Page 9

Five

Joah

“Well, well, well,” my brother says as I stroll through the doorway of the green room at the Electric Ballroom a full two hours after my call time—lost a good three in the shower of the Grand Terrace suite with Ys—and I don’t wanna hear a fucking word about it.

“He’s alive!” jeers Fry.

I point at him, warningly. “Shut it.”

My brother walks over to me, looks me up and down, smacks me on the chest in a way that feels patronizing, even if it isn’t.

“You look good, lad. Been doing extra cardio?”

Run my tongue over my teeth. Prefer not to give him the satisfaction of letting him know when he’s getting on my nerves.

“No more than usual.”

“Bullshit,” Richie fires back, staring me down like he’s Sherlock fucking Holmes. Then he turns to Fry and Chops, proper smug. “And it’s with one girl too—”

Chops gawps at me like I’ve just told him I’ve given up drinkin’ or summat equally daft. “Nah, no way…”

I roll my eyes at the lot of ’em, over their shite. “Can we talk about the show tonight—?”

“Yeah,” Chops starts. “So—”

“—No,” Richie cuts him off. “Can we talk about our kid and his supermodel?”

I give Richie this proper long-suffering look, cos he’s windin’ me up on purpose, the prick—I know he is. “She’s not mine.” She is, but. “What about her?”

He nods his chin at me, all knowing. “How was she?”

And it’s mental, you know… A week ago, same question about some other girl, wouldn’t have bat an eye. Would’ve told him—would’ve told all of ’em—happily. Any other girl, probably would have pretty happily bragged about a five-day fuck-fest. But not her…

Don’t even wanna answer the question. How was she? Fuckin’ heaven, and none of your goddamn business, Rich.

Can’t say any of that though, can I? So I just nod coolly instead. “Good.”

“Good!” Richie chuckles. “You ’ear that, lads? Jo’s been avoiding us all week for good …”

I flash him a shit-eating grin. “Or maybe I’m just avoiding you because you’re a prick, know what I mean?”

“ Maybe ”—Chops eyes us both—“we should talk about our show tonight.”

“Is there a party later?” I ask, just to fuckin’ spite him, the bossy tosser.

Chops sighs, disappointed. “Because that’s what matters.”

He’s a purist, see? All about the music, nowt else. Which is fair enough, I s’pose, but we’re the biggest fucking band on the planet, so let’s fucking party down while we can.

“Stringfellow,” Fry says, throwing the name out there like it’s gospel.

I grimace, though. Me and the lads have had some proper wild nights in that club. One of my favourites, no lie. But there’s this weird little niggle in the back of me mind, like maybe I don’t wanna take Ysolde there? Dunno why, don’t read into it. I’m not.

I nod, ignoring that fucking niggle. “Sounds good.”

“Want me to tell Mick to put her on the list?” Fry offers.

Richie pulls a face. “It’s Ysolde fucking Featherstonhaugh. She don’t need to be on a list.”

“Speaking of lists—” Chops eyes us all. “We don’t have a set list for tonight yet, lads.”

“We have one fucking album, mate—” Roll my eyes at him. “I reckon we’ll probably just play that.”

He rolls his eyes. “In any order in particular, champ?”

I shrug, unbothered. “Whatever fucking order they come out of me mouth.”

My brother nods his chin at me. “She coming tonight?”

“Think so.” I nod casually. Cos I am. Casual, I mean. Not like my heart beats a bit faster thinking about her. That’d be properly fucked, wouldn’t it?

“Nervous?” my brother asks, and fuck him for asking it. Absolute piece of shit. Like I’m fucking nervous. I’m not. And how the fuck did he know anyway?

“Nope,” I tell him. “Lox coming down tonight?”

He nods, and that’s that, then. Back on again, are they? For now, anyway. For better or worse—mostly worse, let’s be honest—Loxy Blythe and my brother have been carrying on since before the band was even a thing. Not quite since school, I don’t think, but not far after.

Wish I could say she’s like me sister, but she pisses me off too much.

Not that siblings can’t do that—fuck me, no one pisses me off more than Richie sodding Harrigan, know what I mean? But Loxy—I don’t know, man. You know those people who sorta just get off from annoyin’ other people? That’s her, and I’m other people.

She and me get into it sometimes. Which means Rich and me get into it sometimes.

Actually, Rich is a bleeding prick, so we get into it a lot of the time, don’t we?

Didn’t used to. But even when we were kidders like—if me and Rich were gonna scrap, we’d fuckin’ scrap. Worse now we’re older, somehow. Dunno why. Just is. Me mum says it’s cos we’re famous, but I dunno. Reckon it might just be us, you know what I mean?

“What time’s your girl gettin’ here?” my brother asks, and I don’t know why it shits me—just does—maybe a bit because I dunno the answer.

When I was leaving her place and I said to her, “I’ll see you later.

