Page 6 of Before You Say Goodbye

Despite not being able to relate, Autumn didn’t even mind Bluebell talking obsessively about her family, whom she obviously adored. Their proper home was in England, but two of her siblings, Marley and Bowie, lived with her in New York, in an apartment that belonged to a friend of their parents. When she wasn’t with Autumn, Bluebell was usually with one or both of her brothers. Still, since Bluebell didn’t work, there was plenty of time for shared frivolity. When they met during the day, they drank hot drinks and talked. When they met up at night, they drank cocktails and danced. When Autumn had work to do, they spent time at her apartment, where Bluebell would watch television while Autumn wrote drafts of her second book. Autumn had worried at first that her unemployed friend might try to dissuade her from working, but Bluebell was extremely supportive of Autumn’s career. She bragged about it on Autumn’s behalf to everyone they met and forced Autumn to celebrate achievements she’d previously had nobody to celebrate with.

“Come on.” Bluebell hurried Autumn along, as excited as ever to dance and drink. “Or we’ll miss the first number.”

They took a taxi to the venue — a small theatre with a grubby floor — bulk-bought drinks to avoid queuing at the bar, then perched on seats in the front row.

“They’re good enough that people come to see them, but not so good people fight to be at the front.” Bluebell shouted the end of her sentence because the lights had dimmed and the crowd was cheering. Autumn turned her attention to the stage, where five men were happily picking up instruments. It wasn’t hard to spot which of them was Bluebell’s brother. He was tall, over six foot, with the same dimples and big lips she had, the same messy blonde hair, and eyes so blue Autumn could see their unmissableshade from where she was sitting. His features weren’t as attractive on him as they were on Bluebell, but she enjoyed the way he held his guitar, his crotch tilted suggestively towards the audience, as well as the obvious strength in his shoulders and hands. Autumn could tell he had the same unabashed confidence his sister did.

They launched into their first number and, less than ten words into the song, Autumn dragged her eyes from Marley to raise her eyebrows at Bluebell.

“He’s really good, isn’t he?” Bluebell beamed with pride. “He’s so talented. Honestly, he’s wasted doing this — they’re never going to make it. He’s carrying everyone else, but he loves it so who are we to tell him what to do?”

Bluebell’s wealthy parents had an unusual attitude to their children working, it seemed. Bluebell lived off an allowance they gave her. In return, they wanted only her assurance that she’d work when she found something she really loved to do.

The music was a little mix of everything considered cool. Bluebell proudly told Autumn that most of what they sang had been written by either Marley or her other brother, Bowie. There were love songs and tunes about partying, songs about sex, drugs and politics. Since live music wasn’t really her thing, Autumn had worried she might be bored, but the interval rolled around quickly and then, before she knew it, the show was over.

She’d hardly taken her eyes off Marley all evening. She wondered if Bluebell knew. She hoped not. She wasn’t sure how that would be received.

As the band took their bows, Autumn clapped as heartily as everyone else. She felt an inexplicable amount of pride. Beside her, Bluebell screeched her brother’s name. He heard her and laughed, but didn’t look over. The lights came on without warning and with unnecessary enthusiasm. Autumn winced. She felt sticky and unattractive.

“Here, take my pass.” Bluebell passed Autumn a lanyard. “Wait backstage and grab Marley if you see him. I’ll be back in ten.”

Autumn didn’t like the idea of standing backstage on her own, so she took her time in the toilets in the vague hope her friend might be there before she was. She reapplied her make-up and carefully tried to tidy her hair. She realised she was nervous about meeting Marley. She wanted him to like her, not just because he was her best friend’s brother, but also because he was exactly her type. She didn’t think Bluebell would approve of her sleeping with him — and she definitely would not do that unless she had her best friend’s express permission — but she wanted to look nice when he saw her just the same.

She’d been standing backstage for fifteen minutes or more — waiting for Bluebell or Marley or both — when he appeared from behind a curtain. He was walking with absolute purpose, as though he was going somewhere, but he saw her and stopped dead, loitering with obvious discomfort three or four strides away. They stared at each other for a few seconds.

“I’m a friend of Bluebell’s,” Autumn said. “She told me to grab you—”

“Ah.” He shook his head. “Sorry. You think I’m Marley. I’m not. I’m Bowie. His brother. His twin brother. Obviously.”

She hadn’t known they were twins, but it made sense. The man in the band had been really sweaty by the end of his performance, but the man in front of her looked like he would smell like clean laundry. It also explained how he’d managed to transform from a guitar-wielding, musical genius into a man who could barely maintain eye contact with her.

“I’m really sorry,” she said.

“Don’t worry. It happens all the time. It has its benefits. We’re not identical, but, as I’m sure you can see for yourself, we look very much alike at first glance. Women throw themselvesat me at these gigs because they think I’m him. He’s sexy, apparently.”

Autumn laughed. Bowie was bashful and awkward. She liked him.

“Are you waiting for Bluebell?” he asked.

“Yeah, she asked me to wait and to grab Marley if I saw him. She said she’d be back in a minute.”

“Yeah,” Bowie said, trying and failing to conceal an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry, she’s not going to be back for a while.”

Autumn waited for him to elaborate.

“She’s seeing one of Marley’s trumpet players. Adam, I think he’s called. I was just back there and I think they’re in his dressing room. Sorry to be the bearer of bad news.”

“Great.” Autumn sighed. She could have been in bed by now. She tried not to be irritated. She and Bluebell had an agreement — it was fine for either one of them to bail if they met someone they liked, but Bluebell had begged her to come tonight, and she didn’t normally have an important meeting to get to the next day.

She was a little annoyed this time. She made a concerted effort to hide her irritation from Bluebell’s brother and hoisted her handbag onto her shoulder, turning to pick up her jacket from the table behind her.

“Where are you going now?” Bowie asked, readying himself to leave too. He was wearing jeans and a plain white T-shirt. He picked up a dark-grey duffle coat and a scarf from a stack of chairs in the corner and started to put them on. It was March, and freezing cold. His coat looked warm.

Autumn had an unsettling desire to climb into it with him.

“Home. I have a meeting in the morning.”

“Have you eaten?”

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