offer Jase an opinion directly. But the way he’d spoken, like he was tired down to his bones, mirrored Matt’s own feelings. He’d felt compelled to help. “Understood.”
Luke walked to his drum kit and let rip, a roaring blast of energy drowning everything else out. “Should we get started then?” he yelled.
Alex grinned, his blond hair flopping over his eyes, as he joined in on his percussion set up. To Matt, it looked like a thousand instruments in a giant pile, but there was a strict set-up Alex followed. And when they played live, he barely looked down to look at what he was doing, just reached out his hand to smash a symbol, hit a key, or pick up a tambourine. The house he shared with Jase was like a music shop, packed to the rafters with equipment that could change the roar of a car engine into a beautiful sound on a song.
Matt pulled out his guitar, attached his strap and pulled it over his head. He messed with his amp until he had the setting right and strummed a chord. Loud, gravelly, just the right amount of reverb he liked.
Ben grabbed his guitar and did the same.
Matt stepped up to the microphone and looked at Jase who still looked pissed. “Are you coming, our kid?”
Jase sauntered up to the middle microphone, and as he did, his features totally changed. The sour downturned mouth loosened as Jase wiggled his jaw from left to right, before opening it wide to stretch his jaw. Stiff, hunched up shoulders fell away from his ears. An aura of confidence replaced the uncertain gate, the loping step replaced with one of confidence and purpose.
It was as if the few square feet at the front of the stage was the only place he felt at home in his own skin. And it was the only reason Matt put up with his shit. Whatever pressure or anger or loathing Jase felt evaporated once he’d stepped up onto it, and Matt would give anything to know what caused it to come back the minute he jumped back down.
Because for a brief couple of hours, depending on Jase’s mood, he’d see his brother. Would meet him there in front of their fans.
“Evening, motherfuckers, we’re the Sad Fridays.”
Only Jase would pretend there was an imaginary audience. Luke led them into their first song.
Two hours later, when every song had been played, pulled apart, and perfected, Matt changed into a clean T-shirt.
“Need a ride home, Matt?” Luke asked as he disassembled his kit.
“Be great, thanks.”
He gave Luke a hand getting his kit into his van and climbed aboard.
Matt waited until Luke had navigated his way out of the Northern Quarter onto the ring road out of the city. “I need to chat with you, mate. About Iz.”
Luke glanced at him and looked back at the road. “What about her?”
“Saw her taking some shit from Harry.”
“Fucking asshole. I should have nailed him when I had the chance. What was he saying?”
“Stuff about some wedding coming up.”
“Ah, shit. Yeah. It’s a bit of a cluster.”
Matt paused and looked out of the window. He didn’t want to give Luke the impression he was overly invested. “Yeah, Iz mentioned it was something like that. Turns out Harry decided the right time to officially introduce Iz to Sophia, that bird he was fucking on the side, was on the tram where he also told her he was taking Sophia to the wedding, and they were going to use the room they’d booked.”
Luke ran his hand along his jaw. “I’m gonna fucking kill him.”
“Would have done it for you had there not been two police officers on the tram.”
“How did Izabel take it?”
“I think you’d have to ask her, but she looked pretty crushed. Defeated. To make things worse, Harry was looking at her like a starved man. Sophia, she’s pretty in that too-much-make-up high maintenance kind of way. Tits that defied gravity and heels she could barely stand up straight in, but she’d not Izabel.”
“Do you think he wants her back?”
Matt shrugged. An important part of getting Matt to agree was to show absolute indifference to the whole thing. “The way he was practically drooling says he does.”
Luke thumped the steering wheel. “Always knew he was a sleaze bag. Guess he thought he could have my sister and whoever the fuck else he wanted. What’s to say he’s not going to try and bait and switch at the wedding? Get Izabel drunk, play on her good nature, like that dick of a brother of yours.”
Fuck. How he wished Luke hadn’t brought up Jase. It wasn’t going to make the next part of the conversation any easier.
“Yeah. Well. You might be a bit pissed at what happened next, but I didn’t know what the fuck else to do, mate.”
Luke pulled up at a red light and turned to face him. “Tell me.”
“Well, you know Harry gets a bit intimidated around us, being the pussy he is?”
“Yes. And?”
“Well, I might have led him to believe me and Izabel were dating so he’d stop looking at her like a piece of meat…and I said I’d take her to the wedding.”
