Izabel fiddled with her necklace, rubbing her fingertips over the smooth rose gold surface, and shivering as she recalled the way Matt had fastened the chain and laid a trail of kisses down her neck. The last of the late September sunshine warmed her face.
“Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.” The Irish lilt could only belong to one person.
Joe Lockwood, owner of Lockwood Fades, the barber shop over by Affleck’s Palace, walked towards her with the confident stride of a man who knew his place in the world. With a severe fade on the sides and a mess of hair on the top, his hair walked the talk for his barber shop.
He was joined by two other barbers from the shop, Dominic, a transplant from Devon, and Jackson, a former resident of the shelter who’d been given an apprenticeship by Joe.
“Somehow I’d manage to forget it was the last Monday in the month.”
Joe mimicked a dagger being plunged into his heart. “And here I was, living under the illusion you lived for my monthly visits.”
Izabel laughed. “Dude. Don’t joke about monthly visits with a woman.”
Joe waved Dominic and Jackson inside as they laughed. “How’ve you been, Izabel?”
“Did you know the building’s been sold?”
Joe cursed and placed his hand on the brickwork, stroking it as if it had feelings. “That’s too bad. Where are you moving too?”
Izabel shook her head. “Doesn’t look good. Rent is just too high in the city right now.”
Joe placed his hand on her shoulder and squeezed it affectionately. “If you can think of any way we can help, beyond coming here once a month to cut your residents’ hair, just ask me.”
Izabel looked up at him. He was a good man. He’d set up his barbers’ shop in Manchester and had gotten to know Dennis, the former cabbie who’d slept in the shop doorway every night. Joe had offered him a haircut and a decent outfit for a job interview. Even let him use the shop as his home address to apply. Dennis found a job, and Joe found a passion for helping homeless men get back on their feet.
“Thanks, I really appreciate it.”
She followed him inside but instead of heading into the main part of the centre, she went to the office she shared with Ibrahim and unlocked the door. Her laptop sat on the desk, and she opened it. An email from the Central Convention Complex. Her heart raced as she opened.
We’d be thrilled…
Avoid the Christmas rush…
Short notice…
Wednesday 24th November
Shit.
She had a venue. A really big venue. She was out of her depth. Why on earth did she think she had the skills to pull this off?
Izabel took a deep breath and put her head on her knees.
“You alright, Izabel?” Ibrahim asked as he stepped into the office.
“We got a venue,” she mumbled and took another breath.
“You’re going on a hen-do?” Ibrahim asked.
Izabel laughed and raised her voice. “No. We got a venue.”
“A venue? Oh, wait, you got a venue. For the fundraiser? Izabel, that’s good news.”
She took another deep breath. “Yeah. We got the Central Convention Complex. Eleven thousand people.”
“Do you think you can fill it?”
Little stars were spinning in the corner of her eyes, and she couldn’t decide if it was panic or hyper-ventilating. She put her head back down on her knees. “I’ve no idea.”
The door to the office burst open. “Hey, can we borrow your extension cable again?” Joe asked.
She heard the crack of a bottle of water before Ibrahim pressed the bottle into her hand. “One second, Joe. Stop breathing like you just ran a marathon, Izabel. You’re going to pass out.”
“What’s up with Izabel?” Joe asked.
Izabel sat up again, the world tilting. “My arms feel floppy. Can’t decide if I’m about to faint or I’m having a stroke.”
Joe looked stricken. “You’ve gone grey. Should we call an ambulance?”
Ibrahim clucked. “She’s being melodramatic. Pretty sure it’s just panic. Sip your water.”
“What am I missing?” Joe crouched down in front of Izabel and put his hand to her forehead. “You feel clammy.”
“Oh, I’m definitely clammy. Pretty sure I’m stress-sweating. Is it normal for your heart to feel like it’s dropping and hitting the floor with a thud every fourth heartbeat?”
“That’s anxiety, love. What happened?”
If she noticed Joe’s concern and affectionate name for her, she dismissed. Right now, she had bigger problems. “The Convention Centre, you know, the old G-Mex, have said I can have their building for free for a benefit concert for the shelter.”
Joe’s eyes went wide. “Well, that’s amazing…isn’t it?”
“Define amazing.”
