Ex in the City, page 7
‘And there’s me thinking you really did like this,’ he replies tactfully, holding up a cardboard guitar, playing a few notes.
Everyone knows that The Burnouts only broke up because Dylan and Mikey fell out. It’s such a sore point, even I’m scared to mention it.
As Dylan watches the kids experiment and laugh, he turns to me, and there’s a softness in his eyes that I like.
I still can’t believe he’s here, saving the day. He’s somehow turned up right when I need him – in more ways than one – I just can’t help but wonder why.
10
Dylan and I are sitting in the car together, finally alone after spending an hour with the kids. For a moment, we just sit in silence. I don’t think either of us was expecting a day like today.
I grab the unfinished cup of coffee I abandoned earlier and take a swig.
‘I can’t believe you remember exactly how I like it,’ I say.
‘I can’t believe you still do that,’ he replies with a laugh.
I raise an eyebrow at him, feigning innocence.
‘What? It’s basically an iced coffee at this stage.’
Dylan laughs, shaking his head.
‘It’s not an iced coffee, it’s a cold hot coffee,’ he corrects me.
‘Yeah, well, I’ve seen you drink “vodka surprise” from a shoe, so you can’t say anything,’ I tease.
Vodka surprise was a regular thing from back in the day. It was vodka with, well, whatever concoction the others fancied tossing into the glass – or the shoe, in the case of the infamous incident I’m referring to.
Dylan smiles.
‘I’ll take you home.’
‘Thanks,’ I reply, feeling a sudden rush of gratitude again.
As we set off, my curiosity gets the better of me.
‘You know, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you drive a car,’ I point out. ‘In fact, weren’t you the man who refused to learn because you had to be sober to drive, and you weren’t prepared to do that?’
Dylan laughs, and I can’t get enough of hearing it.
‘Yeah, well, we all have to grow up at some point, right?’ he informs me. ‘I mean, look at you, you’ve got a bloke, a big house, kids – I’m guessing that was your Porsche on the driveway, it’s very nice.’
‘Yeah,’ I say with a heavy sigh that I can’t quite mask.
‘How old are the kids?’ he asks.
‘There’s Ned, who is five, and Archie, who you met today, is nine soon,’ I explain.
‘Nine,’ he murmurs, seemingly taken aback.
‘Before you start getting your calendar out and sweating, Archie and Ned are Rowan’s kids from a previous relationship,’ I point out through a cheeky grin. ‘I only met Rowan about three years ago.’
Dylan laughs, feigning relief.
‘That’s great, though,’ he says. ‘Family is family, right? You can see how much you care about them.’
‘Thanks again for helping me out with things today,’ I tell him sincerely. ‘I didn’t want to let Archie down.’
‘Ah, it was nothing,’ he insists as we drive back toward my house. ‘It was actually a lot of fun.’
As we near home, suddenly, the thought of saying goodbye to him terrifies me, even if it isn’t for years this time. I don’t want to let him go.
‘Come to ours for dinner tonight,’ I insist, my voice eager. ‘So we can all say thank you for saving the day.’
‘Okay, sure,’ he agrees. ‘I’d love to. Although, I’m sure I didn’t save the day.’
‘Are you kidding? You were the star of the show,’ I remind him, grateful for his presence. ‘I didn’t even end up talking about my job at all.’
‘Would you like to?’ he asks in an interesting tone.
I’m taken aback for a moment.
‘What do you mean?’ I ask.
‘Would you like to talk about your job?’ he repeats. ‘That’s why I’m here, Nic. I know all about what you do now, how you take people like me and make them look good again. That’s what I need.’
I’m stunned.
‘I mean… you look great,’ I point out.
Although I know what he’s getting at. Dylan’s reputation wasn’t all that great back in the day. He was known for being a bit of a tart – aren’t all young male rock stars, though? – and for drinking too much, trashing hotel rooms, being a bit of a menace generally. I guess because I knew him, I knew he was a good person, under all the shit, but the world was turning on him, just before The Burnouts split. Courtesy of the tabloids, of course.
‘We’ve been offered a reunion tour,’ he tells me. ‘Me, Mikey, Jamie and Taz – the original line-up back together again. But on one condition, that I clean up my act and show the world that I’m different now. And who better to help me than you?’
I shake my head, still trying to process it all.
‘Of all the reasons I thought you were here, that’s probably the only thing I didn’t consider,’ I say with a laugh. ‘I would have put you needing a kidney higher up on the list than that.’
