Sure, he worked out because he was vain and liked to look good onstage. But the art of distilling everything he was feeling into two hundred and fifty words was cathartic.
She’s the one that can never be.
She’s the single best thing that ever happened to me.
But she can’t be mine.
No amount of time.
Will erase the visions that I see.
As choruses went, it would be a good one. But did he want to be reminded of Izabel Bryson every time Jase opened his mouth to sing Matt’s own words?
He glanced at the time on his phone. Fuckers. It had been an hour. Matt closed his notebook and shoved it into his backpack. “I’ll go round them up,” he said to Ben who was dozing in the front seat.
“Sure. Whatever,” he mumbled, not even opening his eyes.
Matt stepped out of the van into the loading bay of the arena. Given the sound proofing of the building, music mutely drifted into the empty space. He felt like a kid who desperately wanted to be inside but didn’t have the right credentials.
For the first time in his life, he allowed himself to consider what it might feel like to concede they were never going to make it big. That no amount of effort on their part was ever going to net them more than a modest income.
The thought pissed him off, a brutal comedown as his high dissipated.
The door burst open, a crescendo of noise filling the space.
“You’re just freaking jealous,” Alex muttered as Luke and Jase grinned at him.
“I’d have made everyone wait . . . the tits on her were a masterpiece,” Jase said.
“Her?” Matt asked. “What happened to the guy?”
Alex smirked. “Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answer to.”
Jase tipped his head in Alex’s direction. “Our resident equal opportunities lover getting hit up on the way out by a ten.”
“She was an eight,” Alex said. “You were blinded by the tits.”
They were jostling and laughing, like they did when Luke was drunk or high enough to forget what Jase had done, and Jase was spent enough to not rile Luke.
“I don’t care if she was a twenty out of ten. Can we get moving?” he said.
Jase swaggered past him. “If she was a twenty, Alex would already be topping her.”
Alex laughed. “True story.”
“Just get in the van.”
Jase flipped the bird at Matt.
In childish retaliation, Matt shoved him into the van using the door, smirking at the loud oof he heard from inside.
Without Jase, he and Izabel might have had a future. And if he hadn’t been such a dick, if he’d called Luke out on his stupid rules, he’d be driving home to her right now.
Except he’d not.
Hell, he couldn’t do anything about it now. There was room in his life for only one love.
And it was music.
2
“Why are you drinking my coffee?” Gemma asked, walking over to the yoga studio’s coffee bar.
Izabel grinned at her best friend. “First, I happen to have a membership because my best friend owns this place. Second, it’s free.” She lifted her espresso cup in Gemma’s direction before taking a sip. “Third, I needed a boost for courage.”
Gemma tapped the fridge. “I have prosecco in here. How much courage do you need?”
“The sober kind, unfortunately.” She smoothed down the front of her sundress that she’d thrown a light denim jacket over. “Does this give off please-help-us-stop-the-mean-developers vibes?”
“Oh, the meeting with the city over the redevelopment? You look great. You’ve got this, babe.”
“Do you think they’ll listen to me?”
They’d met at Manchester Uni and by the end of freshers’ week, they were inseparable. Gemma’s dad was wealthy, like, really wealthy. The kind of wealthy that gets you a yoga studio on a prominent corner in the Northern Quarter as a graduation present for scoring a 2:2 in Medieval History. Izabel had got a first in Marketing and a congratulations card from her mum with a tenner and a note to buy herself a drink in it.
They’d volunteered at the shelter during Uni, but Izabel hadn’t been able to walk away, instead applying for a full-time role once she’d graduated.
Gemma cracked the lid on a bottle of water and took a sip. “They’re voted in by us and paid for by us. Make them listen. Threaten the press if they don’t. They hate that.”
“I hope it doesn’t come to that, but I’m building a crisis PR campaign for if the sale gets formalised. Right now, it’s still speculation.”
“You’re a clever bird, I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”
Izabel gulped the rest of her coffee. “Need to get going, but thanks for the pep talk.”
“Good luck. Hope they help you out. We still on for the final bridesmaid dress fitting tomorrow evening?”
Izabel nodded as she grabbed her bags together. “Definitely. Want to go together or meet there?”
Gemma shook her head. “Can you meet me there? Dad’s taking me to a possible building for a new studio in Alderley Edge. I’d like the reno to be done while I’m on honeymoon.”
Izabel buried the flicker of envy. Must be nice getting a new yoga studio as a wedding present. Must be even better to have a dad who cared that much about you.
“Cool. See you tomorrow,” she said.
Roiling grey clouds filled the sky as she hurried down Tib Street. As she passed Affleck’s and cut across the tram tracks towards St. Peter’s Square, she checked her bag for her umbrella.
The Central Library was a truly beautiful building. The rotunda, made from huge slabs of light stone, reminded her of something from ancient Rome. She made her way to the second-floor meeting rooms and paused outside to straighten her dress and smooth her hair.
“Come in, come in,” Barb Collington said, urging her inside. “Have you come for the drop-in?”
“I have. If I could have a quick word before others get here. I’d appreciate it. I’m assistant manager of the Anderson Shelter in Ancoats, and we think we’re about to be evicted because the landlord has received an offer for the building from a developer who wants to rejuvenate the area.”
Barb nodded. “Of course. Carry on.”
“Well, I know the City Council started the Local Plan to review the city’s development. And we really hoped the plan would ensure no one in Manchester is left behind. But it’s no secret the redevelopment of many of Manchester’s central neighbourhoods in the last decade has been aimed at the middle to upper class lifestyle. Low-income family housing and means to address homelessness have been pushed down the priority list. That’s where the shelter comes in. I guess what I want to know is what you’re willing to do to help the Anderson Shelter stay open in light of its potential sale?”
Two men came into the room and Barb eyed them over her shoulder. “I’m not sure I have the opportunity to fully discuss this further, but if you have some materials, I could read and perhaps comment on . . .”
Izabel rummaged for the copy of documents in her bag and handed them to her. “I’m sorry you don’t feel this is critical enough to discuss now for a few more minutes, but I will say this. If the building is sold, ninety-seven tenants will lose their homes. These are low-income homes. I don’t know where those tenants will go. The shelter occupies part of the ground floor. If it closes, fifty homeless people go back on the streets. I don’t know where they will go either. But when we take this to the press, I will tell them I came to see you.”