Page 19

Eleven

Joah

Ys had asked if I had plans this afternoon, and I did—a radio thing at Top of the Pops that ran shorter than expected. Once it’s done, I head to Mayfair to surprise her.

She’d given me a key to her room, hadn’t she? Pretty cute, that. Never used it before. Feel like a bit of a big man when I open the door with it now.

Soon as I do, I hear voices. Weird. Who the fuck’s here—? Never has people over, Ys.

I walk farther into her suite, hear the voices coming from the dining room, and poke me head ’round the corner—

It’s her, two girls, and some old geezer sitting across from Ys. One of the girls is next to him, the other beside her.

Ys spots me, and at first, her face lights up for a split fuckin’ second, but then it goes to worry or some shit. Then she reins that in too. Smiles big at me, but it’s not a real one. Know her smiles now, don’t I? This ain’t one of ’em—

The man eyes me up and down, and I’m not gonna fuckin’ lie—don’t like him. Hasn’t said a word yet, but I already know.

“And who is this?” he asks after a few seconds of silence.

“Dad, this is Joah. My…boyfriend.”

The dad looks at her—fuckin’ news to him, I can tell that much.

“Joah,” Ys says, lookin’ at me with them proper intent eyes. She’s askin’ me summat, but I ain’t got a clue what yet. “This is my father.”

I nod my chin at him. “Alright then?”

The dad nods back. Don’t reckon he’s too keen on me either, mind.

“And these are my sisters—” Ys points at them vaguely. Doesn’t name them. Fuck, she’s in her head. One of the sisters is obviously older and matronly. The other, nicer face, prettier too, she’s clearly the youngest.

“Oh my god,” the younger one mutters—but not quiet like, loud enough so everyone in the room’s got an earful. “He’s even hotter in pers—”

“—Crump,” Ys cuts her off with a look—a big sister one. Fucking means business, you know what I mean—?

I walk farther into the room, shaking me head at me girlfriend. Feel fucking bad that I missed whatever this is—

She stands up from the table. I slip my hand ’round her waist, give her a peck.

“Sorry,” I tell her. “Didn’t know—would’ve skipped the radio thi—”

“No.” She shakes her head. “It’s fine.”

I give her a nod, but there’s summat in all this, buried somewhere, that’s not right. Don’t sit well with me. Don’t like it.

Not a chair for me, by the way. Pisses me off, that.

So I nod at Ys, make it clear she’s sitting on my lap now without saying a word. Reckon I might want her close anyway.

Pull her down proper onto me. Dad clocks it, his face like thunder, staring with them pinched-up eyes.

“You’re the singer.”

I nod. “Yep.”

He stares for a few more seconds, then turns to Ys. “I didn’t know he was your boyfriend.”

“Oh, well.” She shakes her head. “We happened rather quickly—”

“—Clearly,” he breathes out, sounding unimpressed. “When?”

Fuck, I hate this prick. She looks proper stiff, all tense and dead weird. Does my head in.

“Just a couple of weeks ago.”

“I’m Crumpet,” the little one says suddenly, offering me her hand. That one wants to act, I reckon Ys said.

I take it. Catch Ys’s eye, do my best not to laugh out loud at the most ridiculous name I’ve ever heard in my whole fucking life.

“Hey.” Give the little sister a smile. “Joah.”

“And that’s Evanthe.” Ys points to the older one, who gives me a polite but not all that welcoming smile.

“And my father, John,” she says finally.

I stick my hand out for him, and you know what? That motherfucker stares at it a good fucking three seconds before he takes it.

“You can call me Mr. Featherstonhaugh,” he goes.

“Yeah.” I drag my tongue slow over my teeth, let the silence hang a beat too long. “Not happening, John.”

Feels like maybe every girl in the room sucks in a breath, sharp like. Feel Ys go stiff in my lap, her little body tense as owt.

John straightens up. “So, are you as bellicose in real life as you are portrayed in the media?”

Lift my chin a bit, tilt my head. Some fucking nerve, innit? “You tell me, mate.”

“Jo—” Ys murmurs, her eyes full of worry.

I press a kiss to her shoulder, let her know I’ve got this. Not gonna deck him. Not yet, anyway.

“What d’you reckon?” I ask, lookin’ at her with a bit of a grin. “Am I bellicose ?”

She gives me a look, a tiny speck of amusement breaking through. “ Sometimes .”

