Page 27

Eighteen

Joah

Me and the lads are at Chinawhite. Bit weird being out without Ysolde but—fuck it, I guess, here we are.

This sorta shit makes a fuck tonne less sense once you’re not lookin’ for someone to fuck like, don’t it?

It’s just me, Fry, Chops, and Harley sittin’ in a corner.

He came with that model he’s on the pull with, but ain’t paying her much attention.

Dunno why. She’d go alright. Ys says she’s pretty up-and-coming on the fashion scene, says she’s out of Harley’s league.

Then again, I don’t think Ysolde understands how proper fucking good Harley Parks is at what he does, know what I mean?

There are producers and then there are producers , and you can tell whether you had the first kind or the second the fucking minute a record plays through the speakers.

Anyway, Rich is here too—him and Lox are on the outs at the minute—dunno what about this time—can’t keep up, but he’s well looking for a shag. Been on the tune with these two girls in the corner—good for him.

And me? I’m just mindin’ me own business, kind of wondering what I’m even fuckin’ doing here—only thing stopping me from going home is that I fucking hate the idea that Ysolde’s in New York right now, god knows where, with god knows fuckin’ who, doing god knows what—and I’m just here, like, twiddlin’ me thumbs? Fuck off.

And I don’t think she’s hooking up with someone else, like—be for real, who’s she fuckin’ instead of me, you know?

Still, though. Summat fuckin’ tragic ’bout the idea of my girl out on the lash in New York while I sit home like some sad little twat. Can’t be havin’ that, can we?

“Excuse me,” someone says, interrupting my train of thought. I look up. There’s this bird standin’ there—looks familiar, couldn’t tell ya why. Pretty fuckin’ hot though, I can tell you that much.

“Hi.” She smiles.

I don’t smile. “Alright.”

“I’m Meghan. Miller,” she says, sitting down next to me, even though I definitely didn’t ask her to. Name’s familiar. Have we fucked before , I wonder.

I look her up and down. “Alright, Meghan Miller—?”

“I know who you are,” she says, voice low.

“Yeah.” I nod, unfazed. “It’d be pretty fuckin’ weird if you didn’t.”

“I know Ysolde,” she says.

“Oh, fuck!” I smile, walls immediately fly down now. “Do ya?”

“Yeah.” She nods coolly. “I also know she’s away.”

Oh alright , I think to meself. Interesting.

“Do you know that?” My eyes pinch. “And what about it?”

She gives this little shrug, all sweet-like, but I reckon she’s about as sweet as a bag of spanners. “I know people get lonely when their partner is away…”

I take her in, eyes fall down that body she’s got. She’s this leggy, messy, very shaggable girl with intentions as see-through as her fuckin’ dress.

Nod my chin at her. “Are you suggesting anythin’?”

“I’ll do anything you like,” she says, unflinching.

I look over my shoulder, make sure no one else is in earshot for this. Coast is clear.

“I want you to go to the bathroom—” I say to her quietly and she nods, eyes smoky with want now. “Go to the sink. Stand in front of the mirror—” She nods again. “And I want you to look at your reflection in the mirror, yeah—? That’s important—”

“Okay.” She swallows, voice husky.

“And then I’ll come, stand behind you—” Her chin drops to her chest, keeps her eyes on me—and I’ve gotta fuckin’ give credit where it’s due, she is proper stupid fit, in this sorta manky way?

“And then what?” she says, eye-fucking the shit out of me.

“And then—” I pause because I’m a fan of the dramatics. “—we’ll both stare at your reflection while you try to explain to me on what fuckin’ planet you think I’m fuckin’ this”—I gesture to her—“when I’m already fuckin’ that.” I nod my head in the hypothetical direction of my girlfriend.

Meghan Miller’s jaw drops—almost felt a bit bad actually. Looks proper gutted, don’t she? Stands up so quickly she nearly falls over as she tries to scurry away.

“Did you make that girl cry?” Rich calls over to me, bit amused by the thought.

“Dunno—” I shrug. “Probably.”

He laughs. “Why?”

Shrug again. “She had a crack.”

“So?” Harley says, leaning into the conversation. “Isn’t she away?”

Annoys me, that. I know he knows her name. Fuckin’ everyone knows her name.

Except me, the night we met. But I’m me, so—

Pinch my eyes at him. “Yeah?”

Chops leans in now. “And you’re…not…hooking up with other girls?”

My brother doesn’t speak, but I can tell he’s listening.

Reckon he and Ys are sorta mates now after Paris. Guess that’s nice, innit? Dunno, me and his girls, him and my girls, it ain’t never been pretty. I think Lox is a pain in the fucking arse, and he thought Pippa was a bit of a gobby cow.

I can tell he doesn’t mind Ysolde but.

“No,” I say, make sure he hears me for good measure.

Fry chuckles—does me fuckin’ head in when my personal life becomes a fuckin’ family affair with the band.

“Since fuckin’ when?” Fry says.

Since her, you piece of shit is what I want to say, but I don’t.

Try to laugh it off instead.

“Dunno, man”—I shrug—“It’d be a bit of a headache, you know?”

“Fuck,” Harley chuckles. “You’re whipped.”

He nods his head in the direction Meghan Miller darted.

“Mind if I have a crack?”

I glance ’round, subtle as I can, nod at the model next to him, Ys’s friend. “Are you not here with her?”

I reckon she’s pretending not to know what’s happening, but I can tell by her face—I’m getting better at reading girl faces now, I reckon—that she knows. Eyes are wet, or summat.

Harley shakes his head quickly and dismissively. “Nah, mate—we’re not serious.”

Dunno about that, though. How she’s been looking at him—? Reckon she might think they’re serious. Or did until just now, you know what I mean?

But then—none off my fucking business though, is it?

Give Harley a shrug.

“Have at it,” I tell him before I nod at the door. “Imma head off.”

I stand, catch me brother’s eye.

“Where are you off to?” he asks.

“Headed home, just—”

Rich looks surprised. “You good?”

“Yep.” I nod.

“Nah—” Fry says, chiming in again. Little fucker. “He’s fuckin’ lovesick, man.”

I roll my eyes at him. “Fuck off.”

“You are though, lad.” Fry flashes me a shit-eating grin. “The old Joah would have been all over that—” He nods to where Meghan Miller was sat.

And you know what, fuck it—he’s right. Like, sirloin tastes fucking great if you never had Wagyu, you get me? But once you do, you’re fucked for all other steak.

I shake my head at him like he’s an idiot who’s wrong, not someone pointing out a change I hadn’t consciously decided to make, you know?

“Still the old Joah…” I give him a tight smile as I back away.

Fry scoffs a laugh again and gives me this look. “If you say so, mate.”