At last, something concrete. ‘You’ll give me Marcie?’
He nodded. ‘But you still need to do right by Hands Down.’
‘Meaning?’
‘You need to personally interview Jonny Delaney.’
Why did I get the feeling that Nick was enjoying this?
The only small fly in Nick’s request was that it meant I had to spend time with Jessica, or rather, Simon and Jessica together. She was always so flirty with him and it rubbed me the wrong way. But I guess in the big scheme of things, it was a small price to pay.
At home that night, I ate leftover moussaka and scrolled through Instagram. Jess had posted something about another gig in London tomorrow night.
Okay, I could deal with that. Maybe a few drinks backstage, either before or after, nothing too intense. Nick could cast his magic spell on her, or whatever, and that would be that.
I texted Nick with the details, and he replied immediately, telling me he’d meet me there.
What to tell Simon, though? Should I mention Nick’s real intentions or keep quiet about them? I’d ring him and play it by ear.
‘Always a pleasure to hear your voice, Frixie,’ he said, which gave me a little buzz.
‘What are you up to?’
‘Boring work stuff. I’ve got a million spreadsheets to go through.’
‘I noticed Jess was playing another gig, and I’ve got a friend who was a fan back in the day who’d like to come.’
‘That’s great! I was thinking of going too. It would be great to go together. You must have liked her the other night, then?’
‘She was pretty good.’
‘You know, it’s amazing how many people loved Rydell. I’ll see if Jess can put us all on the guest list. She told me off last time for not telling her we were coming. What’s your friend’s name?’
‘Nick,’ I replied. No need to give second names.
Simon had gone quiet. Was he weirded out that I wanted to bring a bloke?
‘It will be nice to meet your friend.’
We agreed on a time to meet and I rang off.
Seems I’d made my decision quite easily – I’d be keeping Nick’s identity a secret. I felt a smidgeon of guilt. Was I pimping out Jess to get to Marcie?
No, I decided. I was trying to heal a rift between the two of them. My motives were pure.
Sort of.
At the office the next day, I forced myself to work on a feature I’d been putting off. It had started off as a light-hearted piece about classic T-shirts, featuring album covers that had seeped into mainstream culture: the Rolling Stones’ ‘tongue and lips’, The Clash’s Mick Jones smashing his guitar into the floor, the red and blue circles of The Who’s Quadrophenia. But somewhere along the way, Mike had insisted we needed to add links to where readers could buy the T-shirts, and now the whole thing had turned into a messy advertorial that made me want to pull my hair out. Then Mike had told me how much the advertisers had paid to be featured and I’d had to do my hair-pulling in private.
It was a long and frustrating day and I wasn’t exactly jumping up and down with joy at this evening’s offerings – another Jess gig. I’d been so uncomfortable with what I’d worn at the last concert that this time I made sure to dress appropriately.
I went home to shower and then changed into yoga-style linen trousers and a black vest. I blasted my hair dry, then applied mascara and eyeliner.
I stopped to study myself in the hall mirror before I left.
Maybe I’d overdone it with theMACpaint pot. I hadn’t worn eyeliner this thick for ages. Why had I felt the urge tonight? A memory of something Simon had said years ago surfaced. He’d said he liked the fifties look. I was tempted to scrub it all off – the last thing I wanted was to look like I was trying too hard. But dammit, that tick along my upper lids wasperfect. And anyway, it was almost eight and I needed to get going.
Simon had put my name on the guest list and suggested we meet backstage before the gig. I’d sent the same details to Nick, except I’d told him to come twenty minutes later.
