Ex in the City, page 10
‘That would be lovely,’ Dylan replies, fully embracing the spirit of the occasion.
‘So, how did it go?’ Jo asks, cutting to the chase. ‘Are they musically salvageable?’
‘Yes, and no,’ Dylan replies.
Jo is clearly intrigued.
‘Oh?’ she says simply, from the edge of her seat.
‘So, the kids are excited about the musical,’ Dylan tells the group. ‘Just not this one.’
‘What’s wrong with Joseph?’ Rebecca asks, in there like a flash, pissed off already.
I can’t help but wonder if her reaction would be as intense if I hadn’t already whipped her up.
‘Nothing is wrong with Joseph,’ Dylan replies. ‘Joseph is great. But you’ve got a great group of kids in there, a good split of boys and girls, and they want to have fun. Joseph just doesn’t have enough roles to give the girls their time to shine. Plus, it sounds like they’ve done it before, so they’re all a bit bored of it.’
‘So, what do you suggest?’ Jo asks him.
‘Bugsy Malone,’ Dylan says with an optimistic smile. ‘Great roles for both the boys and the girls, a varied ensemble cast, lots of fun songs – I was in it, when I was at school, and it’s just such a blast.’
Rebecca immediately dismisses Dylan’s suggestion by chopping her hand through the air.
‘Absolutely not,’ she says firmly.
‘Why not?’ I ask.
‘It’s all guns and dancers,’ Rebecca replies. ‘It’s not for kids.’
‘It has an all-child cast,’ Dylan reminds her with a laugh.
He’s so cool, calm and collected – which only seems to make Rebecca angrier.
‘I mean, the guns shoot cream,’ I point out. ‘I was in it when I was at school too, and we used shaving cream in our production. And, Rebecca, this might come as a huge shock to you, so thank goodness you’re sitting down, but pretty much all musicals have dancers in them.’
I fake a gasp for good measure, knowing it will provoke her further.
For a moment, Rebecca is left speechless, her face slowly turning redder by the second. If she doesn’t release the steam from her ears soon, she might spontaneously combust.
‘I think Bugsy Malone is a wonderful idea,’ Jo says, ignoring Rebecca’s objections. ‘But can it be done?’
‘I know it like the back of my hand,’ Dylan says simply. ‘I can help them.’
I smile to myself because, not only would Dylan be helping them, but they would be helping him too. This is exactly the sort of thing he needs to be doing, to show people that he’s changed. I was going to find something for him but the fact that he has put his own name down for this makes it mean all the more.
‘Oh, Dylan, yes, that would be wonderful,’ Jo tells him. ‘And yes to the celebrity-themed fundfair. Thank you – from me and the kids.’
‘I’m happy to organise the fundfair, if you like,’ I suggest.
‘No, that’s my job, I’ll do it,’ Rebecca snaps. ‘At least that way I can ensure it’s not totally classless and tacky.’
‘Nic can help me with the show,’ Dylan suggests. ‘We used to sing songs from musicals on the bus all the time.’
‘The bus?’ Jo enquires.
‘The school bus,’ I quickly insist.
Dylan looks at her and gives her an interesting smile.
‘Oh, I see, sorry, it makes sense now,’ Jo replies. ‘The two of you went to school together.’
‘Right,’ Dylan says, also learning this piece of ‘information’ for the first time.
‘It feels like a lifetime ago,’ I add, trying to style it out.
‘Yeah,’ Dylan agrees. ‘Like it happened in another life, even.’
‘Well, class dismissed,’ Jo says with a smile. ‘Dylan, we have your details, we’ll make the arrangements and be in touch about when we can get this show on the road. Rebecca, you’re in charge of the party, so assign jobs as you see fit. And I’ll see you all later.’
As everyone filters out of the room, Dylan and I quickly head outside to the playground to escape the group.
‘I know that I used to drink a lot back in the day,’ Dylan starts. ‘But I do not remember the two of us going to school together.’
‘Sorry,’ I say with a laugh. ‘It’s just that this lot doesn’t know anything about the old me. And I want it to stay that way.’
‘Why?’ Dylan asks curiously.