“Well, once you have a venue, you can totally start to build the event. Caterers, security, parking, bands, sponsors, media and public relations and—”
“Not helping, Joe.”
“Ahh. Okay. Got it. Getting the venue - awesome. Having to plan the event - scary as fuck.”
Izabel nodded. “Now you understand.”
“When I said outside that I’d help if I could, I meant it. Dominic’s sister is a celebrity wedding planner. She does all the Man City and Coronation Street stars weddings. Bet she’d help you in a heartbeat.”
The pressure around Izabel’s chest released a little. “Do you think she would?”
“Yeah. How long have you got?”
“Eight weeks”
“Only eight weeks. Not long then.”
She raised an eyebrow at Joe.
Joe laughed. “Oh, yeah. Right. Eight weeks. Ages away. Tons of time.”
Izabel couldn’t help but grin. “Fine. Yes. Eight weeks. Dominic’s sister. How quickly can we ask if she can help?”
“Give me a sec. I’ll go ask Dom now. You okay now? You’ve got a bit more colour.”
She raised her hand to her forehead. “Yeah. And not quite as clammy.”
“Right. Well, don’t pass out while I’m gone.”
Izabel placed the bottle of water on her desk and shook her hands to get some blood flowing. Dear Lord, she had a venue.
Now she just needed to fill it.
Joe returned to the office with Dominic who held his phone to his hear. “Thanks, sis. You’re the best. Yeah, her name is Izabel.”
Joe tilted his head in Dominic’s direction. “Dom’s sister’s name is Rachel.”
Dominic handed her the phone. “Rach is happy to help you out.”
She studied both men for a second. “Thank you,” she said. “I know that sounds lame, but seriously, thank you.”
Izabel put the phone to her ear. “Rachel, it’s lovely to meet you. Thanks for agreeing to chat with me.”
“My pleasure. Dom says you’re planning a fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants charity event in eight weeks for eleven thousand people, right?”
Izabel’s stomach flipped. ‘When you say it like that, I start to feel faint again.”
Rachel laughed. “Ah, don’t faint. Eight weeks happens to be my favourite timeline. You don’t have time to second guess yourself, you just have to crack on. If you waste a day freaking out, you lose two percent of your schedule.”
“When you say it like that, it makes sense.”
“Why don’t you start with telling me the goals of the event, and what you’ve already thought about and lined up, and we’ll take it from there.”
Within an hour, the two of them had pulled together a far more detailed outline than Izabel would have been able to pull together on her own. Rachel had thankfully organised the weddings of members of four bands, one of them considered to be rock royalty, and had agreed to approach them to flush out the line-up.
“Ibrahim,” she said, looking across the small office. “I think I’m going to need to focus on this when I’m here.”
Ibrahim grinned. “I think you need to, too. We’ll manage.”
Two hours later, as Izabel walked to the door with Joe, she decided she needed to chat with Gemma too.
Dominic and Jackson walked on ahead to a dark blue van with the barber’s logo etched on the side.
“Do you ever struggle when you go home at night?” she asked.
Joe stepped out onto the street. The crispness of autumn settled around them and Izabel tugged her denim jacket a little tighter around her middle. “What do you mean?”
“I go home at night and I think about this place. It’s not enough. They deserve more basic humanity than they get. That a haircut is such a big deal. It just seems unfair.”
Joe ran his hand through his hair. “Yeah. It is unfair. But, before I go to bed, I look in the mirror and I ask myself if I made a difference today. And if the answer is yes, I let it go. I don’t measure it. I don’t ask myself did I do enough? Could I have done more? It’s a binary yes or no answer. Did I make a difference? And if the answer is yes, I put my head down on the pillow and sleep.”
“I’ve been trying to help Jon, but the hoops they’re putting him through to get housing is ridiculous. And that help isn’t scalable. I can’t help ten thousand Jon’s at a time.”
“Izabel, you don’t seem to realise you’re already the difference.”
“Some days it doesn’t feel like it.”
Joe placed his hand on her shoulder and squeezed it again. “Says the woman organising a huge concert to raise funds for the shelter. Says the woman who spends her evenings chasing down charitable donations from sock companies, and white goods manufacturers, and fucking pasta.”
