One Day Like This, page 6
Izabel laughed as they climbed in the car and fastened their seatbelts. “Well, one is my work bag with my laptop and all the applications for grants and charitable donations etc. The second is my purse and has my kindle so I can read on the tram and stuff. The third is my donations bag. This morning it contained about sixty apples I’d convinced Marks & Spenser’s in Didsbury Village to donate because they were just on their best before date. I’m the queen of persuading people to donate shit apparently. The final bag is my other work bag from Gemma’s place.”
Matt started the car, the radio coming to life blasting an old Kings of Leon song. He adjusted the volume. “How do you fit it all in?”
“That’s why I have so many bags.”
Matt laughed. “No. All the stuff you do. Gemma’s. Your work here. It’s a lot. Luke says you work six days a week.”
How did she even begin to explain? “It’s a long story.”
“It’s about a hundred miles to the Lake District, sweetheart. We’ve got time.”
She wondered if he realised he’d called her sweetheart. Izabel twisted in her seat so she could look at him. He’d shaved, and she itched to run her fingers down his cheek to see if his skin felt as soft as it looked. While she preferred him with a bit of scruff, he’d likely done it because they were headed to a wedding.
See, reliable.
“Me and Gem volunteered at the shelter while we did our Duke of Edinburgh award during our first year of university. And it just…stuck with me. It put everything else I was doing into perspective. Even though I got my marketing degree, I just couldn’t ever leave. There’s this guy named Jon. Technically, he’s sixty-eight, unemployable, no pension, no home, formerly bankrupt. I’m no expert, but he’s suffered mental health challenges since the day I met him, and I’m convinced all of his problems started when he returned from the Falklands war. He doesn’t make decisions in his own best interest.”
“That’s fucked up. Can no-one help him?”
Izabel reached for the elastic holding her messy bun, tugged it out, and let her hair down. A headache ebbed at the edges of her temples. “That’s my frustration and why I couldn’t leave. There are all kinds of agencies and all kinds of good people trying to make things better…I mean, there are also some complete dickhead jobsworths who won’t lift a finger more than they need to…but for the most part it’s good, well-intentioned people. But somehow the system doesn’t work as a whole.”
“In what way?”
Izabel thought though all the examples. “Here’s one. Housing. There’s a huge waiting list for housing. And there isn’t enough of the right type of housing. And then there is a priority list. Do you have kids? Are you disabled or sick? Are you actually homeless or without a home?”
“There’s a difference?”
“Yeah. Homeless is literally sleeping in your car, a shelter, or outside. Being without a home, means you don’t have a home of your own, but you have somewhere to sleep. So, a mum and her three kids crammed into the second bedroom of her parent’s house is not considered as such of an emergency.”
“I sort of understand that though. A cramped roof is better than no roof. Me and Jase in Nan’s spare room was better than going into care.”
She reached out an placed her hand on his thigh and rubbed it gently. “Yeah, what Nan did was incredible.”
Matt placed his hand on top of hers for a moment. She was sandwiched between his thigh and his palm. Then he looked at her and snatched his hand away, placing it back on the steering wheel, and she placed her hand back on her lap.
“So, yeah, I need to earn some money, which I do working for Gem. But my heart’s at the shelter where I make very little. So, you just make it work, right? Isn’t that what you and the band do?”
Matt nodded and looked out of the side window to merge onto the motorway. “Yeah. Day jobs top up our earnings. The less money we need to take as salary, the more we can plough back into the band. Studio time, touring, and shit.”
“You ever get tired of the hustle of it?” she asked, suddenly feeling every minute she’d worked that day.
He glanced over at her. “Yeah. I do. There are days when I wonder whether the grind is worth it. Whether dealing with Jase every day will ever pay off. Will I ever write a good enough song? Will we ever get a lucky break? Some days I feel like the tide is turning, then on others…I guess I want us to be ready for it when it happens.”
