I have five tabs open on my browser when the phone rings. One is a solo brunette with red lingerie and searching fingers; the next is blonde lesbians sharing oil and dildos; then an Asian blowjob scene; a little latex number that caught my eye; and, finally, a racial-harmony threesome – one black, one white, one latin. I look down at the clock in the corner of the laptop screen: 3.17am.
‘Hi,’ I answer my mobile. ‘I was expecting you to be asleep by now.’
‘Are you at home?’ Maddie asks.
‘Yeah, I got in about twenty minutes ago.’
I was out with Gemma. Pub then club. To celebrate my eighteenth, three days early. On my actual birthday I’ll be going out for dinner and drinks with Maddie and my parents. I’m thinking that none of my friends would accept an invite – they’ve all sided with Ewan – except for Gemma who would bend over backwards – dislocate her spine, even – to preserve our friendship. The night out was a compromise, to save her the embarrassment of being the only one of the group at the dinner. Gemma spoke earnestly of the past all evening, as if flicking through a photo album of our times together – school, parties, gigs, holidays. The woods. The time the police came, torches sweeping the trees, and Teagan, running away, tripped and fell in the mud, then turned to the policemen and said, ‘For fuck’s sake, will you look at the state of me now.’ Or the night Ewan sliced his hand on broken glass and, instead of going to the hospital, just washed it with whisky and then continued to help Cammy build a fire. We were full of stories.
Neither of us mentioned Maddie, though. She was carefully clipped out.
‘Are you busy?’ Maddie asks, on the phone. ‘I’d like to talk to you about something.’
‘No.’ I look at the laptop. The threesome, muted, is continuing without me. ‘Go ahead.’
‘There are a couple of problems with the move south, Rab. For me, I mean. Like, the exams I’d be taking would be A-levels rather than Highers so it would be a whole different education system to – ’
‘We’ve talked about this, though.’
Maddie didn’t do as well as expected in her exams. Drama was her only A. She would need to stay on for a sixth year at school to get the grades she needed for university. Nothing wrong with that, of course, but she seems resistant to the idea of doing that down in London. Even though that was the plan. Our plan.
‘But as well as that,’ she says, ‘there’s also the tuition fees issue, isn’t there? Because if I go next year then it’ll be more expensive than this year, but in Scotland it’s free, whichever year I go. That’s a big difference, Rab.’
‘So now you’ve decided to stay up here for uni as well?’
‘I’ve not decided, no.’
‘We can make the financials work, Mads. It’s only money.’
‘It’s debt.’
‘What’s the difference?’
‘Well, if I want to go on and get involved in theatre…’ She hesitates. ‘I’m not choosing this career for the massive wages, put it that way. It’ll all be internships and temporary contracts. And if I’m saddled with debt right from the off…’
We’ve had this same argument, over and over, for the past fortnight. Since the exam results came out. If I could give her my own results, from last year and this, I would. As it is, though, I don’t see the problem with her getting a job during the day and studying for her exams at a college in the evenings. Then, next year, she can go off to uni and I’ll support her. She probably won’t even need the loans. If she does, it’ll only be short-term.
‘I’ll look after you,’ I say. ‘We’ll be fine.’
‘But,’ she speaks softly, ‘I like the idea of free tuition fees, Rab. Not just because it suits me. I also think it’s right, you know. Our generation’s going to be contributing for the next forty-odd years, so the tab for our education is picked up. That’s right.’
‘Sure,’ I say, closing down the threesome and clicking on the Asian blowjob scene.
‘It’s the equivalent of your advance, really. The government puts out the initial outlay because they’re expecting to recoup that money from the graduates in taxes over their lifetime. Like the label. And one or two individuals might not earn the money back, but it supports the development of – ’
‘Uh huh.’ Japanese porn is often pixelated, but it’s still worth a watch. ‘You just said, though, that you’ll not be earning massive wages, so you probably won’t contribute enough to cover your free tuition anyway, will you?’
‘I just said…’ There’s a sigh from Maddie and a smile from the porn-actress. ‘That’s assuming that the only contribution that can be made is monetary. What about a fucking cultural contribution?’
‘You can make money and culture at the same time, surely.’
‘Make culture?’
‘You know what I mean – ’
‘Anyway, we’re getting sidetracked.’ She sighs again.
I move on to the solo brunette. She’s a definite looker. I decided on her because she reminds me a bit of Gemma. Not that I’ve got a thing for Gemma, but I did spend the whole evening with her, and she was so attentive. Always laying a hand on my arm, or leaning in for a cuddle after one of her ‘but you’re such good friends’ or ‘you’ve known each other such a long time’ entreaties about Ewan. The brunette is a passable way of letting the night reach its natural conclusion while staying faithful to Maddie.