Luke threw a punch, but Matt backed up against the window and blocked it as the van swerved. “Calm the fuck down, you idiot. I’m not ready to die today.”
“Your fucking brother already did a number on Izabel. Now you’re getting all up in her face. Do I have to worry about you too?”
“Luke. It’s not like that, and you know it. There’s Iz, looking like she just got trampled on by a raging bull, and there’s Sophia, eyeing Iz like she can’t wait to stick a fucking butter knife between Iz’s shoulders. And then there’s Harry, too busy staring at her tits to realise how much he just crushed her. And there are two Metrolink cops on the tram five feet over stopping me from doing what I really wanted which was to punch him in his fucking mug.”
Luke took a deep breath and screeched away from the lights. “You aren’t going through with it though, are you?”
“Iz came by this morning to give me an out. But she’d no plan outside of telling me I didn’t have to go. No transportation, nowhere to stay, not enough cash.”
“I’ll pay for her to fucking go. I’ll even take her.”
“You can’t. It’s the weekend you asked for no gigs because you were going to London for your cousin’s stag do.”
“Fuck me.”
“Listen. It’s no skin off my nose. A weekend in the Lakes will be good for my creativity. I’ve felt a bit stifled recently. Iz can go do her wedding stuff, I’ll take a hike. I’ll be there on the wedding day to keep Harry and Sophia from causing problems.”
“You don’t have ideas about Iz, do you?”
“Don’t be stupid. Do you think I’d want to go where Jase went?” And fuck knows he’d grappled with it. If Luke only knew how many nights he’d spent in bed thinking about the messed-up series of events stemming from Luke’s stupid demand. If he’d not been resistant to settling down, if he’d not hooked up that night to resist the signals Iz had been giving him she was his. When she’d sat on his knee after the gig, when she’d run her fingers through his hair. When she’d let her fingers trail beneath the bottom of his T-shirt so those soft fucking fingertips could draw circles on his back.
Luke blanched. “Don’t even make me think about it. I don’t think you or him realise just how close I came to quitting the band. I know I’m a hypocrite. Every gig. Every other night. Some random girl. But the idea of my sister catching any of that makes me want to hurl.”
Yeah. The idea of Jase and Iz made him want to hurl too.
“I hear you, man. But Iz, before Jase, she was a really good friend. And I can help her out while you can’t. It’s not a big deal.”
Luke’s knuckles were white as he gripped the steering wheel. They drove in silence until he pulled up in his parking spot in their apartment building.
“You need a hand getting this to the apartment?” Matt asked, grabbing his guitar from the back of the van.
Luke shook his head. “Nah. I’ve got it.”
“Alright. Well…we’re good, right? Because I’ll not take her, just tell her it’s not cool if it bothers you so much. I’m sure Harry will be cool. It’s his brother’s wedding after all. How big a douche could he be in front of family?”
And, fuck, if he wasn’t bating his best friend.
Luke sighed. “Yeah. We’re good, mate. I meant everything I said on the drive. But thanks for looking out for her and taking her. Let me know if she needs some cash for it, because Lord knows she never fucking asks.”
Matt nodded and slapped his shoulder. “Any time.”
“You need more tea, Jon,” Izabel asked, doing a round with the huge industrial teapot that took at least twelve teabags to make a decent cuppa. It was almost too heavy for her to carry when it was full. A lady from a Methodist church had appeared one day with a bunch of equipment they’d used to make lunches on a Tuesday for parishioners, but thanks to a donation from a church member, they’d been able to buy new equipment. It had come with trays for cooking and mixing bowls and twenty cups and saucers.
The saucers never got used, but the smaller cups were good for rationing the brew.
“I’m totally parched, Izabel.” He offered his cup in her direction.
Jon had been homeless for twelve years after a bankruptcy. Unable to find his feet, he’d lost his home, his car, and over the years, his belongings had whittled down to what he could fit into a couple of boxes he’d somehow jimmied onto four skateboard wheels. At sixty-eight, he’d been written off by the job market and was too set in his ways to change.
He also was a sweetheart of a man who had once flown Sea Harrier’s in the Falklands conflict, saved half of a digestive biscuit every day to feed the squirrels, and always sang John Denver’s Isabel when he saw her, likening her to a princess from the mountains.