“It’s weird, isn’t it. So often we have this idea of what success in life is going to look like, and it’s this place over there,” she said, gesturing out of the window. “Like when we get there, everything will be amazing. But the truth is, we never get there. I think you’ve already written great songs. And I think the fact people book you says you’re already lucky. But I get why to you, it feels like you aren’t there yet.”
Matt gazed over at her for a moment before returning his eyes to the road. “Words like that help. You know, on mornings when the idea of pulling on one of Uncle Allan’s decorating firm polo shirts makes me feel sick, or I feel like hiding out in bed watching shit TV, I’ll think about what you just said and get my arse in gear and get on with it.”
“I hope you get the pay-off you hope for. You deserve it, not just because you’ve worked hard, but you’re really good.”
“Thanks, Iz,” he said gruffly. “I hope Luke relents and lets you come to one of our gigs again soon. We’re so much better than we were two years ago.”
Iz grinned. “I did already. He just doesn’t know it. Gem got us tickets for a gig you did in Stoke and drove us down there. Snuck in the back. Watched the gig, came home.”
Matt laughed. “You’re fucking serious?”
“Yeah.”
“Why?”
“Because one day, like you said, my brother will get over himself and I’ll be able to say I always supported him, even when he didn’t want me there.”
Matt glanced at her again. “It’s not that he doesn’t want you there. He just wants to keep you and his mates apart. Two different things.”
Izabel bit down on the side of her thumb.
Two different things.
What she’d told him was sort of the truth. Gemma had bought her lie. Matt had bought it. Hell, even Luke would buy she’d wanted to see her brother perform. But the truth?
Seeing Matt, backlit, the crowd singing the chorus of one of his songs, had been incredible. For a moment she’d been able to pretend. Pretend she was there as his girlfriend. Pretend he’d be excited to see her when he stepped off the stage.
Maybe one day, he’d take the stick out of his arse and be glad she was there.
“You were really good…when we watched. You seemed more in command of the stage.”
Matt shook his head. “Yeah. Probably four pints in. Still get chronic stage fright, even though I love performing. I don’t get how those two things can be in tension, but here I am.”
Izabel tapped her lips as she thought. “They are different things though, right? I would imagine stage fright is to do with things like looking stupid on stage or fear the crowd will hate you. While performing is about a passion for sharing story through song. Of creating those expansive moments where people can lose themselves for a little while. Both those things can be true at the same time, right?”
Matt glanced in her direction again. “Yeah, Iz. I guess that’s the truth of it.” He leaned forward and turned the volume up a little which she took as a clear indicator their conversation was over.
Slowly, the smog and concrete of the city was left behind, the landscape become more expansive and finally lush and greener as they entered the Lake District National Park. The silence wasn’t awkward. If anything, it was a comfortable, reflective silence, each happy with their own thoughts.
It was only as they approached the hotel did she think back to the moment when his hand had covered hers. “Can we talk about how we’re going to behave…act…I don’t know…be…around each other this weekend?”
He glanced over at her. “What do you mean?”
Izabel bit down the side of her thumb nail nervously. “Well, Harry thinks you’re here as my boyfriend. Shouldn’t we at least do coupley things. Like hold hands, dance together. I don’t think Harry will buy this if we don’t.”
“You’re right. I guess, I hadn’t thought this far ahead.”
Fuck. It was the truth. He hadn’t. Somehow, he thought he’d be able to walk the line between stoic wingman and friend. But that was not what Harry was expecting, and by the look on Izabel’s face, it was less than she needed.
And the idea of being less than Izabel needed stung like a thousand scorpions crawling over his body.
“I’m sorry I put you in this position,” Izabel said.
“Seem to recall I put myself in this situation. On the tram, and not taking the out when you offered it. This isn’t on you.”
He glanced over at her before looking out for signs to the hotel entrance. Her elbow rested against the window, and she ran her fingers across her lips mindlessly. She stared out of the window, away from him. And suddenly he’d given anything for her eyes to be on him.
