Page 43

Thirty

Joah

Stomach’s been on the fuckin’ floor since I read that article.

Fuckin’ brutal, no?

Everyone’s freakin’ out—don’t, me. Not most times.

Today, but? Fuck.

Felt bad, you know? Like—I know I run me mouth. Always have. Known for it. Know I do it. Knew I did it then. Fucked up thinkin’ Mick’d clean it up, didn’t I? Some shit I say, it’s just water off a duck’s back, like.

Might be a fuckin’ duck, but this ain’t water, is it? Not this time.

It’s fuckin’ crude oil—everywhere on me. Stuck to me.

And all the Fairy Liquid in the world ain’t shiftin’ it.

“Was your head fuckin’ cut, Jo?” Rich yells at me. “What were you mouthin’ off about the fans, anyway—?”

Mick nods in my direction, deadpan. “Mouths off about everythin’.”

“ But not the fans! ” Richie shouts, proper wound up now. “ Never the fuckin’ fans!”

I sigh, stressed as fuckin’ owt. “I had a fuckin’ weird day, man.”

“ A weird day —?” My brother balks at me like I’ve lost me fuckin’ mind. “You’ve fucked our band for a weird fuckin’ day ?”

I shake me head, tryna find my way outta this. “Ysolde just—”

Mick lets out this groan I hate, one of those here we fucking go noises, and on any other day, I’d call him out on it. Don’t reckon I got a leg to stand on right now, but.

“What?” Mick snaps, sharp as owt. “What the fuck did Ysolde do now?”

Richie smacks Mick in the gut. “Fuckin’ enough with the Ysolde shit.” He turns to me. “She what?”

“I—” My voice trails off. “Can’t…say.”

Mick stares at me, pure disbelief on his face. “What?”

“Just—” Shake me head, frustrated. “Somethin’ happened. Me, I had just found out—fucked me up, that’s all.”

“Well, what happened—?” Rich crosses his arms, starin’ me down like he’s waitin’ to be impressed.

“Summat, alright.” Shoot him a proper fuck-off look. “It was bad. I was in me head, just—”

But Mick—course he ain’t lettin’ it slide. “What the fuck had you in your head that fuckin’ bad?”

And listen, right—don’t give me that look—ain’t my story to tell, I fuckin’ know that.

But they’re both fuckin’ yellin’ at me—Mick stood there, hands on his hips like he’s about to tell me off in front of the class.

Don’t like bein’ yelled at, do I? Don’t like bein’ blamed for shit that weren’t my fuckin’ fault.

And that interview—? Not my fuckin’ fault.

I’d just found out the worst fuckin’ shit about my girl, yeah? And I was well fucked off about it.

They wouldn’t let me bail. Tried, you know? Tried to palm it off—Mick said no fuckin’ way— he said no.

So I went. And it was a fuckin’ shit show.

But that weren’t my fault, was it?

And if they knew what I know—if they knew what I’d just found out—

They’d fuckin’ get it.

They’d know it weren’t my fault.

Right?

***

Ys gets to mine a few hours later. Lets herself in—got her a key cut.

Not a big deal to you, maybe. Is to me. No one’s got a key but me and the cleaner.

Don’t even fuckin’ know where me own keys are half the time.

She beelines straight over, drops onto me like it’s instinct. “I’m so sorry. I’ve seen the papers.”

“I fucked it—” Shake me head at her, proper gutted. Lads’ve been gone for a bit now, and to be honest—I’ve spiralled a bit since.

Just me, in me own thoughts, on me own—realisin’ how fuckin’ bad it all is.

How fuckin’ stupid and ungrateful I sound.

Fuck the fans —?

What’s the matter with me?

“Like, I’m in such deep shit, Ys—” Shake me head again, proper defeated. “It’s a fuckin’ disaster.”

“Actually, though?” she asks, all gentle-like, tryna coax me outta the pit I’ve dug meself into.

