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“Mate,I’m fucking ecstatic. Shocked yeah, but man, that’s amazing.” Bobby slaps me on the shoulder from his seat next to me. This place is pretty discreet, it’s like being part of the secret service getting in, but we are guaranteed to not get disturbed and for the news I’ve just given my band mates that’s exactly what I need. Discretion.
My friend’s smile is huge, almost as wide as it was when he saw me stride in here with Finch. A smile plastered on both of our faces, I never mentioned it wouldn’t just be me when I asked him to meet. I turn to face Tom; I’ve not seen him since I stormed out of the club months ago. His smile is one of shock more than pure joy like Bobby’s is.
“So, you and Alison! I knew you’d been fucking whilst we were on tour!” he reaches a hand up to high five. I don’t lift mine, but I do grin at him.
“That’s a grand you owe me, Finch.”
“I never took that bet,” my moody friend drawls at Tom, ever the troublemaker of our group. Finch’s eyes find mine as he sweeps a hand through his hair. “I didn’t man, I swear,” he assures me. I kind of like that he’s on his tiptoes still. Makes him vulnerable when I need to really roast him and take the absolute piss.
“Besides, if he had you’d have still lost. We weren’t fucking on tour. Do you actually know how long it takes to make a baby, Tommo? We’ve been back months.”
“Yes, I fucking know.” He pouts at me, before taking a sip of the bottled lager in front of him.
“So, do tell.”
“Tell what? I’ve told you I met up with Ali again and I’ve told you I’m about to become a dad.”
“Yeah, but we need the full story, Baines. Because only you could fuck up so much. Annoy Alison so much she doesn’t want anything to do with you or the band and yet still end up with her in your bed?”
His words probably sound harsh. But they’re not. This is just Tommy, if he can turn around a situation so he can mercilessly take the piss later, he will. I cough out a laugh, puff out my chest.
“Well, what can I say boys. She obviously knows a good fucking thing when she sees it.” I close my eyes and laugh, a full-on belly laugh. I open them just in time to move my face out of the way as Finch throws an ice cube from his glass straight at me.
“You wanker,” I start but the laughter is bubbling out of me now.
“Behave children will you!” Bobs raises his authoritative tone at us, looking down his nose at us but with that sparkle in his eyes.
“Sorry, Dad!” Finch, Tom, and me say at the same time, which just makes the laughter worse. Or better? Because man I feel light right now. Happy. Where I should be.
“Boys, seriously. You’re not too famous for them to chuck your arses out of this club.”
“Bobby, they are fucking thrilled we’re in here. It’s barely 3 o’clock in the afternoon. Lighten the fuck up,” Tommy assures Bobs.
“Chill,” says Finch, I just laugh.
“Okay, fine. But stop fucking swearing,” Bobby says to me as he sucks at his own beer bottle.
“You and Alison then?” he raises his eyebrows towards me.
“Hmm yeah. Sort of. We’re not exactly, but sometimes we are. It’s a bit of head fuck. We’re in a good place though.”
“So, you’re not together?” he asks.
“Hmm. I don’t think so. Not yet,” I admit, turning my head to face Finch who is giggling into his glass like a fucking school-girl.
“Something to say, Finch?” I ask.
“Well, you say you’re not together, but I very much doubt the pair of black patent Louis Vuitton’s in the hall-way of your flat this morning belonged to you.”
Damn, I thought Ali staying in the bedroom would have stopped all immediate questions. Obviously not. I snigger. Fucking busted and look to my friends with a boyish shrug.
“Well, something clearly happened then,” Bobby nods.
“Well, yes, it only happened the once before, you know the baby. But things have developed since then. We’ve got close.”
“You’ve got lucky?” Tom asks. He knows the answer, he just likes to wind me up. He gives zero fucks. But I suppose that’s why we love him.
“Well, it might have happened a couple of times since then, but I shit myself that I’m going to poke the baby’s eye out or something.” I laugh at my brothers.
