Page 100 of One Day Like This (Excess All Areas 1)

Izabel drew a love heart in the condensation on the bus window. “Now that I think about it, it was a long conversation. He wanted to know a lot about my role in the shelter. Said he’d like to pop in when their tour is over and see what we do.”

“Yeah, well, by the time their tour is over, you and I will be out, and I’ll happily greet the guy at the door.”

Izabel elbowed him in the ribs. “You won’t because it’s not your shelter and you don’t work there. And I will meet him to thank him for his very generous donation and show him what we do. On the off chance he asks me to dinner, I’ll decline and say my neanderthal boyfriend wouldn’t like it.”

“For the first time in my life, I have some free time. All the management shit I was carrying I’ve handed over to Simon. So, if I can help at all, just let me know.”

“Could you let me film a video of you, and perhaps each of the rest of the band. I’ve made social media accounts for the event. It would be great to get a testimonial or hype video about it.”

“Done. We can do it tomorrow. What are you going to do with all your time when this event is over?”

“I think my next project is moving out of Luke’s. He’s been hinting. You guys are now earning a bit more, right? So, Luke says to me if I need a first and last month deposit for a place of my own, he can give it to me, and help me get some furniture seeing I don’t have much stuff.”

“Is it something you’re considering? Because I can help you out too.”

Izabel shook her head. “Not right now, but I can’t live with Luke forever. And I can’t ask him or you to help me out financially like that either.”

“You could always come live with me.” The look on Matt’s face suggested the words slipped out before he could stop them, but once they were out, he was happy with them.

Izabel rolled her eyes. “Okay, I think you missed every point I just made.”

“So, spell it out for me.”

“Standing on my own two feet does not mean taking money from you and Luke. It was my decision to work in a low-paid sector. The expenses and debts are mine. But I would’ve been foolish to not accept Luke’s offer of his spare room in a flat he’s already paying for.”

Matt huffed. “I’m already paying formyflat too.”

Izabel smiled softly and ran her thumb over his lower lip, which he’d deliberately pouted. “I know you are. And I’ll never say never. We’ve no idea how life is going to roll out. But my preference is to stand on my own two feet.”

“I can respect that, I suppose. But one day, Iz, if we make it—like really make it. You’re going to live like a queen, I promise.”

Izabel looped her hand around his bicep and rested her head on his shoulder. “I don’t need to live like a queen to be happy. This. You and me. Dinner at the Charcoal Pit. There are all kinds of studies to prove wealth and happiness are not synonymous.”

“And as some famous actor once said, money can’t buy you happiness, but it can buy you a fucking big yacht so you can sail very close to it.”

“Urgh. I wouldn’t want to live on a yacht. All that bobbing around.”

Matt kissed the top of her head. “Only you wouldn’t want to live on a yacht. And doesn’t a canal boat bob too?”

“Nowhere near as much as a yacht. There’s a current but no waves or surf on a canal, unless you veer off onto a river. And you get what I mean though, right? It’s a lovely thought that you could all turn into the next Rolling Stones or whatever, playing record-breaking tours into your seventies. But I think it’s also a lovely thought that we just live good lives. See your nan for dinner every Sunday. Have houses near our friends. And our jobs fulfil us, even if the pay is shit.”

Matt took a deep breath. “Your convictions are one of the things I love most about you.” He cupped her cheek and placed a soft kiss on her lips.

They got off the bus when it pulled up on the Curry Mile, the long stretch of Wilmslow Road with over seventy curry houses, shisha bars, and kebab houses. Matt took Iz’s hand and led her to the Charcoal Pit. She let Matt order, unable to decide from the menu. Velvety baba ganoush, gol gappay, and marinated and charred king prawns. And a mixed grill plate with lamb chops and kebabs and tikka chicken.

“How was it performing with Jase?” Izabel asked between bites. She knew how hard it had been for Matt to agree to get onstage with Jase again, even though Jase had apologised.

“Subdued, to be honest. Not that the crowd would notice. Because the music is still the music, and we aren’t performing seals. But it was quieter. Less onstage interaction and banter.”

“Is it a problem, do you think?” Izabel sucked on one of her fingers, and Matt grabbed her hand to suck the tandoori masala and garlic oil from them. She grinned and ran her foot along his shin in response.

When he let her hand go, he shook his head and tore off a chunk of peshwari naan bread. “I don’t think so. I think what happened onstage, the fight, shook both of us, to be honest.”

“In what way?” Izabel reached for another piece of chicken.

Matt put his fork down on his plate. “I think we’ve both always approached music differently. To me, it’s a way to channel everything I feel out into the world. It’s a creative outlet I think I’d still do even if I sucked at it. It’s my passion. What I want to do for the rest of my life. For Jase ... well, I don’t think it’s the same. I don’t know what it is for him. He thinks it’s all rock and roll to get high and trash hotel rooms and fight onstage, and it’s not. It’s unprofessional. But it creates a mystique about us, one we don’t really deserve.”

“Can you shake it off?”

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