I nod. “Sound like a fuckin’ ungrateful piece of shit.” Drop me head into me hands. “Like I hate me fans—”

“ How —? You love your fans.” She shakes her head, all confused. “How did that even—”

“Because—!” Throw me hand her way, frustrated as fuck.

“I was so in me fuckin’ head about ya—about what happened, you know?

And that fuckin’ psycho and what he did to ya.

I was fucked off at fans that day. And that fuckin’ reporter—kept hammerin’ on.

Fans, the fans, the fuckin’ fans. And I snapped. ”

“Oh, god.” She slumps. “Well, what can we do—?”

“Nowt.” Tryna keep me voice steady, but she’ll hear it anyway, won’t she?

“Mick already tried to squash it—didn’t work. It’s out.”

She puts her hands to me face, gives me that look—soft, too much in it. Hate that fuckin’ look. No, I don’t. But I reckon she might love me too much, you know?

Dunno I deserve it right now.

“I’m sorry,” she says, quiet.

I sigh, shakin’ me head. “I’m fucked. Unless—” Mick’d suggested somethin’ before, but I told him to fuck off with it. Shake me head again—more at meself. “Nah—”

“No—” She sits up a bit, brows up, hopeful for summat. “What?”

Keep shakin’ me head, brushin’ it off. “Nah, never mind—”

She pokes me in the ribs, persistent as ever. “Tell me.”

“I dunno—” Shrug weak, like I already know it’s a shite idea.

“Maybe if you told everyone what happened—?”

She blinks, confused. “Why?”

“It would explain why, just—”

“Could you not just say you had a bad experience with a fan the day before or something—”

“Nah.” Shake me head. “Mick says we need specifics. Too vague otherwise—”

“Oh.” She nods, like she gets it. Then stops. Face shifts. “Hold on. Does Mick know what happened to me?”

“Well—” Grimace. Wince a bit. “Like—”

She balks, proper horrified. “Did you tell him?”

I sigh, shoulders slump. “I was tryna explain to him and Rich how it got so fucked-up—”

Her face falls, completely. She rolls off me lap, hands straight to her face. “Oh my god, Jo— Rich knows—?”

“I’m—” Fuck. Hate it when she’s upset. Proper hate it. Don’t want her worryin’ about this. “—It ain’t a big deal, Ys.”

She pulls back, blinks a bunch—like I’ve just fuckin’ smacked her.

“Like—” Fuck. Shake me head, frustrated with meself. “That’s not what I mean… What happened, it—”

She’s watchin’ me now, sharp-eyed, dead fuckin’ still. Like she’s waitin’ for me to dig meself deeper.

“Ysolde, what happened to you is the biggest fuckin’ deal in the world to me. Fuckin’ obviously—that’s why I’m in this fuckin’ mess—”

She rolls her eyes at that. Losin’ her, I can tell.

“But them knowin’—” Keep goin’, tryna get it right. “That don’t matter. Who gives a shit, like?”

Her, I reckon. She might.

She’s sat there—on her hands—all quiet. Bit weird. Looks like a scared kid, almost. Makes me stomach twist.

“Is it really that bad?” she asks, voice small.

I nod to the article on the table— The Daily Sun . Big red letters screamin’ THE FALL OF FALLOW ?

She stares at it—that fuckin’ article—an’ I can see the cogs turnin’, them little wheels movin’ behind her eyes.

She bites her lips together.

“I’ll do it,” she says quietly. “I’ll tell them what happened.”

“No—” Shake me head fast. “Really?”

She nods.

Give her a look. Careful.

“You sure?”

“Mm-hmm.” She swallows.

“Are you really, actually, properly sure?” Need her to mean it.

She looks at me, straight on. “Will it help you?”

Press me lips together. Few seconds. Tryna find the proper words.

“Think it might save me whole fuckin’ career.”

“Then yes—” She gives me this look—told you before, didn’t I? She loves me too much. “Of course, yeah.”

Hook me arm ’round her neck, yank her in. Bury me face in her hair.

“My fuckin’ hero.”