He laughs.
‘Well, let’s not rule that out at some point, but I’ll be seeing you for dinner later, right?’ he replies. ‘Think about it and give me your answer then. No hard feelings if you don’t think you’re up to it. It’s a big job. What time do you want me?’
I have to remind myself that he means for dinner.
‘Six o’clock?’ I suggest.
‘Great,’ he replies, his grin infectious. ‘See you then. And think about it, yeah?’
I get out of the car, the possibilities spinning in my head. He’s definitely given me a lot to think about.
11
I buzz around the kitchen, putting the finishing touches on dinner. The lasagne is baking in the oven, filling the room with that comforting home-cooked smell that goes hand in hand with such a crowd-pleasing dish. I slice through the fresh focaccia, trying to keep my nervous excitement in check. Dylan should be here any minute.
Rowan, however, isn’t sharing my enthusiasm. After a barrage of questions about Dylan, our history, why he’s here and so on, Rowan has gone uncharacteristically quiet, selecting wine glasses from the cupboard with an irked look on his face.
‘I just don’t understand why you never mentioned that you were friends with him,’ Rowan finally pipes up again.
I put down the knife and turn to face him, my patience wearing thin.
‘Sorry, I guess I must not have been paying attention properly when you supplied me with the list of every friend you’ve ever had, ever,’ I say sarcastically.
He sighs, his frustration growing too.
‘I would tell you if my best friend was Kylie-bloody-Minogue,’ he claps back. ‘It just seems weird to me that you wouldn’t ever mention it.’
‘When I met you, I hadn’t seen Dylan in years,’ I remind him, exasperated, as I’ve been explaining this to him for over an hour now.
‘Were you together?’ Rowan asks, his tone more than a little suspicious.
My heart skips a beat.
‘What do you mean?’ I reply, knowing exactly what he means.
Rowan gives me a look, like he knows that I know what he means too.
‘I mean, were you and him involved?’ he says, slowly and clearly. ‘Sexually.’
Rowan lowers his voice when he says the last word, because the kids are watching TV on the sofa at the other end of the open-plan living space. Thankfully, they’re too engrossed in whatever show they’re watching to pay attention to our ‘boring adult talk’.
‘Rowan, what part of “we were friends” are you struggling with?’ I respond plainly.
‘Okay, but, what, some guy turns up from your past and…?’ Rowan’s voice trails off, his eyebrows knitting together in that way they always do when he’s stressed, confused or angry – right now, I think he’s all of the above.
‘…And wants to hire me to do my job, the one I’m good at,’ I finish his sentence. ‘I suppose if I take the job, he can just hang around for a while, we’ll go through what he needs to do, and then that’s it. It will be done. It’s work.’
‘Then why are you making him dinner?’ Rowan asks.
‘Because he is still an old friend,’ I reply firmly.
‘An old friend who you had replace me at the school today,’ Rowan points out, his jealousy evident. ‘It was supposed to be Archie’s dad doing the talk.’
‘Well, Archie’s dad wasn’t there, or answering his phone,’ I explain, trying to maintain my composure.
Rowan’s feelings, whether you think he’s right or not, are totally null and void because we broke up months ago, and he knows where we stand. He has no right to be jealous.
‘Tell me he isn’t staying here, with us,’ Rowan says, his voice almost pleading.
I pause, uncertain about Dylan’s plans. Obviously, I haven’t invited him to stay here, though.
‘Oh, no, I would never impose like that,’ Dylan’s voice suddenly chimes in. Both Rowan and I turn to look at him, neither of us expecting him to be standing there.
‘Oh, hello,’ I say, mustering up my usual level of hospitality for any dinner guests we have.
‘Sorry, I rang the doorbell, I don’t think it’s working,’ Dylan points out.
He’s wearing a pair of black jeans and a black T-shirt, with the leather jacket I saw him in earlier. Rowan, seemingly threatened, has dressed up for dinner too, in a pair of cream chinos with a white shirt, which only reminds me how different the two of them are.
‘Yeah, sorry, the doorbell is rubbish,’ I tell him. ‘Dylan, this is Rowan. Rowan, this is Dylan.’
‘Hi,’ Rowan says simply, almost angrily even, as he reaches out and gives him one of those cringy manly handshakes.