That might be drunken logic, I admit, but I drank a fair few whisky and Cokes at the club tonight. Then a shot or two of sambuca before closing. To get me through the last of Gemma’s chats. The tearful one.
‘And there’s another option, isn’t there?’ Maddie says.
‘What’s that?’
‘Well, you don’t actually need to move to London, do you? Like, you’ll need to be there for the recording, I guess, and for certain events, maybe…’ She pauses. ‘Look, I don’t know how it works, but do you really need to be in the same city as your label?’
‘You mean I could stay in Glasgow?’
‘And travel up and down.’
Pierce suggested the same thing. After signing the publishing contract, in the offices of the parent company: the major label. We’d had meetings the whole day with the lawyer and the accountant – Pierce’s men – then the product manager, the A&R man, and the publicist, from the label. This music lark’s not as simple as walking into a studio, with a guitar, and recording a track or two. There are folk to tell you how to walk in, to argue that the guitar should really be a five-piece band, to take the tracks and remix them so that all that remains of the original is the opening chord and five seconds of the chorus. I’d met so many people that day that, by the end of it, I was reaching forward to shake hands with the filing cabinet and imagining a fitted pinstripe suit on the coat-rack.
When it was just me and him again, Pierce took me to the side. It’s easy for your feet to lift from the floor, he said, just an inch or two. With so much going on, so many voices in your ear. It might be best to stay where you have friends and family around you. Glasgow, he was saying, would be a good base for me, with regular visits to London whenever they were needed.
There are two ways of looking at that, though. Pricey was saying that the folk I grew up with would keep my feet on the ground, but I was thinking that they would drag me down.
‘We need to be in London, Maddie,’ I say. ‘It’s the only way.’
‘But the advance will only keep you for – what, six months?’
‘Seven or eight.’
‘Really?’
‘Of course, through to the release. That’s the idea.’
The accountant gave me a spreadsheet that details spending for six months. It’s based on one month in a hotel, then five in a rented room. I can make that stretch, though. Because all he put in the ‘income’ column is the advance from the label, nothing extra. And I can pick up some money from gigs. Hell, I can even busk if things get tight.
‘Seven or eight,’ I repeat. ‘Through to release.’
The solo girl is boring me. She’s not varying her routine any. I close her down in favour of the lesbians. They’ll challenge each other, push each other on to ever greater feats. Besides, they’re oiled.
‘Rab,’ Maddie says, ‘I can’t.’
‘Can’t what?’
‘Move away. It’s too soon for me. I’m a year younger than you, don’t forget…’
‘What difference does that make?’
‘You’re just turning eighteen. You can drink – legally – in bars and… I just think I need another year up here. To get everything settled and then go on to uni next year.’
There’s some furious movement on-screen, but the girl’s gasps and groans to camera are only silent mouthings. It looks as if she’s screaming, swearing, at me. As if to blame me for what the other girl is doing to her with the dildo.
‘I need to move to London,’ I repeat. ‘It’s the only option.’
‘It can’t be.’
‘It is.’
She goes quiet. The blondes change position.
‘How much do you even know about Agitate anyway?’ Maddie asks.
‘Fuck’s sake, not this again.’
This has been another constant conversation over the past fortnight. Because Maddie found some story on the internet, about this young rapper named Brink who was signed by Agitate last year. After releasing an EP, the label planned to drop him because of poor sales. Then, at the start of this month, his track ‘Riotously’ enjoyed a spike in downloads after the riots down in London. He wanted to move on to a different label, but Agitate held him to the terms of his original contract and plan to release his debut album next year.
Maddie brings up Brink as a warning, but I see him as a success. His track is about racial tensions in Tottenham Hale – it’s contemporary – and Agitate took a risk on it. Sure, he was cut adrift after the EP, but the label soon recognised their mistake. There are two sides to every story, aren’t there? From the label’s point of view, they’re just recouping their initial investment by holding him to his contract. Fair enough, I say.
‘You’ve heard some of their artists,’ I say. ‘I played you that electro-pop outfit Hemmed In, didn’t I? And that singer, Sasha Coburn, still comes on the radio from time to time.’
‘She’s nowhere to be seen now, Rab.’
‘Not everyone can make it big.’