Johnny boy rolls his eyes, proper testing me now. Gettin’ on my last bloody nerve.

“Lovely,” he mutters, like the smarmy git he is.

“He is that too,” Ys says, straightening up. Protecting me, I think. Fuck, I fucking love her. “Very lovely, and funny and clever and protective. And antagonistic. He just loves a grump…”

Dad’s not impressed at all by that, is he—?

“Why is that?” he asks.

“Dunno, John—” I shrug at that bleeding prick of a man, stare him down. “Just a lot of shit pisses me off, I s’pose…”

“Uh.” Ys clears her throat, trying her best keep everythin’ movin’, bless her. “Joah’s headlining Glastonbury this year.”

“Oh god!” Crumpet yells, proper jumps off her chair, like summat scared her out of it. “Can you get me tickets? Please? Please!”

“Yeah,” I chuckle. “Easy done.”

She’s buzzin’ off that. Turns to Ys. “And I can come with you?” she asks her big sister.

Ys nods. “Of course, Crumpy.”

“Maybe,” the dad pipes up, all firm-like, trying to make some sorta point—dunno what point—a fuckin’ stupid one but, know what I mean?

“Anyway, Ysolde,” he says, dabbing his gob with his napkin like a fuckin’ aristocrat. “What’s going on in your world? How’s work?”

“Well,” she says, glancing ’round the table before her eyes land on me. Holds ’em there a second. “I was chosen to be the cover of Vogue ’s September issue.”

I stare at her, completely gobsmacked. Holy fucking shit. Then it hits, and a massive grin cracks over my face. Buzzing, I am. Proper buzzing. Dead chuffed for her.

“Ys.” I grab her face with both hands, couldn’t stop myself if I tried. “That’s fuckin’ massive.”

John—that wee bastard—sits back in his chair, doesn’t seem like that news moved the metre at all for him. “You’ve been on the cover of Vogue before.”

See it, don’t I? That flicker of hurt flash across her face when he don’t clock how big a deal it is. Quick as owt, she blinks it away, but I saw it.

“The September issue’s, like, the biggest honour Vogue can give you—” she starts to explain, her voice steady, even though I know she’s pissed he don’t get it.

The dad smirks, proper smug. “Didn’t know Vogue were in the business of bestowing honours these days.”

I pinch my eyes at him, proper hard. Reckon there’s a fuck tonne of shit this bloke don’t know, no lie.

Ys don’t say a word, just sits quiet, and he ploughs on, givin’ her one of those fake, indifferent smiles. “Well, that’s very nice, Ysolde. Oh—!” His face lights up. “Did you hear? Evanthe’s got a boyfriend. Did she tell you?”

In a split second, Ys slaps on a smile, all painted delight for her sister. But I catch it—just before she pulls the mask on—see how much it fucking stings. And fuck that. No one’s hurting my girl. Not her old man, not anyone.

I shake my head, stare him down, and let out a sharp laugh. “What the fuck?”

The dad pulls back like I’ve slapped him across the chops, all wide-eyed, bit floored. Like no one’s ever dared to speak to him like that.

Ys springs off my lap, grabs my hand in a flash. “Can I talk to you?” she says, not waiting for an answer, already draggin’ me up and outta the room before I can give the bastard any more lip.

When we’re out of earshot, she spins ’round, givin’ me that exasperated look. I shoot one right back at her.

“Are you havin’ a laugh?” I stare at her, proper stunned. “What the fuck was that, Ys? He treats you like fuckin’ shit.”

“I know,” she mutters.

I shake me head. “And you just take it.”

She nods. “I know.”

Hottest girl in the world, best one on the planet, right? Don’t make any sense. “—But you’re…you.”

“I know.” She drops her head, lookin’ all embarrassed. “But he’s my dad.”

And I’m not sayin’ it out loud, but I ain’t so sure. Might share his DNA, but he ain’t no fuckin’ dad.

Give her a look, don’t I? “One more word outta him, I’m gonna knock your dad’s fucking block off, kid.”

“Jo—no—I told you the night we met he didn’t like me—”

“I know, but—the more I know you, the less fuckin’ sense it makes—You’re perfect.”

She gives me a tired smile. “You’re sweet.”

“Oi, don’t say that shit to me—” I scowl at her. “I’m a fuckin’ rock star, alpha bullshit, manly man.”