He placed a hand on her ripped jeans, feeling the smooth skin of her thigh beneath his calloused fingers.
Soft.
“We’ll muddle our way through this, Iz. I won’t let you down. From the moment we pull into the parking spot, I’ll be the most attentive and perfect boyfriend.” She had no idea just how easy it would be to pretend. The tough part would be maintaining any sense of boundaries so they could go their separate ways again on Sunday with his heart in one piece.
She smiled and looked over at him. “I don’t need you to be perfect, Matt. Nobody’s perfect. You just need to make us seem happier than Harry and bitch-face.”
Wouldn’t be hard.
Matt had seen the glimpse of remorse in Harry’s eyes on the tram. Hell, if he’d been a betting man, he’d guess Sophia had told Harry he needed to set Izabel straight. Furthermore, he’d bet a hundred quid it was Sophia’s idea to come to the wedding with him, too. Nothing said insecurity like not letting your new boyfriend attend a family event you weren’t invited to without you. So, no. It wouldn’t be hard to create a better illusion than the reality Harry had landed himself in.
He pulled into the hotel and found a spot to park. Izabel reached for the door, but Matt reached for her hand and stopped her. “I meant it, Izabel. Whatever you need me to be this weekend to help you get through it. I’m there for you. Okay? You need me to hold your hand, I’ve got you. You want me to hold you close while we dance to some ridiculous Lionel Ritchie song, I’ll do it. You need my full attention, you’ve got it.”
Izabel slid her fingers between is. “I hate that Harry’s decision to bring Sophia means this weekend isn’t just about Gemma and Ollie. I want to be there for my friend. Fully. Without worry. It’s not fair to her for me to be anything less. But I’m also nervous. I don’t think I could have done this on my own.”
He tucked her hair behind her ear and looked at all the dainty little piercings than ran from her lobe to the top of her ear. Tiny little studs, slender chains, and a Manchester bee. There was a fragility to them, just like Izabel. “You won’t have to. I’ll run interference. You just worry about Gemma and making sure her wedding goes smoothly. I’ll look out for Harry. You’ve got this. Okay? Pull up the big girl undies.”
“I haven’t worn big girl undies since I was fifteen.”
Matt huffed. “The last thing I need to think about is the size of your knickers.”
“If you were really my boyfriend, you’d want to know all the things about my undies.”
Izabel grinned in his direction and Matt groaned. “Enough, Iz.” But he couldn’t help but smile at her.
“Thank you,” she said. The tip of her tongue ran over her lower lip before she bit down on it. “For all of this.”
“My pleasure. You just need to remember you have more right than Sophia to take up space at this wedding. Don’t let her make you fall back into the shadows. You don’t belong there, Iz.”
Reluctantly, he let go of her fingers and stepped out of the car. The evening air was still sultry and humid, unusual for England, even in Summer. But it was fresh unlike the fetid smell of petrol and bodies in the Northern Quarter.
He popped the boot of the car open and reached for all of their things. “You leave anything at home in your wardrobe?” he asked, hauling out Izabel’s large suitcase and suit carrier.
“Cheeky,” Izabel warned.
Matt grabbed his own things, a large tote bag and his suit and shirt on hangers and managed to precariously balance everything so he could tug, carry, and nudge everything to the check-in desk.
“I’m capable of helping, you know.”
“I know. But years of hauling all our gear up and down the country has taught me a thing or two about hotel check-in Jenga.”
Izabel grinned, her cute dimples flashing for him.
Fuck, she was pretty.
He was still focused on her when the employee on the desk called out his name. “Mr. Palmer?”
He tore his eyes from Izabel and looked at the woman.
“From the Sad Fridays?”
He glanced at her name badge and nodded. “The same, Naomi. Check-in for two nights, please.”
“Welcome to the Belsfield Hotel, I love your music, Mr. Palmer.”
“Please, call me Matt.”