“When you say it like that, I suppose it has to be enough.”
“Iz?” Matt’s voice cut through the silence between her and Joe.
Izabel turned to see Matt walking towards her in his work clothes, but instead of the smile and dimples she was expecting, his face looked like thunder.
“Hey, Matt. Do you know Joe? He runs Lockwood Fades over by Affleck’s. Joe, this is Matt from Luke’s band.”
Joe smiled and held out his hand. “Pleased to meet you. Great you can help Izabel out with her concert.”
Matt glared at Joe’s hand for an incredibly awkward moment before finally shaking it. “Of course we’re going to help her out.”
Joe looked to Izabel. “You cool, Iz?”
She knew what he meant. With Matt looming slightly behind her with a look on his face that clearly stated he was pissed off, Joe wanted to know if she was okay. It was sweet. But she knew she was safe with Matt.
“I’m good, thanks. We have plans to discuss the concert.”
“Any time, Izabel. You have my number.” Joe cast a glance in Matt’s direction, then headed to the van.
“You want to tell me why he had his hand on you?” Matt said as the van door slammed.
“Not if you’re going to talk to me like a jerk, I don’t.”
Matt ran his hand across his face. “It’s a fairly straight forward question, Iz.”
“Oh, go away.” Her stomach sank at his behaviour, and she turned and walked into the shelter.
The footsteps behind her told her Matt had followed her but she didn’t have anything to say to him right now. She walked into the office and began to pack up her things.
“I walk up the street and I see a guy with his hand on you, and my first thought is perhaps you don’t want his hands on you. So, I start to run down the street until I get close enough to see the stars in his eyes as he looks at you. And I see you, my girlfriend, not moving out of the way. What am I supposed to think?”
Izabel yanked her bag over her shoulder. “For starters, you could have not overreacted, and second, you could have been polite to a guy who has be super-helpful today in sharing some of his contacts with me for the concert.”
She popped her head into the kitchen and shouted goodbye to Ibrahim who raised a hand in goodbye.
“For fuck’s sake,” she heard Matt grumble as he jogged after her. “Izabel, wait.”
She stopped short and turned around. “What for? Are you going to say anything that makes sense?”
“Fuck. I saw the guy flirting with you and you standing there like you want him to.”
“Let’s talk about how your total and utter lack of trust in me is insulting. You think because a decent guy put his hand on my arm, it means something. You perform every night in front of screaming hordes of women who you let wrap their arms around you to take selfies, you sign their bodies. And I have never once asked you to stop because I. Trust. You.” She jabbed her finger into his chest and ignored the look of complete shock on his face.
“It wasn’t because I didn’t trust you. It’s… It was… Fuck. I didn’t like seeing some other guy flirt with my girlfriend.”
“Stop being a possessive jerk. And you know what I would love to have been able to say to Joe. “Hey Joe, this is my boyfriend, Matt.” Or, perhaps, “Hey Joe, just to clear things up, I have a boyfriend”. But I can’t. You have all the control here.”
“Please, Izabel. Listen.”
Izabel hugged her arms around her middle. “I can’t, Matt. I’m going to go home, sleep on this, figure out what I want and need. Perhaps a guy who doesn’t want me to be his hidden secret because he’s scared of being seen with me. I think you should do the same.” She turned and walked away.
“Izabel, please, sweetheart. Don’t do this.”
She reached for her phone, dialled a number then turned to face Matt.
“Hey, Luke,” she said, when her brother answered. “Are you still in town? Want to meet for dinner?”
She watched Matt’s eyes go wide. Once she’d made plans, she hung up.
“He’s five minutes away,” she said. “You’d better go. Can’t have Luke seeing us together, right?”
“I wanted to talk this through with you.”
“Well, for once, I’m dealing with conflict. We both need some time out to figure out what we want. I’ve been willing to go along with how you wanted this to go, but I don’t see any movement on your part.”
Matt cupped her cheeks and shocked her by kissing her forehead. “I’m sorry.”
“I know,” she whispered, before turning to walk away.
Four hours, at least six pints, and an unverified number of single malts later, Matt stepped off the bus. The idea of going home to sleep in a bed that still smelled of Izabel was more than he could deal with. And there was only one other place he could go when he felt as shitty as he did.
