I frowned, not quite ready to hear anyone bad-mouth Simon. ‘What’s wrong with Simon?’
‘He’s a bit boring, isn’t he? I mean, he tucks his shirts into his jeans, for God’s sake.’
I smiled. ‘Who died and made you the fashion police?’
‘He’s flighty.’
‘Excuse me?’
‘Flighty– he doesn’t stick at anything. Take that time he saw my Panini sticker album for the ’94 World Cup. The next day he’d bought his own and I was looking forward to having someone new to do swaps with. I was desperate for a Zinedine Zidane and all I kept getting were Thierry Henrys. England was a state that year – apart from Michael Owen – honestly, it almost made me give up on football.’
‘I think we’re getting a bit sidetracked, Pete.’
‘All I’m trying to say is, a week later he’d forgotten all about the album. That’s what he’s like – always jumping from one thing to another. He doesn’t ever commit to anything – or anyone.’
The old need to defend Simon was too strong to resist. ‘That’s a bit harsh, Pete. He got married – that shows commitment.’
Pete shook his head. ‘I’ve had bouts of athlete’s foot that have lasted longer than Simon’s marriage.’
‘Simon’s had a tough life.’
‘Oh yeah, all those years working down a coal-mine. I forgot.’ Pete rolled his eyes. ‘Look, I get it his parents divorced when he was a kid, it must have been hard. But I could always tell you liked him more than he liked you. And then when he was salivating over Jessica in front of you, I wanted to deck him. I still will, if you want me to.’
I wiped my eyes roughly before Pete noticed how emotional I’d become.
He was right, I’d never held Simon to account for how he’d treated me.
But right now, I had more pressing issues, namely saving my brother’s wedding.
‘Enough about me, Pete. Get your laptop, because we’ve got playlists to make. But I warn you – there’s only so much Genesis I’ll allow at this wedding.’
After a while, we’d compiled an hour-long Greek dancing playlist and a general five-hour playlist that I promised to fine-tune at home.
As I was about to close the computer, one of Pete’s playlists caught my eye. It was full of great songs, i.e., not his usual taste. They were mostly slowish, mellow tracks, and among them was my favourite Marcie song ‘It’s Too Late for Love’. Even just seeing the name of a Marcie song made me think of Nick, and I was overcome with sadness again. Would I ever be able to listen to her again?
‘What’s this?’
He smiled. ‘It’s one of your playlists. I followed it on Spotify ages ago. Thought I’d use it to impress Alice when we were dating, cos you always said I had shite taste in music.’
The playlist was cryptically labelled ‘LSFS’.
‘Did I give it that name?’
Pete smiled again. ‘Nah. Once I’d listened to it, I renamed it.’
‘To what?’
‘Love Songs for Sceptics.’
‘Why?’
‘There’s nothing joyful or uplifting in these songs, they’re all a bit, well, jaded. Look: “I Hate Myself for Loving You”, “Everybody Hurts”, “Love is a Battlefield”. Would it kill you to listen to a bit of Boney M?’
I frowned. ‘You think I’m a sceptic?’
‘Not in a Scully way, just when it comes to love.’
‘You psychoanalysed me from a flippin’ playlist?’
