Hot tears welled and I blinked them away. ‘I don’t know what to do,’ I said. ‘He accused me of being too wrapped up in work to care about other people and we got into an argument.’
Patrick came to sit beside me and patted my knee. ‘I know that magazine is everything to you, but sometimes you have to sit back and look at the bigger picture. There’s a world out there beyond work.’
Justin chuckled. ‘It’s taken me years to make him see that.’
Pat nodded. ‘You’re an amazing girl, full of spirit and passion, and the right boy will see that. It will all turn out well in the end. Just give it time.’
*
Pat’s pep talk helped – they always did – and I felt better on the tube home. But instead of going straight to my flat, I detoured to Soho. When I’d been in the off-licence earlier, I’d added another item to my basket along with the wine and chocolates: a postcard. It was a naff tourist one, bigger than normal, featuring red phone boxes and Big Ben, but my options had been limited.
I sat in the reception of Simon’s hotel to write it. I kept looking up, paranoid that Simon would randomly appear. I needed to put this down in writing; if we tried to talk it through again, we’d only get into another argument.
After half an hour, I was finally happy with it. I dropped it off at the front desk and went home.
Dear Member,
It’s tough being a rock star, sometimes. The record label argues every expense (the magic just wasn’t happening until we repainted the studio in cerulean blue), that idiot session drummer is convinced that his sticks are cursed, and I need to practise throwingTVs out of windows. (I really did my back in with that last 50-inch flat screen.)
When you’ve got all of that to contend with, you forget about the important things in life. Like friendship.
I’m sorry we argued.
You’re the last person I’d ever want to hurt. You mean the world to me, and I feel like I’ve been living life in mono without you.
I hope you can bring me back to stereo one day. I’ll sign off now. ThatTVisn’t going to throw itself out of the window.
Keep doing the Fandango,
Zak x
I woke early the next day, even though it was Saturday. I’d slept fitfully and any slumber I did manage had been full of dreams of Simon and Jess laughing at me.
My thumb ached from checking my phone. I was hoping that I’d hear something from Simon, but by lunchtime he was still incommunicado. I guess Zak hadn’t worked his magic this time.
I toyed with phoning Georgia and faking a cold so I wouldn’t have to go to her party tonight, but in the end my conscience wouldn’t let me. Besides, a party was probably exactly what I needed to take my mind off Simon. I’d have to rustle up a costume myself, but that wasn’t the end of the world.
By three o’clock, I’d vacuumed the living room, scrubbed the bath and pulled an alarming amount of hair out of my shower cubicle, but I still hadn’t worked off my restlessness, so I decided to go for a run. Hitting the pavement was my last resort when I felt antsy; I always found it so boring. But armed with my iPod, earphones and Metallica playlist, running seemed to help.
I headed for the local park and settled into a satisfying rhythm. My breaths came hard, but each step calmed me. The sun was hidden behind clouds, so it wasn’t too hot. But I was still slick with sweat by the time I got back almost an hour later. I opened a couple of windows and was just untying my trainers, when the doorbell rang. I tried not to get my hopes up. It was probably a delivery – my online clothes-shopping habit had grown worse – or Mrs Hargreaves from downstairs needing help with her router again.
I swung open the door. It was Simon, holding two enormous bags.
I took a step back, suddenly wrong-footed. Was he still upset? His face seemed a bit red, but more from exertion rather than irritation. Then he smiled and a smidgeon of hope bloomed in my chest.
‘Don’t just stand there, Frixie. Give me a hand with these costumes. I’ve been carrying them around since this morning.’
I took one of the bags and we climbed back up to my flat. I felt self-conscious; my hair was a mess and my sweaty Ramones T-shirt was sticking to my back.
‘Do you want something to drink?’ I said, keeping my tone light.
‘I’m good, thanks,’ he said. ‘I’ve spent the last two hours with estate agents looking for a place to rent.’
I did a double-take. ‘You’re serious about staying?’
He nodded and I poured myself a glass of water to give myself something to do.
‘Whereabouts?’