Using his key, he let himself into his nan’s dark living room. Tripping over the step, he reached for something to break his fall. With a crash, the tall vase holding her impressive umbrella collection clattered over.
“Fuck me,” he grunted as he hit the floor, his feet still hanging out of the front door.
“Who is it?” she shouted from up the stairs as light flashed on. “I’m calling the police.”
“Nan. It’s me.”
“Jesus, Mary, and the fucking baby Jesus,” she cursed. He could hear her footsteps long before she appeared at the bottom of the stairs in her dressing gown. “You just shaved five years off my life, Matthew Palmer. And get yourself up off my floor so I can close the door. Nosey Ken across the street is probably already twitching at his lace curtains to see what all the fuss is about.”
Matt crawled up onto his knees, and then, using the arm of the sofa for leverage, pulled himself to his feet. The room tilted before he could look at his nan. “Sorry,” he said. “I just didn’t know where else to go.”
All the annoyance shifted from his nan’s face as she stepped closer and put her hand on his cheeks. “Ah, well. You’ve come to the right place. Let’s get some food inside you before you go to bed.”
He followed her unsteadily into the kitchen as she began to flutter around the kitchen. The kettle went on with a click. The frying pan hit the gas stove with a clang. The scent of bacon and toast filling the air.
She placed a mug of tea and a glass of water next to his elbow. “Take two of these to stop the headache.”
He didn’t ask what the white pills were, he just took them with half the glass of water. “Thanks, Nan.”
When the plate of food was finally in front of him, his nan took the other chair at the two-seater table. “What happened?”
“I fucked everything up, Nan. And I don’t even know how I did it.”
His nan picked up her tea and took a sip as he bit into his bacon sandwich, extra HP sauce, just the way he liked it.
“You fucked it up because you’re an idiot sometimes.”
Matt coughed and swallowed at the same time. “Nan. You don’t even know what I did.”
“I know. But it’s easier to rip the plaster off quickly and say where we’ll end up in this conversation. You wouldn’t have got blind drunk and ended up here if you were certain you hadn’t done something stupid.”
Matt drank the rest of his glass of water to clear his throat. He hated to admit it, but she was right. “You couldn’t have been a bit more tactful?”
“Why? Where does being tactful get you? Tell me what happened.”
In between bites of his bacon sandwich, Matt relayed the rehearsal he’d had with the band that had put him in such a bad mood. The one where Jase had accused him of being a control freak. When he was done, his nan took another long drink of her tea.
“The irony is, you’re both right. Jase it right. You do control the band. I love your Auntie Pat, and I love those boys of hers. But Ben and Alex don’t have the same drive you do. You’d never have made a penny if either of those two were in charge. Jase has more talent in his fingertips than most of us have in our entire bodies. But he doesn’t trust it.”
“Nan…he fucking swaggers around telling anybody who’ll listen he’s the next coming of Jesus.”
“Matt. For a smart lad, you’re really stupid sometimes.”
“Wow. Doubling down on telling me I’m stupid.”
His nan laughed. “I’m not the one three sheets to the wind after a crappy day. Anyway, your brother. He doesn’t have an ounce of true confidence, and if you haven’t realised all the bravado, all the swagger, all the boasting about how great he is is an act, then you’re just as stupid as I’ve been saying.”
Her words hit Matt right in his solar plexus. She couldn’t have hit him harder if she’d hit him in the chest with a hammer. Jase wasn’t tough, he was vulnerable. He wasn’t an arrogant piece of shit, he was…broken.
Fuck.
How had he never seen it?
“He needs you to be in control, Matt, and he hates that. He hates relying on you because he hates relying on anyone. He hasn’t trusted a single person since his dad went inside when he was six. And why should. Everyone up until then let him down. I certainly did. Didn’t see what was happening right under my eyes. His mum let him down, nearly killing the pair of you. His Dad let him down, treating him like he did. But he wishes he had half of your confidence and business acumen, and it burns him that he doesn’t. He knows you’re right, he knows the way you handle the band is the right one. He just wishes he could come up with the suggestions you do. It just chaps his arse he can’t be you.”
“Be me? He fucking hates me.”
