Page 10

“On her way,” she says, but she’s barely paying attention. Her eyes have drifted straight back to Heddie, who’s still standing there, bold as brass, staring at us like she’s part of the conversation.

And you know what’s mental?

I’ve ain’t never felt weird ’round two girls that I’ve fucked about with, but man, I’m feelin’ a bit ill.

Watchin’ Ys’s brow twitchin’, like she’s confused or worried about shit, and Heddie’s just standin’ there, isn’t she—?

Lettin’ her crack on with it, not easing the tension or my girl’s mind, not even pretending to—just staring back at her like she’s got all the time in the world. Proper Heddie move, that.

So, before it gets even weirder, I nod at Ys and go, “She’s just our stylist. Heddie.”

Chuck her name on the end, all casual, and I can see it straightaway—that’s wound Heds right up. Proper brassed off, and I know it.

“Yeah.” Heds flashes Ys a curt smile. “I’m just his stylist.”

Ys sticks her hand out, cos that’s just her. Sweet to her core, even if she don’t want ya to think it. “I’m Yso—”

“—olde,” Heddie butts in, sharp as you like. “Featherstonhaugh. I know. Stylist —” She points to herself, then flicks it towards Ys. “ Model .”

Then Heddie spins on me, hands on her hips, looking like she’s about to start a scrap. “Can we finish up?”

“Yeah.” I shrug, just want her to piss off, if I’m honest. “Just tell me what to wear and I’ll wear it.”

Heddie gives me a look—proper pissed, isn’t she? All this girl bullshit in that fuckin’ look that I couldn’t give a shit about, or at least I didn’t till about thirty seconds ago when it started fuckin’ with Ysolde.

“Right—” Heddie snaps, with this single nod that somehow screams she’s raging at me.

Might as well wind her up a bit more, eh?

“Oi—” I reach for a jacket and a shirt, holding them up for Ysolde. “Which one’s better? This.” Hold up the blue denim jacket against myself. “Or this?” Hold up a baggy flannel shirt.

“Uh—” Ysolde’s eyes flit from me to the clothes, moving about like she’s sizing everythin’ up, sneaking a glance at me in between.

Then she nods, like she’s cracked it. “Well, you’ve got quite broad shoulders and the seams of that denim jacket will accentuate your shoulders, cap-sleeve seam of that shirt will blunt them. ”

I chuck the shirt back at Heddie, keeping hold of the jacket.

“This’ll do,” I tell her, don’t even look her way.

Dickhead, I know. Makin’ a point but, aren’t I?

“But—” she pipes up, starting to argue.

“This,” I cut in. End of story.

“Okay.” Heddie nods once, proper pissed now.

And I can feel—somehow fuckin’ feel it, I can, in the equilibrium of the universe, that I am going to pay for that somewhere down the line.

Heds gathers the rest of the clothes she pulled for me and skulks out the room, loudly closing it behind her.

Not quite a slam—that’d be fucking rude and unprofessional.

Slam-adjacent though, I’ll say that much.

As soon as the door shuts behind Heddie, Ys crosses her arms and fixes me with this dead serious stare.

“You’ve had sex with her.”

“What?” I blink, proper taken aback. “How the fuck could you possibly know that?”

She shrugs, all casual. “I can tell.”

I gape at her, full disbelief. “How?”

“Just how she looks at you.”

“Yeah?” My eyes narrow. “And how does she look at me?”

She crosses her arms tighter, suddenly lookin’ a bit…I dunno, exposed or summat. “Not dissimilar to how I look at you, I suppose.”

“Well—” I slip my arm round her waist, tugging her in close. “That fucking sucks for her, then, cos I don’t look at her and you the same way.”

She gives me a look, half-doubting, half…summat else. “Are you really trying to tell me you haven’t had sex?”

“No, we have,” I admit, probably a bit mindless about it. Realise it a second later and add, “Not, like, today or owt—”

“But in general.”

“Yeah.” I shrug. “I mean—of course, yeah—”

Her head pulls back. “Of course?”

But I reckon she’s being a bit stupid, so I say: “Why wouldn’t I have?”

Didn’t like that. She nods coolly. “Sure, yeah.”

I stare down at her, trying to assess what the fuck is happening right now. “You jealous?”

She stares at me, pouting almost, and it’s like she has to force herself to say it out loud, can see the wrestle happening live on her face, so I can. “Maybe.”

I nod a couple of times—bit impressed, if I’m honest—she’s a proud girl. Most birds who look how she looks are… Dunno if the shoe was on the other foot that I would’ve admitted to it meself.

I clear my throat, tilt me head so our eyes meet.

“You know I’ve had one girlfriend in me life. Fucked ’round a lot, but I don’t really date girls like—Ain’t an option for me, know what I mean—?”

That doesn’t make her happy. Her little face goes a little darker. “Okay?”

“We met Sunday, you and me,” I remind her. “Didn’t leave your fuckin’ side till Wednesday. Afternoon, right? We had to have my single pair of pants laundered…”

That makes her smile a bit. I keep going.

