Page 18 of Ex in the City
‘Would you like to talk about your job?’ he repeats. ‘That’s why I’m here, Nic. I know all about what you do now, how you take people like me and make them look good again. That’s what I need.’
I’m stunned.
‘I mean… you look great,’ I point out.
Although I know what he’s getting at. Dylan’s reputation wasn’t all that great back in the day. He was known for being a bit of a tart – aren’t all young male rock stars, though? – and for drinking too much, trashing hotel rooms, being a bit of a menace generally. I guess because I knew him, I knew he was a good person, under all the shit, but the world was turning on him, just before The Burnouts split. Courtesy of the tabloids, of course.
‘We’ve been offered a reunion tour,’ he tells me. ‘Me, Mikey, Jamie and Taz – the original line-up back together again. But on one condition, that I clean up my act and show the world that I’m different now. And who better to help me than you?’
I shake my head, still trying to process it all.
‘Of all the reasons I thought you were here, that’s probably the only thing I didn’t consider,’ I say with a laugh. ‘I would have put you needing a kidney higher up on the list than that.’
He laughs.
‘Well, let’s not rule that out at some point, but I’ll be seeing you for dinner later, right?’ he replies. ‘Think about it and give me your answer then. No hard feelings if you don’t think you’re up to it. It’s a big job. What time do you want me?’
I have to remind myself that he means for dinner.
‘Six o’clock?’ I suggest.
‘Great,’ he replies, his grin infectious. ‘See you then. And think about it, yeah?’
I get out of the car, the possibilities spinning in my head. He’s definitely given me a lot to think about.
11
I buzz around the kitchen, putting the finishing touches on dinner. The lasagne is baking in the oven, filling the room with that comforting home-cooked smell that goes hand in hand with such a crowd-pleasing dish. I slice through the fresh focaccia, trying to keep my nervous excitement in check. Dylan should be here any minute.
Rowan, however, isn’t sharing my enthusiasm. After a barrage of questions about Dylan, our history, why he’s here and so on, Rowan has gone uncharacteristically quiet, selecting wine glasses from the cupboard with an irked look on his face.
‘I just don’t understand why you never mentioned that you were friends with him,’ Rowan finally pipes up again.
I put down the knife and turn to face him, my patience wearing thin.
‘Sorry, I guess I must not have been paying attention properly when you supplied me with the list of every friend you’ve ever had, ever,’ I say sarcastically.
He sighs, his frustration growing too.
‘I would tell you if my best friend was Kylie-bloody-Minogue,’ he claps back. ‘It just seems weird to me that you wouldn’t ever mention it.’
‘When I met you, I hadn’t seen Dylan in years,’ I remind him, exasperated, as I’ve been explaining this to him for over an hour now.
‘Were you together?’ Rowan asks, his tone more than a little suspicious.
My heart skips a beat.
‘What do you mean?’ I reply, knowing exactly what he means.
Rowan gives me a look, like he knows that I know what he means too.
‘I mean, were you and him involved?’ he says, slowly and clearly. ‘Sexually.’
Rowan lowers his voice when he says the last word, because the kids are watching TV on the sofa at the other end of the open-plan living space. Thankfully, they’re too engrossed in whatever show they’re watching to pay attention to our ‘boring adult talk’.
‘Rowan, what part of “we were friends” are you struggling with?’ I respond plainly.
‘Okay, but, what, some guy turns up from your past and…?’ Rowan’s voice trails off, his eyebrows knitting together in that way they always do when he’s stressed, confused or angry – right now, I think he’s all of the above.
