Page 23 of One Day Like This (Excess All Areas 1)

And if the pep talk Luke had givenherthat morning was anything to go by, she knew why. There was no doubt in her mind Matt had been given the same warning she had.

Hands off.

When she stepped out into the sunshine, she took a breath of air. The old building had a limited number of windows, none of which received any light given the buildings around them. It made for a depressingly cool and uninspiring venue.

As she looked up, she could see Matt standing with his back to his car door, one foot crossed over the other. He wore a loose white shirt, the top couple of buttons open. The sleeves were rolled up to just above his elbows, revealing all the ink she loved so much. Once upon a time, she’d trace the lines of it.

She didn’t want a knight on a white charger or a billionaire or an unreliable bad boy. In her dreams she married a guy who loved his nan. And took care of their friends. Took care ofher.But not in a suffocating way. In a “make sure your car has petrol in it” way, and offers to pick you up after a girls’ night out so you don’t have to travel home alone. After being left to fend for herself at seventeen, she wanted the stability and reliability of someone who wasn’t her brother. Who didn’t look out for her because they felt obligated, but because they wanted to.

A small voice inside warned her that wasn’t a rock star. And deep down inside, she knew that if the band had a gig tonight, she’d be going to the wedding alone.

Matt’s hair was still damp, the ends fluttering in the breeze. He’d obviously just showered, something she wished she could have done.

Lord, she probably smelled a little after working all day. Hell, she’d even cleaned the kitchen, blasted the oven with foul-smelling chemical cleaner. He looked fresh as a daisy while she probably looked like a tulip wilted by drought.

“Hey,” she said as she got closer to the car.

“Sorry I’m late, Iz. Luke and I had a bit of a breakthrough on a song that’s been battling us. One minute we’re in the van playing as we drove home from work, the next an hour had passed.”

See? Unreliable.No matter how good he looked in his shirt. Or maybe it was self-preservation to point out his flaws to protect herself.

He reached for her bags, and she groaned as the weight left her shoulders.

“Fuck me. These are heavy. What the hell do you have in them?” Matt put them in the boot of the car, where she could see her suitcase and bridesmaid dress.

Izabel laughed as they climbed in the car and fastened their seatbelts. “Well, one is my work bag with my laptop and all the applications for grants and charitable donations et cetera. The second is my purse and has my Kindle, so I can read on the tram and stuff. The third is my donations bag. This morning it contained about sixty apples I’d convinced Marks & Spencer in Didsbury Village to donate because they were just on their best-before date. I’m the queen of persuading people to donate shit apparently.”

Matt started the car, the radio coming to life, blasting an old Kings of Leon song. He adjusted the volume. “How do you fit it all in?”

“That’s why I have so many bags.”

Matt laughed. “No. All the stuff you do. Your work here. It’s a lot. Luke says you work constantly.”

How did she even begin to explain? “It’s a long story.”

“It’s about a hundred miles to the Lake District, sweetheart. We’ve got time.”

She wondered if he realised he’d called her sweetheart. Izabel twisted in her seat so she could look at him. Strong jaw, dark scruff, and eyelashes she envied.

“Me and Gem volunteered at the shelter while we did our Duke of Edinburgh’s Awards during our first year of university. And it just ... stuck with me. It put everything else I was doing into perspective. Even though I got my marketing degree, I just couldn’t ever leave. There’s this guy named Jon. Technically, he’s sixty-eight, unemployable, no pension, no home, formerly bankrupt. I’m no expert, but he’s suffered mental health challenges since the day I met him, and I’m convinced all his problems started when he returned from the Falklands War. He doesn’t make decisions in his own best interest.”

“That’s fucked up. Can no one help him?”

Izabel reached for the elastic holding her messy bun, tugged it out, and let her hair down. A headache ebbed at the edges of her temples. “That’s my frustration and why I couldn’t leave. There are all kinds of agencies and all kinds of good people trying to make things better ... I mean, there are also some complete dickhead jobsworths who won’t lift a finger more than they need to ... but for the most part it’s good, well-intentioned people. But somehow the system doesn’t work as a whole.”

“In what way?”

Izabel thought though all the examples. “Here’s one. Housing. There’s a huge waiting list for housing. And there isn’t enough of the right type of housing. And then there is a priority list. Do you have kids? Are you disabled or sick? Are you actually homeless, or without a home?”

“There’s a difference?”

“Yeah. Homeless is literally sleeping in your car, a shelter, or outside. Being ‘without a home’ means you don’t have a home of your own, but you have somewhere to sleep. So, a mum and her three kids crammed into the second bedroom of her parents’ house is not considered as much of an emergency.”

“I sort of understand that though. A cramped roof is better than no roof. Me and Jase in Nan’s spare room was better than going into care.”

She reached out and placed her hand on his thigh and rubbed it gently. “Yeah, what Nan did was incredible.”

Matt placed his hand on top of hers, and for a moment, she was taken back to a time when his touch had been freely given. Then he looked at her and tugged his hand away, placing it back on the steering wheel, and she placed hers back on her lap.

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