“No, Matt. He loves you and envies you in a way I think goes much deeper than the band. He wishes he could write songs like you can, and he wishes he had a friend as loyal to you as Luke is. He needs control in his life. And the only control he has is to push back against you, even if it makes no sense to you or him.”
Matt ran his hands over his face and leaned back in his chair. He took a sip of tea, letting it warm his insides.
“I’ve fucked up with Luke too.”
Nan placed her mug on the table. “What did you do?”
“I’m in love with Izabel.”
When his nan reached for his hand, he let her take it. “Oh, Matt. How did Luke take it? After the Jase fiasco…”
“I haven’t told him or anyone else. When Jase slept with her, it fucked everything up. Luke lost some of his trust in Jase, and by association, me. But I’ve been in love with her a long time. And shit, I fucked it up with her tonight, too. Fucking hell, Nan.” He placed his arms on the table and laid his head in them. “You’re right. I’m an idiot.”
“Wait. I’m confused. If no-one knows, then what have you fucked up?”
“You were right. What you noticed. Izabel and I love each other. It’s been going on since the wedding. But I asked her to keep it quiet so it didn’t disrupt the band. And tonight, I saw a guy flirting with her and I lost my shit because I was still mad from the band meeting and Jase. She said I’m the one in control of everything, but I honestly don’t feel like I’m in control of anything right now. Motherfucker.”
He looked up, expecting to see disappointment, but all he saw was what he usually saw. Unconditional love.
“I’ve been trying to do these pros and cons all night. Pros: I love Iz, she loves me. Con: I lose the band; I lose my best friend. Fuck, Nan. It’s making my head spin.”
“I think you’ll find that’s the alcohol. I wish I could help you figure out what to do, I really do. But I’ll say this. You can’t put your heart so neatly into two columns. If you try, you’ll break it into pieces. This isn’t an intellectual problem, it’s an emotional one. You can’t solve it with intellectual means.”
Matt finished the rest of his tea. His nan was right. The drink was making everything feel worse.
“Okay. Close your eyes. Imagine a future where you’re on stage with the Sad Fridays. You’re celebrating twenty years of recording together in a studio filled with platinum discs. Can you imagine that?”
Matt did as she said and sighed. “Yeah, I can. It’s the fucking dream.”
“Try this. Imagine it’s twenty years from now. The band didn’t pan out, but you’re still making music. You’re a singer-songwriter. You perform solo. And you write for other artists. Major artists with big labels. Can you imagine that?”
“I can. It’s not my preference, but it would still be great. Where is this going, Nan?”
“Bear with me, Matt. Now. Imagine a future with Izabel in it. Her face is the first thing you see in a morning, it’s the last thing you see at night. It’s twenty years from now, and you have been married for eighteen years. Your kids are fifteen and thirteen and are in a band that practices in your garage.”
Matt focused, letting the image build in his mind. Izabel on their wedding day. Sunshine filtering through her hair, a white dress, her fucking smile. And kids. He’d not thought past babies. But yeah, kids and music and a loud playful home. Him and Iz sneaking time together. “Sounds like heaven,” he said, opening his eyes to see his nan smiling.
“Right, close your eyes one last time. Everything you just thought about with Izabel, think it all over again, but with a different woman. Any woman. Make her up. Can you imagine that future you just saw without Izabel in it?”
Matt’s eyes flashed open. “Easiest fucking no.” His heart lurched at the idea.
“So, you can imagine a future in music without the band, but you can’t imagine a future in love without Izabel.” She stood and pressed a kiss to the top of his head. “I think that tells you everything you need to know.”
As he sat in her kitchen, with condensation clinging to the bottom of the windows, he realised his nan, was always, was right. While he could imagine different futures in music, he could only imagine Izabel by his side.
He reached for his phone. It was too late to call Izabel. Instead, he settled for a text.
When I think of my future, the only constant in it is you.
I don’t want to walk away from this without you knowing that.
I’m sorry I was a dick, and in a way, I’m grateful to Joe for showing me just how much I could lose.
I love you, Iz. Meet me tomorrow to talk this through.
Please.
Matt cleaned up the dishes and set the kitchen to rights. When he crawled his arse up the stairs and climbed into his old bed, she still hadn’t responded.
But that didn’t stop him from falling to sleep with images of Iz and him and their future.