‘I mean, to outsiders, looking in – looking back at the old days – I just sort of looked like a bit of a groupie,’ I say. ‘Like I partied too much, drank too much, had a crazy time. And, I know, we all did. I just think that, because we have such good memories from those times, it’s easy to forget that maybe not everything was that great – including us. I thought I was cool – we all did – but there’s a reason we only choose to remember the good bits, right?’
Dylan wraps an arm around me, offering a comforting squeeze.
‘Oh, Nic, I don’t remember any of it, good or bad,’ he jokes, making me laugh. ‘But, on a serious note, you should never feel ashamed of your past. People do stupid things, especially when they’re younger, when they’re under the influence of drink or fame or whatever. We had our crazy days, but if there’s one thing I do remember, it’s that you always were, and always will be, one of the kindest, most caring, loyal friends I’ve ever had. So you liked to get drunk, so you had a few shitty boyfriends – who cares? It doesn’t take away from who you are. The past has no bearing on who you are now. People grow and they change and if we judge people by their past mistakes and behaviours forever, well, I’m screwed, right?’
His words hit home, and I place a hand on my chest, taking a deep breath as a smile forms on my face. I’m a little taken aback by Dylan’s insight and how right he is. He’s absolutely spot on – people do grow and change, and there’s no need for me to be ashamed.
Nonetheless, everyone in this village is so judgemental, and if I can keep my wild-child days hidden from them, life will be much simpler. I’ll be out of here soon.
‘Anyway, what’s the plan now?’ he asks me. ‘What are we doing with the rest of our day?’
I smile. It’s been a long time since we were a ‘we’. I like it.
‘Well, I’ve got to get home,’ I tell him. ‘It’s Archie’s birthday today, so he’s having some friends over after school, and we’re having some parents over which is always fun. So, I need to go get the house ready.’
‘I’ll help you, if you like?’ Dylan suggests.
‘Dylan King wants to help set up a kids’ party?’ I reply. ‘You do know that the jelly is just jelly, and the lighter is only for lighting the candles on the cake, right?’
Dylan smiles widely as he laughs.
‘Yes, I know all that,’ he tells me. ‘I need to go back to the house, to make a few phone calls, but that shouldn’t take more than ten minutes. I would love to help you.’
‘Okay, cool,’ I reply. ‘It’s not the first party we’ve planned together, but it might just be the most surreal.’
‘It will be fun,’ he insists. ‘Come on, let’s go – I’m excited.’
I can’t help but smile to myself. He really does seem excited.
Who is this man, and what has he done with the real Dylan King?
16
The house is alive with the sounds of laughter, music and chatter – oh, and screaming because, whether it’s for good reasons or bad ones, there is always screaming.
Balloons of every colour adorn the living room – courtesy of Dylan, who said you could never have too many balloons. He was such a huge help, assisting me in setting everything up for the party, because Rowan certainly wasn’t around to do it. I know, he’s working hard, but the fact that he’s only doing extra work to make up for scamming people makes it harder for me to be cool with picking up the slack.
Dylan left, to go back to the house and get changed, before Rowan got home, and when Rowan did arrive, he walked in, didn’t compliment me on the house, or ask how I’d managed to do it all alone, or anything like that. Ah, well.
The party is in full swing now. We laid out the kitchen island with an assortment of goodies, from sandwiches and crisps to cupcakes to party bags. Everyone just keeps passing by the table, grazing, which is the best thing about a buffet. Even the adults are enjoying it, although I did notice Rebecca look over what was on offer and pull an unimpressed face. No doubt I’ll be getting some sort of social penalty for putting out such a beige array of ‘British tapas’.
Archie is having a great time, though, and that is all that matters. He’s loving having his friends over, opening his presents and showing people what he’s got. Rowan is schmoozing the parents, which to be honest I would rather not do, so I’m more than happy to play the dutiful host instead.
‘Hello,’ Dylan says, snapping me from my thoughts as I top up the crisps.
‘Oh, hi,’ I reply as I turn to face him.
Oh, wow, he’s even dressed up for the party, in a pair of black jeans and a nicely fitting long-sleeved black T-shirt. I don’t know why, but it gives me a bit of a lump in my throat.