‘But, that’s the point – ’ She breaks off, so abruptly that I have to check my mobile to see if the call is still connected. It is, so I look back to the laptop and wait. One of the blondes is saying something into the camera. I try to lip-read but can’t make it out.
‘All I’m saying is,’ Maddie continues, ‘you can’t expect everything to just magically take off, you know? It’ll be hard. Really fucking hard. And even then it’ll be a dice-roll as to whether it all actually goes anywhere or not.’
‘Exactly,’ I say. ‘So I need to be on hand for when it all happens. To take advantage.’
‘I can’t take that risk, Rab, is what I’m saying.’
I draw breath. ‘You really do love your drama, don’t you?’
‘What does that mean?’
It means she’s even better at manufacturing emotions from nothing than the blondies. That her reactions are just as overblown and fucking fake. It means that everything was sorted – all our fuck-a-ducks were in a row – up until this phone call. At 3.17am. When Maddie, lying awake in her bed, started groping around in the dark for some shit and a fucking fan.
‘There’s no issue, is all I’m saying, Maddie. It’s only because it’s late, maybe, or because you’re a wee bit nervous about the move – ’
‘You’re not hearing me, Rab,’ she says, and I can hear her breath catch. ‘I’m not going.’
‘You’ll be able to study at – ’
‘I’m staying.’
The video on the laptop stutters then buffers. There is skin on screen, but it’s difficult to make out which blonde it belongs to or where, on their body, it is. I click: pause, play, pause, play. Nothing happens.
‘Rab?’ Maddie says. ‘Do you understand what that would mean? It would mean we would break up.’
I stop clicking. ‘Why?’
‘Unless you stayed in Glasgow, of course.’
‘Why the fuck would it mean we’d break up?’
‘Long-distance wouldn’t work, Rab.’
‘Let me get this shit straight.’ The words seethe out. ‘You’d be OK with me travelling up and down – daily, for all we know – for my music, but there’s not a fucking chance of you getting the train down on a weekend, no?’
‘I just… it’s just that long-distance never seems to work. And if you’re concentrating on your music down there and I’m concentrating on my exams up here – ’
‘So it’s all about concentration, then, is it?’
‘No. What I mean is, you’ll be settling into it and – ’
‘Are you shagging someone else, is that it?’
There’s silence on the other end of the line, then static as Maddie lets her breath out. The lesbians on my lap start up again, but I stab a finger to get rid of them.
‘Fuck you, Rab,’ Maddie says.
‘That’s it, isn’t it? This is all just a way of worming your way out. There’s no fucking crisis about moving down there; it’s only you trying to find some grander excuse – some other motivation – that’s not just you getting horny for some other guy – ’
‘What other guy? Where is this coming from?’
‘There’s always another fucking guy.’
‘How could you even think that?’
‘It’s what you did to Ewan, isn’t it?’
She goes quiet. I listen to her breathing. When she speaks, it is barely above a whisper.
‘We’re done here,’ she says, then hangs up.
It takes a minute, staring at first phone then laptop, before I’m able to process what just happened. Maybe I shouldn’t have had that joint as I was browsing for video clips. I definitely should have closed the laptop and just focused on the call. This is what comes of multi-tasking. Now, as well as the headache-hangover in the morning, I’ll have this ball-ache breakup to sort out. This misunderstanding. Because that’s all it is, surely. We’ve decided to move down south, we’ve talked it through. It’s the next step, in both our careers. I mean, for fuck’s sake, she wants to work in theatre. London’s the place to do that, isn’t it? She must see that. Why stay in Glasgow’s West End when you’ve got a chance to move to the West End, eh?
The lesbians have gone, so I move on to the latex. The black shiny suit covers her whole body, with only two slits in it. One for breathing and one for… I get it playing and reach down into my boxer-shorts. It’s only fiddling and fumbling, though; there’s nothing stirring. Nothing.
Tomorrow I’ll go round to see Maddie, face to face. We can talk it through properly. Maybe browse online for some flats in London. Then, over the weekend, I could use some of my advance to take her down on the train – fuck the spreadsheet, I’ll just withdraw the money and sort it later – stay in a hotel, see a play or a gig. In fact, it might even be possible to schedule a set or two of my own to make the trip pay for itself. Short notice, yes, but I could call Pierce to see if there’s anything available. Show Maddie that it’s the place I need to be for my music.
It’s maybe the gimp mask that’s killing my lust. If I could see her properly, then I’d be more interested. She’s showing no signs of taking it off, though. I turn the volume up instead. So I can hear the sighs and the squeaking. Then I make a last, concerted effort to salvage what I can from the evening.