Page 63 of One Day Like This (Excess All Areas 1)

“But?” he asked.

“Sad Fridays bassist and songwriter Matt wants things so different to me that I wonder.”

“You aren’t asking me to give up music, are you?”

Izabel shook her head. “I’d never ask that of you. But it does worry me ... the drinks, the drugs. There are plenty of crash-and-burn musicians.”

He slid his arms around her. “It won’t be me. And I’ve got you to keep me straight.”

That felt like an awful lot of responsibility. “Go shower, put on a shirt. It’s another thirty minutes until it’s cooked.”

Matt cupped her cheeks and placed a kiss on her forehead. “I’ll be back in ten.”

Half an hour later, they sat at the round table, with two flickering candles and some wildflowers she’d picked between them.

Matt slipped a forkful of hotpot into his mouth and groaned. “This tastes so good. Tell me there’s more.”

“I followed a recipe for eight. You might be eating it for days.”

Matt shrugged. “I wouldn’t complain if I did. It’s delicious. Thanks for making it.”

“You’re welcome.” It pleased a part of her. She thrived off being of service or doing something good for someone else. She tried not to dwell too hard on where that had come from. That feelings of being left behind by her father’s death haunted her. By her mother picking her new boyfriend over seeing her through school. She knew Luke would never let her down, but he hadn’t loved the intense periods of playing both brother and parent. Which is why she also struggled with Matt’s question about whether he made her feel secure.

“How are things at the shelter?” he asked between mouthfuls.

“Given we are about to be evicted, there is so much I want to do.” Iz cut into her hotpot. The meat was tender and juicy, the crust flaky. “I have a marketing degree. I feel like I should be able to come up with something to help. Even if it’s just a simple publicity push. Like maybe I could ask people like Jon if they would share their story of why the shelter is so important. And then there are people like Joe Lockwood, a barber who volunteers at the shelter, and I wonder if they could talk about what they get out of it. Why it’s important.”

Matt took a sip of his wine. “So, why don’t you?”

Izabel shrugged. “I don’t know. It feels a bit like begging, and I don’t like that vibe, although I’ll do it if I can’t come up with anything else.”

“What if you organised something to raise funds? Like ... shit. I’m not the ideas guy. Like a car wash but on a big scale. Something only you could pull together. You have a knack, Iz. People donate shit to you all the time. Like, why don’t you try and get high-end donations and organise a silent auction or something.”

“There’s a difference between boxes of pasta and Bulgari, Matt.”

“Yeah,” he said, waving his fork in her direction. “But you got someone to donate a washing machine. Whatever. Think about game-changing campaigns in the past. What comes to mind?”

“I don’t know. Live Aid maybe? But there is a huge difference between my ability to rake in musicians and Bob Geldof’s, unless you happen to have Bob on speed dial.”

Matt paused for a moment. “I don’t. But, seriously. How many bands would you need for a half decent concert in Manchester?”

Izabel took a large gulp of wine. “You can’t possibly be suggesting I arrange a concert.”

“Why not? Look what was organised outside the town hall after the bombing at the Ariana Grande concert. What was it called? Manchester Together - With One Voice. All those local choirs and singers and musicians stepped up. This is a local cause. The shelter is an important one. I think you could make it happen.”

“It wouldn’t raise enough to buy the building though. That’s a multi-million-pound deal.”

“No. But it could help you land softly somewhere else. It buys you time.”

Iz took a bite of the hotpot, but growing waves of excitement rippled through her. “I’d have to take some time off from the day-to-day shelter stuff.”

“Is it worth it?”

Izabel paused. “Yeah. I think it is. But God, Matt. You might have more faith in me than I do.”

“We’ll help. The band. Pick a date and sign us up. And I’ll reach out to a couple of the bands we’ve opened for. I think it could work.”

Izabel jumped as a loud hammering reverberated through the apartment.

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