Page 6 of One Wild Night
‘Yes, yes! You all must be freezing out there,’ he adds. ‘Do come in. Kitty is thrilled to have you.’
I exchange glances with the band, trying to decipher the vibes here. Still, I have no choice but to follow them indoors. As the heat hits my body, soothing my frozen bones, it almost tricks me into relaxing. Even if I can stick it out here for an hour, before I have to run for my life, at least I will have defrosted first.
‘Thanks so much, Trish, Pat,’ Dylan says, offering Pat a hand to shake. ‘You're real lifesavers. We thought we were going to be stuck out there all night. I can’t believe the weather.’
‘You’re lucky,’ Trish says, lowering her voice, narrowing her eyes. ‘Snowfall like this, in February, during a leap year, is said to awaken the spirit of old Lord Arthur Stump.’
Her eyes lock onto mine, and I can't help but feel an involuntary shudder.
‘Who's Lord Arthur Stump?’ Mikey asks, clearly intrigued.
‘Oh, he was a fella hanged from the old oak tree out back, centuries ago. Accused of aiding witches,’ she explains. ‘But, lucky for you, it's not a leap year this year.’
Trish holds her serious expression for a few more seconds before she erupts with a witchy cackle. I can’t tell if she’s laughing because she just made that up, because it’s true but she finds it absolutely hilarious.
Lucky is the last thing I feel right now.
‘Kitty thinks you’re the best thing since poached herring,’ Pat tells Dylan which – I could be wrong, because it sounds wrong – I think is a good thing.
‘Yeah?’ Dylan replies, smiling warmly.
‘Oh yes, she never stops talking about you,’ Pat continues.
‘Dad,’ Kitty moans, her cheeks flushing lightly.
‘We’re just all so lucky you came to our aid,’ Mikey says.
‘We’re good Samaritans,’ Pat insists. ‘We would never leave a fellow man – or woman – in need. It is, however, late, so perhaps it would be best if we all retire to bed.’
‘Yeah, no worries, we really appreciate it,’ Dylan says.
For a few seconds, everyone falls silent, until…
‘Dylan can sleep in my room,’ Kitty blurts excitedly.
The colour drains from Dylan’s face, his neck, his hands – even his tattoos seem to fade.
‘Oh, no, sorry, I can’t,’ he insists almost frantically. I can see the cogs moving in his brain, as he tries to think on his feet. ‘It’s Nicole. She’s my girlfriend, so…’
I don’t think there is a person in this room who sounds surprised to hear him say that, but I think it’s safe to say that I’m top of the list.
Dylan snakes an arm around my waist, pulling me close, kissing me on the cheek.
‘Really?’ Kitty says. ‘Ididn’t know you had a girlfriend.’
It is interesting, the way fans think they truly know a person, just because they like their music. I can’t say much, given that I’m a music journalist, but there is this almost unquenchable thirst for information, to know every last detail about their lives, every move they make, everywhere they go.
Then again, I can’t blame Kitty for being surprised. Dylan King – the Dylan King – having a girlfriend would definitely be front-page news.
‘Yeah, look, see,’ Dylan adds as he pulls me closer, nuzzling his face into my neck, making weird kissy noises.
Were I not so taken aback by, well, this entire scenario and all the bizarre twists and turns it is taking, I would probably be laughing at the fact that this is Dylan’s interpretation of what you do with a girlfriend.
‘Not married then?’ Pat asks, his face serious, his tone stern.
‘Huh?’ Dylan replies.
‘The two of you, you’re not married,’ he says again.