“Hotel policy, Mr. Palmer. One second, I’d just like to check on something… Yes…I’m able to secure a complimentary upgrade for you and your guest to a much larger room than the Classic Twin room. This is a suite with a stunning view over Lake Windermere. It’s a bit dark to see it tonight, but you’ll be amazed in the morning.”
The suite was double the price of the room he’d booked, because, Lord knew, he’d looked. The idea of treating Izabel to a weekend of luxury had been front and centre in his mind. But when he’d seen the prices of the suites at nearly six hundred quid a night, his wallet had taken charge over his heart.
“Perfect. Thank you.”
“If you leave your bags, I can make sure they get brought up to you.”
He felt Izabel’s hand slip into the back pocket of his jeans and followed her gaze. Harry had just walked into the hotel with Sophia. He slid his hand around her shoulder and tugged her close as he accepted the keys. “That would be great. Which way is it to our suite?” he asked, loud enough for Harry to overhear.
Naomi gave them instructions and he pressed a kiss to the top of Izabel’s head. “Come on, babe. A drink can wait. I’ve got plans for you.”
He turned around and deliberately body checked Harry who stumbled back two paces. The guy wasn’t much shorter than his own six foot three, but he lacked mass. “God, Sorry, mate. Didn’t see you there.” He made a show of brushing down Harry’s rumpled suit jacket.
“Fuck off, Matt.”
Matt grinned. “Great to see you too, Harry. Sophia.”
He reached for Izabel’s hand. “Come on. Bed, then bar.”
Izabel waited until they were beyond the first flight of stairs before she started to laugh. “Matt,” she chastised, even though he could tell from her tone she didn’t mean it.
“What?”
“You don’t need to be so…”
“So, what?”
Izabel gestured in the air. “You know. Macho.”
“Macho?”
“Yes, Macho.”
“The eighties just called. They want their word back.”
“You know what I mean.”
“I do. And what kind of fake boyfriend would I be if I didn’t feel the need to get one over on your ex. He was a dick, Iz. To you, back then and now. The right thing to do would have been to leave Sophia at home. Not rub her under your nose at a wedding where everyone knows each other and is so tightly woven together. Plus, messing me with him will give me something to do this weekend whenever you’re busy.”
Izabel sighed. “Fine. You’re right.”
Matt placed his finger under her chin so she could look up at him. “I am right. Let me have a little fun with Harry. It’ll make up for not castrating the fucker when Luke punched him.”
Izabel glanced over her shoulder to check there was no-one around them. “Okay.”
Matt nodded. “Good.”
Izabel wrapped her arms around his elbow. “We got a suite, huh? I guess it pays to know a rockstar.”
“Not so much a rock star, Iz. I think you have to have a certain level of success we haven’t achieved yet to claim that title. But yes, we scored an upgrade.”
“What do you think of yourself as if not a rockstar?”
Matt thought about the question as he scanned the list of room directions on the wall. “Left,” he said, spotting their room. “I don’t know. Singer songwriter, maybe? A musician. A guitar player.”
“Luke played the song you sent him the other day while we were in the kitchen making dinner. It was amazing, Matt. You have so much talent. It can only be a matter of time before you catch a big break.”
Matt unlocked the door of their room and pushed it open before clicking on the light. “Yeah, maybe. Or maybe it’s only a matter of time until we run out of chances.”
“Holy shit.” Izabel looked around the room, slack jawed. He nudged her in so he could see what had her so astounded.
The room was grand. Like stately home grand. Long, sweeping drapes. Two tall-backed chairs around a small table by a large window with a spectacular view over the lake. A large bed sat up against one wall with enough pillows for six people.
Fuck.
He’d booked a twin.
Izabel ran to the bed and flopped down onto it. She held her hands out to her sides as she fell, a large grin on her face. “Matt. Look at this.”
He was looking. Really fucking looking. Her T-shirt had risen over her ribs, and from his position, he could see a flash of the white lace bra she wore beneath it. Her jeans rode low on her hips, allowing him to see an expanse of her flat stomach. And her hair… soft blonde waves framed her face.