She smirks like she thinks I’m a right laugh. “Fucking rock star, alpha bullshit, manly men can be sweet…”

“Yeah.” I look down at her, sceptical. “How’d you know?”

She shrugs. “Because mine is.”

So I sling me arm ’round her neck and snog the life outta her for that, don’t I?

Then, behind us, someone clears their throat.

I pull back a bit from Ys, but I don’t stop holdin’ her, do I? Don’t really feel like I should, y’know? I know who’s clearing their fuckin’ throat and I ain’t gonna let her go ’round him again.

Her dad’s standin’ there, sisters behind him—

“We’re going to go,” he says.

“Oh,” Ys replies. Just “oh,” and I’m ready to deck him again, the tosser.

“Long drive,” the dad says.

“Sure.” Ys nods. “Of course.”

She forces a smile, and fuck him—no one forces a smile out of her.

“Where the fuck do you live, then?” I give him a look, make sure he knows I know he’s bullshit, head to toe. “Penzance?”

John’s eyes narrow at me. “Berkshire.” He turns to his daughter. “Speak soon.”

He walks out of the hotel room.

“Have a good rest of your week—” Ys says to Evanthe, who gives her a cool smile.

“Congrats on the boyfriend—” I say to her cos I don’t like the look she just gave my girl. “Big fuckin’ stuff—”

Ysolde’s hand flies to her mouth to stifle the laugh tryin’ to escape, but Crumpet lets a giggle slip. Evanthe shoots both her sisters a filthy look and skulks off.

Crumpet grins at me. “You’re pretty funny.” She looks past me to Ys. “I like him.”

Ys gives her a proud, little smile, and then the sister gives her a hug. “Love you.”

“Love you more,” Ys says back.

Then they’re gone.

As soon as the door shuts, I stare at her, eyes wide, can’t fuckin’ believe it.

“What the fuck did you do—skin his fucking cat?”

She gives me this little laugh—really, just a puff of air. Looks sad, doesn’t she?

“I look like my mother.”

“Oh” is all I say. Fuck. Put my arms ’round her again. “Oi, how’d she die?”

“Cocaine overdose,” she says, and I dunno what I was expectin’, but all I can think to say is “Fuck.”

She don’t say owt back, just nods.

“Shit—” I shake me head. “Your old man don’t strike me as the party type—”

“He wasn’t—” She shakes her head. “She was, though. A model too, actually.”

“Fuck off.” I give her a smile. Had no idea.

“Yeah.” She nods, proud of her mum. “You’d probably recognise her face if you saw it… She was the first Black model to have her face on British Vogue in 1966.”

“Wow—” I nod, impressed. “Ys—she’d be so fucking proud of you—”

“Thank you.” She smiles, looks a bit knackered now, though.

“How’d they meet?”

“Well.” She tilts her head, thinkin’. “He’s very rich—”

I cut in, “—With a name like fucking Featherstonhaugh , spelt how you twats fucking spell it… You don’t say…”

She smiles, amused. Keeps goin’. “And she was here alone; her family lived really far away—”

“Yeah?” I nod. “All the way out in fuckin’ Berkshire—?”

That gets her. Proper laugh from her for that.

“I think he saw her and wanted her because she was beautiful but didn’t really want her for her . Thought she’d settle down more than she did—”

“Was she a rubbish mum?” I ask. Dunno why.

“No.” She shakes her head quickly, almost defensive. “No, but I don’t think being a mother came naturally to her, necessarily—”

I nod a couple of times, tilt me head before askin’ the next one.

“How old were you when she—”

Don’t know why I can’t say it? Fuckin’ idiot, I am—she says it for me.

“Died?”

I nod.

She thinks back.

“I was…six. Crump was four. Ev was…eleven?”

I frown. Hate the thought of owt hurting her. Six is a baby.

“How old was your mum?”

“Thirty-two.”

Head pulls back and I feel a wave of sick I don’t fully get. “Fuck. Ys—”

Shake me, makin’ sure I catch her eye. “Oi, listen—I need you to know, right? Your dad is a fuckin’ piece of shit, right? All this shit, it’s his loss—yeah?”

She swallows, nods sorta barely. Eyes look glassy—fuck, I ain’t never seen her cry before. Dunno what I’d do if I did—? Die, probably—? Just fuckin’ die. Can’t stomach the thought. Lovin’ someone is well fucked, innit?

But I’m right though, know what I mean—? His loss, no doubt. But my absolute fuckin’ gain.