‘Dylan,’ Archie screams as he charges over to greet him.
‘Hey, dude, happy birthday,’ Dylan tells him.
‘You came to my party,’ Archie points out, his eyes wide, his jaw slightly dropped.
‘I wouldn’t miss it for the world, little man,’ Dylan replies. ‘And I brought you a birthday present. It’s in the hallway.’
‘Cool,’ Archie replies before running off in that direction.
I feel a sense of uneasiness before I clock Rowan staring at us. I feel like he’s keeping an eye on me, like I’m one of the kids.
‘Let’s go see this present,’ I suggest with a smile, although we’ve hardly made a move when I notice Rowan heading over to join us. He catches us up as we arrive in the hallway, where Archie is standing in silence, staring in wonderment at his shiny new drum kit.
‘This is mine?’ Archie blurts in disbelief.
‘I figured, you seemed to enjoy making music at school the other day,’ Dylan explains. ‘And you’ve got a good sense of rhythm, dude. I thought this might help you explore it.’
‘You bought a child a whole drum kit because he enjoyed drumming once?’ Rowan says, every word loaded.
‘Well, there’s only so much you can do with just a snare,’ Dylan says, and it’s not that I don’t think he’s detecting Rowan’s tone, I think he’s just choosing to rise above it.
‘What do we say to Dylan?’ I prompt Archie.
‘Thanks, Dylan.’ He beams. ‘Can we play now?’
‘I thought you wanted to play your new football game on the PlayStation?’ Rowan says. ‘I just set it up for you.’
‘We can play drums any time,’ Dylan tells Archie. ‘I’ll even give you lessons.’
‘Okay,’ Archie replies excitedly. ‘Do you want to play my new game with me?’
‘I thought you wanted me to play with you,’ Rowan practically whines, like a petulant child.
You can tell he’s rattled by Dylan’s presence, and the fact that the kids love him, but he really needs to grow up. He’s being so cringy right now.
‘It’s all right, I can play later,’ Dylan tells Archie. ‘You guys go ahead.’
Archie sighs.
‘I’ll just play later,’ he says with a shrug. ‘I’m going to get another cupcake.’
Another? Lord, how many has he had?
I notice Rowan running his tongue across his teeth, under his lip – something he often does when he’s wound up. It’s almost as though, the more reasonable Dylan is, the more unreasonable it makes Rowan feel.
‘Okay, why don’t we play?’ Rowan suggests to Dylan.
Dylan laughs.
‘I’m serious,’ Rowan insists. ‘Come on, me and you, head to head.’
I look at Dylan, my eyes wide, then back at Rowan, then to Dylan again as they pause in a silent stand-off. Surely this is a terrible idea.
‘Okay, sure,’ Dylan replies. ‘Let’s do it.’
I follow them to the sofa, nibbling at my thumbnail. Oh, boy, do we really have to do this now? At a kids’ party? In front of all the village busybodies?
As Rowan sets up the game, Dylan examines the controller, looking at it as though he’s never seen one before. Rowan glances over at him and smirks.
‘Right, all set up – are you good to go?’ Rowan asks him.
‘Let’s give it a go,’ Dylan replies with a hopeful smile.
You can tell, from the look on Rowan’s face, that he is confident he’s going to win this one. Well, he plays with Archie all the time, so he’s got a lot of experience under his belt. I don’t like it, that smug look, that certainty that he’s going to beat Dylan and, when he does, he thinks it’ll prove something significant, like he’s the better man. It’s a bloody football game (and not only that, but a virtual one), for crying out loud.
A small crowd of parents gathers around the sofa – the dads because it is almost like sport and the mums because it is Dylan.
I don’t think anyone is expecting to see Dylan effortlessly manoeuvre his on-screen players, executing swift passes and strategic moves, scoring goal after goal – well, anyone except me. On the other side, Rowan is struggling to keep up, his side floundering in comparison. The tension in the room thickens with every goal that Dylan scores. No one says a word, everyone just watches the game go on.
Thankfully, matches are significantly quicker than they are in real life – although it probably felt like ninety minutes – and the game comes to an end. Dylan has well and truly spanked him.