” And she said, “Yeah, okay.” And I said, “What time do you reckon you’ll be ’round?

” And she said, “I don’t know, what time does it start?

” And I said, “ We go on at nine thirty ,” and she said “Then nine twenty-five, I guess?” —won’t lie, was a bit deflating that she wasn’t—you know, like, chomping at the fuckin’ bit to see me onstage, so I didn’t wanna be like come early or owt embarrassin’, like I care, you know—?

Because I don’t. Never have before. Feels a bit like I might do here, but.

Don’t need my nosy prick of a brother poking about in me business, know what I mean?

“Who are you mate, her fuckin’ dad?” I roll my eyes at him as my brother raises his arms in surrender.

“Who’s fucking dads?” Heddie Greer asks as she waltzes into the room, a pile of clothes in her arms and a playful grin plastered across her face.

Our stylist. Knows her way ’round an outfit, dead sharp with it. Pretty decent shag, too.

“Oh, have you not heard?” Rich starts, proper smug. “Joah has himself a—”

I’m on him in a flash, clamping my hand over his gob before he can get the words out.

He shoves me off, hard enough that both Fry and Chops are on their feet instantly, ready for whatever’s about to kick off.

And, like clockwork, Mick pops up out of nowhere, lurking like a phantom, already braced to step in in case me and Rich get carried away.

Fair play to him, we have been known to in our day.

Rich points at me, eyes narrowed. “Don’t touch me, man.”

I shrug at him. “Don’t run your mouth.”

“Heds!” Mick gives her a pointed look—says somethin’ to her without saying owt, like they’ve talked about this before, or summat. “Why don’t you take Jo to his dressing room, have him pick somethin’ for tonight.”

I look down at meself. “What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?”

She gives me a look, all business—or supposedly.

The way her eyes run over me, though, it’s not just the job, is it?

Nah, it’s a bit of that, sure, but it’s a lot because she’s seen me naked.

And the way she does it? There’s this edge to it, like she’s reminding me she has.

Like, in her head, my body’s half hers by default.

“Well,” she says finally, proper breezy, “let’s just get a jacket on you, and we’ll go from there.”

***

I’m standing in my dressing room, shirt off, Heddie fannying about with my belt—sounds a lot sexier than it is.

Could be sexy, I s’pose. Heddie’s fit, no arguing that.

Proper fit, I reckon. But she ain’t her, is she?

Not the girl I’ve been shagging all week.

And for the first time ever, I’m not arsed.

That’s weird for me, know what I mean? Proper weird. Cos I can tell Heddie’s havin’ a crack, laying the groundwork for later.

The way her fingers are brushing over my skin at the top of my jeans—could probably just about pass as part of the job. But then you pair it with the fuck-me eyes she’s throwin’ my way, and it’s not. Not even a bit.

And the thing is, normally I’d clock that, shrug, and think, ah, fuck it — why not, like? But this time? Nowt. Ain’t even tempted.

It’s not me specific, by the way. She’d have a crack with Richie just as easy as she would with me. Probably easier, to be fair, but she’s gotta know Lox is knocking about somewhere.

And Fry and Chops? She’s definitely tossed them a pity shag or two over the years. Not sure if they were meant to be pity shags, but that’s what I call ’em, just to wind ’em up. Works every time.

Then there’s a knock at the door.

“Yeah?” I call out, dead gruff.

“Decent?” Rich shouts back through the door.

I glance down at myself. Shirtless, jeans halfway on, Heddie still faffing about with the zip like it’s her first time doing one up. Good enough for me.

“Yep,” I call back.

The door swings open, and it’s not just Rich standing there. It’s Rich and Ysolde (and her fuckin’ bodyguard, but he’s a bit part of the furniture now. Not a bad lad, don’t mind him. Can’t imagine this is winning me any points with him but—fuck). Ys stops dead in her tracks, eyes go wide.

“Oh my—” Her gaze flicks from me—and Heddie’s hands, conveniently near the spot she’s set up camp at for the last week—over to my brother. “What would indecent look like?”

“Oh, don’t you worry, mate—” The absolute prick gives her this smug look. “You’ll find out.”

He flashes me a smirk, and I know full well he’s tried to throw me under the bus on purpose. Course he fucking has. Prick.

Thing is, I’m not doing owt wrong. Not really. But fuck me, it don’t look great, does it? Shirt off, Heddie’s hands practically halfway down my jeans.

“Fuck—” I mutter, shoving past Heddie quick and heading straight for Ys. “Hey.” Put my hand on her waist.

“Hi,” she says, eyes locked on Heddie behind me. Realises she’s doing it, then shifts her focus to me. “Hey.”

Touch her face.

She blinks a few times, like she’s catching up. “Hi.”

I smile at her, happier to see her than I want to be. “You alright?”

She nods. I glance over her shoulder, through the doorway.

“Where’s Lala? I wanna meet her properly.”