“Got invited to a party last night—couple of the United lads were gonna be there. Like, mate, I’d’ve binned off a bloody surgery to go to that—but I didn’t, cos I’d rather be with you—I ain’t never spent that much time with a girl in one go.

Never,” I tell her, dead serious. Then I duck down so we’re eye to eye. “You don’t got to be jealous, Ys.”

And then—swear to god—she fucking launches at me. Jumps right up onto my waist, grabbing at my shirt, kissing the absolute life out of me.

“What the fuck are you doin’?” I ask, though let’s be honest, I don’t stop kissing her back.

“That was a very sexy speech,” she mumbles, voice muffled cos she’s got her face buried in my neck now.

Next thing I know, she’s reaching for the fly of my jeans, and I’ve gotta pull back—

“Oi, I can’t—” Shake my head. “I can’t.”

She stops, kinda freezes up. “What?”

“I can’t do that right n—”

She cuts me off. “—Is this about that girl?”

“What?” I blink.

“Were you and her about to—”

“No.” My face scrunches up. “Why would you—?”

“Are you lying to me?” she asks without missing a beat.

“No…” I say, slowly and carefully. “Why—?”

“You’ve just never not wanted to have sex with me before…”

“Have I never?” Me head pulls back. “We’ve been like fuckin’ about for five days like. It ain’t no great measure of never…”

“There’s an implied bracketing to the never of which I’m speaking about that’s contextual to you and I and the time in which we’ve been involved, so I would say my never stands.”

Run my tongue over my teeth, bit wound up by all this shit. I should be annoyed. She’s being annoyin’. This whole thing’s fuckin’ annoying. But for some reason, I’m well into it, so I just tell her the fuckin’ truth, don’t I?

“We’ve got a rule.”

Her eyebrow shoots up, waiting for me to carry on.

“No sex. Before a show.”

“What? Why?” She scrunches up her face, she’s sceptical. Fair play, though—bit of a daft rule if you ask me.

I shrug, casual. “Cos I’m fuckin’ shit during the show if I’ve had sex before.”

Her face softens a bit, and I’m done for, aren’t I? Fuck me, I love her face.

“Why?” She looks like she’s tryin’ not to laugh. Thank god, man—if she laughed at that, I’d probably have to off myself.

“I dunno—testosterone or some shit?” I roll my eyes. “That’s what Mick says?”

Could be shite, I dunno. Told me it’s a secret rule they abide by at United to get the best outta the lads before a game.

Best way to get me to comply is to tell me those fucking lads do it, and fuck it—I’m in.

Freddie Fletcher don’t shag a girl pre-match?

Right then, Joah Harrigan won’t fuck pre-show either.

Ys’s eyes pinch. “Really?”

“Yeah.” I nod.

“Promise?”

“Yeah.” I nod again, fight off the grin that keeps croppin’ up on my face.

“I’ll have sex with you the minute go we’re offstage…

” That makes her smile. Like makin’ her smile, I do…

“Wait in the wings, if you want, Ys…” I duck so our eyes are level again.

“Hike your skirt up a bit—we can crack on straightaway…”

Her eyes pinch. “You’re teasing me.”

“Yeah, a bit—” I smile. “I’m game if you are, but.”

There’s a bang on the door.

“Five minutes!” a stagehand calls from the other side.

“Aye,” I call back, then glance at her as I tug on me shoes. “You wanna wait side of stage?”

“No—” She shakes her head. “I have to find Lalee. We can stand out there with the common man.”

She says that last part like it’s a joke, but all men are common compared to her and I reckon she knows it too.

“Okay—” I walk towards the door now, pause halfway out of it.

“But don’t stand at the side, it sounds weird—” Then I fish in my back pocket—a couple of passes for her and her friend.

AAA. They’ll never let her back here later without ’em.

Don’t even really know how she’s here without one now?

Maybe because she’s her and she got lucky. I hand ’em over.

“These passes can you get you anywhere.”

She pockets them, says thanks, and I pause again because I’m a bit in me head about where she’s going to stand—wanna sound perfect in her ears, you know what I mean? “Try and stand at the sound desk so you don’t think we’re shit, yeah?”

She smiles, amused. “Okay.”

“Okay?” I nod back. “Sound desk. Middle of the room. Not the side.”

“Got it.”

And then the weirdest fuckin’ thing happens—like, properly mad. I suddenly clock that she’s standing in my dressing room, and I like her there. Like the idea of her being the last thing I see before I go onstage just works?

My eyes dart back to her, and before I can think too much about it, I grab her face and kiss her, quick and rough. “Swear to fuck, you’re unreal.”

Her eyes go all soft—love it when they do that. Proper melts me. She’s just about to say summat back when my brother barges past my now-open door and smacks it with his hand.

“Jo.” Bang. “Fuckin’ now.” Bang again.

I suck in a deep breath through my nose, already fuming, cos Richie tellin’ me what to do winds me up like nothin’ else.

But then she puts her hand on my cheek, gives me this smile that just cuts through the rage like it’s nowt.

“Go well,” she tells me.

And you know what, for once I’m gonna do what I’m told.