If she could do one thing to help anyone in the shelter it was Jon. He didn’t deserve a future that would never be any brighter than this moment right now.
“There you go,” she said, slipping an extra packet of two bourbon biscuits into his pocket with a wink.
“Ah, bless you, chick.”
“When’s the barber coming?” Jack, a forty-seven year who refused care and treatment for an undiagnosed mental health problem, asked.
“Just missed him. He was here on Monday. They come the last Monday in the month. It’ll be another four weeks. Sorry.”
“Didn’t want a fucking hair cut anyway,” he said, shoving his chair out behind him as he stood. They’d long since learned he was all bark and no bite.
Actually, there wasn’t even a lot of bark…more like and occasional snarl. He’d argue over the colour of his shoes given half a chance.
“I’m pretty shit with a pair of scissors, Jack. But I would happily give it a go if you just want a trim on Monday afternoon,” she said. And perhaps watch a few YouTube videos beforehand.
Jack curled his lip. “You’re not sticking a pair of scissors near my head. You might stab me.”
Izabel raised her hands in playful surrender. “Your call, Jack. Just giving you options.”
“Well, you can keep your fucking options. They suck.”
“In fairness, they do. I have a great many skills, but I doubt barbershop work is one of them.”
“You’re a good girl, Izabel,” Jon added, taking a bite of his biscuit. “Take no notice of Jack.”
“Don’t think I didn’t see her give you an extra biscuit either,” Jack complained.
Izabel pulled another packet out of her pocket. “Here. Don’t say I never give you anything.”
“Have you seen the time, Izabel?” Ibrahim, the manager of the shelter asked, gesturing to the clock on the wall.
Shit.
Ten after three. “Oh, crap. Thanks. I’d better go.”
Ibrahim took the kettle from her. “Have fun. See you Monday.”
“Thanks. Bye everyone,” she called out as she hurried to the office where she kept her bags. She’d dropped her suitcase and bridesmaid dress at Matt’s before work, and it had been the first time she’d seen him in two weeks. Their paths had never crossed beyond the odd logistical text message. He’d looked…good. Who was she kidding? He’d looked swoony. Mussed hair, no shirt, ripped and paint-stained jeans, barefoot. It had taken every ounce of self-control to not jump on him and lick him all over.
The look he’d given her was far more reserved.
And if the pep talk Luke had given her that morning was anything to go by, she knew why. There was no doubt in her mind Matt had been given the same warning she had. Hands off. He’d even suggested she didn’t even step foot inside Matt’s room, and Izabel had chosen to not tell him she and Matt had decided sharing a twin room was a better way of upholding their ruse with Harry. He’d never believe it if he found out they had separate rooms.
When she stepped out into the sunshine, she took a breath of air. The shelter, being in such an old building, had a limited number of windows, none of which received any bright sunshine given the buildings around them. It made for a depressingly cool and uninspiring venue.
As she looked up, she could see Matt standing with his back to his car door, one foot crossed over the other. He wore a loose white shirt, the top couple of buttons open. The sleeves were rolled up to just above his elbows, revealing all the ink she loved so much. Once upon a time, she’d trace the lines of it.
He was so…reliable. And not in a boring way. She didn’t want a knight on a white charger or a billionaire or a bad boy. In her dreams she married a guy who loved their nan. And took care of their friends. Took care of her. But not in a suffocating way. In a, make sure your car has petrol in it and shows up early when they say they are going to meet you so you aren’t left standing alone way. After being left to fend for herself at seventeen, she wanted the stability and reliability of someone who wasn’t her brother. Who didn’t look out for her because they felt obligated, but because they wanted to.
His hair was still damp, the ends fluttering in the breeze. He’d obviously just showered, something she wished she could have done.
Lord, she probably smelled a little after working all day. Six hours at the studio, then four at the shelter. Hell, she’d even cleaned the kitchen, blasted the oven with foul smelling chemical cleaner. He looked fresh as a daisy while she probably looked like a tulip wilted by drought.
“Hey, Matt,” she said as she got closer to the car.
“Hey, Iz.” He reached for her bags, and she groaned as the weight left her shoulders. “Fuck me. These are heavy. What the hell do you have in them?” Matt put them in the boot of the car where she could see her suitcase and bridesmaid dress.