The room is suspended in a charged silence, broken only by the simulated cheers from the game. Dylan grins, enjoying the victory, but when he looks over at Rowan, he sees something unexpected – genuine fury etched across Rowan’s face.
‘You play a lot of video games, when you spend a lot of time on tour buses,’ Dylan says, kindly feeling the need to explain. ‘So, I’ve probably played more than most.’
Rowan takes to his feet.
‘That’s okay,’ Rowan replies. ‘You won, fair and square, and it’s just a game. It’s hard to be mad, when you know you’ve got the real prize.’
My body stiffens as Rowan takes me in his arms and kisses me on the lips. It feels like a violation, not just because we’re no longer a couple, but because he knows that I know I have no choice but to play along. I don’t know how long I let it go on for, it can only be a second or two, before I playfully push him away and laugh it off.
‘Isn’t he cheesy?’ I say to the crowd of onlookers, who all laugh too.
Well, everyone but Dylan, who isn’t even looking at us, he’s kind of awkwardly looking at the screen, as he clicks through the motions to end the match.
What on earth is Rowan playing at? Showing off like that, just because he lost at a stupid video game. And why is Dylan so quiet? I guess he’s on his best behaviour but, I don’t know, it’s all feeling a bit tense.
17
Saturday morning, a time when younger me would be nursing hangovers, enjoying leisurely lie-ins, savouring endless breakfasts, and making fun plans for the weekend ahead. Nowadays, with two energetic kids in the house, the weekends belong to them.
The kitchen is alive with activity as I rush around, preparing breakfast for Archie and Ned. Preparing their meals really keeps me on my toes, trying to cater to their very specific desires – their most and least favourite foods seem to change on a day-to-day basis. Archie wants his toast perfectly golden – with his Nutella spread in stripes – while Ned insists his cereal should be served in a particular bowl, and that I should pick out the misshapen ones – they taste bad, apparently.
Just as I’m painting my final freehand stripe of Nutella, on perfectly browned toast, Rowan saunters in, all dressed up smart.
He places a washing basket down on the floor before slapping a single bright red sock down on the island in front of me.
‘What’s that?’ I ask him.
‘My white shirts to wash,’ he tells me. ‘And that’s the red sock I found in the basket. You need to be more careful – that would have ruined them.’
I pull a face to myself and resist telling him that he can do his own washing, if he thinks he’ll do it so perfectly.
‘Where are you taking the boys, all dolled up like that?’ I ask as I glance over at him.
‘Ah, I can’t take them out today,’ he replies so only I can hear. ‘I’ve got a work opportunity and they’ve just called a meeting.’
‘On a Saturday,’ I say.
‘An emergency meeting,’ he replies.
I don’t bother prying into the specifics of these ‘emergency meetings’ he’s always rushing off to because I honestly don’t care about what he does any more. All I care about is that he promised to spend time with the kids. The words don’t come out, but the frustration’s written all over my face.
‘You’ll have to take them,’ he says, oblivious to my frustration. ‘How about Jungle Jim’s? It’s a new play centre they’ve been wanting to visit.’
‘Rowan…’
‘Look, I’ve got to go,’ he says, snatching up the toast I just finished working on before dashing to the door.
Is he serious? Is he really dumping the kids on me? We both agreed he would take them out today – I’ve been looking after them all week.
No sooner has the door closed behind him when there’s an unexpected knock. I open it to find Dylan standing there, smiling widely.
‘Hello, neighbour,’ I joke. ‘Come in. I’m trying to spread stripes of chocolate on toast.’
‘Sounds fun,’ he says with a laugh as he follows me through to the kitchen.
‘Who’s having the sock for breakfast?’ he asks, nodding to Archie’s red football sock that is still sitting where Rowan left it.
‘Oh, Rowan put it there,’ I tell him. ‘He found it in the washing basket with his white shirts. Good job he spotted it. Anyway, what is the elusive Dylan King doing with his weekend?’ I ask.
‘I’m off to the recording studio,’ he tells me, keeping his cool, but you can tell he’s excited. ‘I’m meeting up with the band to lay down a couple of our old tracks. Fancy joining me?’
