Page 71 of When We Were Young

‘My hand’s killing me.’ Will raised his right hand, the knuckles were swollen and purple.

Matty whistled. ‘Jesus. Is that from hitting Aidan?’

Will gave a bitter smile.

‘How the hell have you been driving all day?’

‘It wasn’t too bad this morning, but it’s throbbing now.’

‘Will you be okay to play?’

‘I’ll have to be.’ Matty had secured a support slot at another legendary venue – the Dublin Castle in Camden.

‘Yeah, you’d better be. It’s taken me weeks to get this gig.’

They’d barely finished sound checking when the venue started to fill up.

‘Maybe you should strap it up?’ said Matty as showtime approached.

‘No, that would be harder to play. I’ve taken painkillers, it’ll be fine.’

It wasn’t fine.

The set was short, but every minute was agony. Will inevitably made mistakes. He kept thinking of Aidan: how he’d tried to put Emily off him, how he’d upset their mum, and how this evening was ruined because Will couldn’t play properly. What an utter prick. The pub was packed now. The headline band had a decent following. And the crowd were listening too, not just waiting for the main act. More than that, they were jumping around, singing along to the choruses. As Will stomped and shouted his way across the stage, screaming the crescendo parts, people were feeding off his angry performance. During the last song, a photographer was taking pictures, the camera flashing in his face every few seconds – pissing him off even more.

After the last agonising strum, he dropped to his knees in front of his amp, generating an ear-splitting squeal of feedback.

The crowd went wild.

Chapter 34

May 2016

Emily

FHD rings the doorbell at ten o’clock on the dot on Monday morning. We exchange polite, double-cheek kisses.

‘I’m sorry about the other week,’ I say as we get in his car.

‘No worries. Was everything okay with your daughter?’

I don’t want to get into the truth of it. ‘Yes, she was asleep. She didn’t hear you come in.’

‘Good.’

‘Not that there’s any reason I should be ashamed of you,’ I try to clarify. ‘I haven’t ever––’

‘No, I get it.’

We pull up outside Boho Café ten minutes later. It’s nestled in a row of shops around the corner from the station. Large wooden box planters enclose the outside seating area with colourful flowers. Inside, all the walls are exposed brick apart from the one behind the counter, which is one huge blackboard. The counter is a collection of glass domes displaying pastries, cakes, and muffins. There’s a play area for toddlers in the corner where a couple of mums sit nattering over their babies’ heads. The place is charming.

The barista looks up from scribbling in her notebook. She recognises FHD and calls out the back to his friend. FHD greets his childhood friend, Dylan, with one of those arm-clasping handshakes before introducing me.

‘Are you ready for your taster session?’ Dylan asks me.

I give a nervous little nod.

FHD has to get back to work so he says goodbye and startles me with a quick peck on the lips. ‘Let me know how it goes.’