‘Hey,’ Dylan replies – you can tell he’s picking up on the awkwardness. ‘Listen, I just overheard your conversation and, really, I would never overstep the mark like that. I don’t want to stay here.’
‘See, there you go,’ I tell Rowan, hoping it chills him out a bit.
‘I’ve actually rented the house across the street,’ Dylan continues, as though it’s the most normal thing in the world.
Oh, boy.
Rowan is briefly stunned into silence.
‘What, Mr Campbell’s house?’ I ask as I lift the food from the oven.
‘Is that the one with the green door?’ Dylan checks.
‘Yes,’ I reply.
‘Then yes,’ he confirms with a smile. ‘I thought it would be easier than travelling back and forth for like four hours a day or whatever.’
That does sound like a sensible idea, but for Rowan, the prospect of my secret rock-star bestie moving in across the street is obviously a bit much.
Mr Campbell, our cul-de-sac’s octogenarian nosy neighbour, sadly passed away recently. While his grown kids are working out what to do with his house, they’ve been renting it out on one of those short-term letting sites.
‘Are you fu—’
‘Kids, dinner is ready,’ I call out, cutting Rowan off. He seems seriously rattled by Dylan’s presence. Definitely more so than I thought he would be, but then again Dylan has always had that effect on men, if they felt threatened by him. His confidence can be mistaken for arrogance, and his naturally flirtatious tone can be misconstrued for genuine romantic advances.
‘Dylan,’ Archie says, only just realising he’s here, running over excitedly, grabbing Dylan for a hug.
‘Hey, dude,’ Dylan says, ruffling his hair.
‘Dad, Dylan is the coolest,’ Archie informs Rowan – much to Rowan’s annoyance. ‘He’s a rock star and he’s sold millions of songs and played gigs for loads of people and everyone at school thinks he’s the best.’
‘Boys, listen, how would you like to eat dinner in front of the TV?’ Rowan asks them, ignoring every word Archie just said. ‘The grown-ups need to talk.’
The kids can’t believe their ears. Rowan usually insists on family meals at the table, without any distractions. Then again, Dylan is quite the distraction.
‘Is this a trick?’ Archie asks, one eyebrow raised suspiciously.
‘No, boys, it’s not a trick,’ I reassure them. ‘Go get comfortable, and I’ll bring your food over.’
‘And while she does that, why don’t you and I take a seat?’ Rowan suggests to Dylan.
‘Sure,’ Dylan replies.
While I serve up their dinner, Rowan steers Dylan towards the dining table.
‘There you go,’ he says, indicating a chair. ‘Can I pour you some wine?’
‘Just something soft for me, please,’ Dylan requests. ‘I’m trying to impress someone.’
I laugh. Rowan does not.
‘With my good behaviour, obviously,’ he clarifies after seeing Rowan’s unimpressed expression.
I give the kids their meals and then join Rowan and Dylan at the table. I can’t help but notice Rowan has seated himself opposite Dylan, next to me, rather than in his usual spot at the head of the table. I mentally roll my eyes.
Rowan takes the silver salt shaker from in front of him and sprinkles it over his food. He is terrible for putting extra seasoning on his food, before he’s even tasted it.
Then he cuts his food, takes a big mouthful, and his face changes in a way I’ve never seen before. He coughs and splutters and then grabs his glass of wine and practically pours it straight down his throat.
‘Are you okay, buddy?’ Dylan asks him, concerned.
‘The salt,’ Rowan groans, his voice weak. ‘It’s not salt. It’s sugar.’
I clap my hand over my mouth.
‘Oh, my gosh,’ I say guiltily. ‘I didn’t think, when I put the best shakers out, but on Pancake Day I filled it with sugar for the boys. I completely forgot, here, give me your plate, let me get you a fresh piece. You didn’t use any, did you, Dill?’ I check.
‘No, I didn’t,’ he says, tucking into his food. ‘I’m sweet enough.’
‘So, this must be weird for you two, huh?’ Rowan says, leading the conversation now that he’s over the shock of the sugar. ‘Friends for years, you see nothing of each other, no interaction at all, and then you just turn up out of the blue?’
He seems to be doubting our story – doubting me, not just Dylan’s reasons for coming here, which annoys me, because how dare he think I’m the dishonest one?
‘It was a surprise,’ I say as I return to the table, ‘but not weird. If anyone can help this guy turn his public image around, then who better than the person who already knows where all the skeletons are?’
‘But isn’t that because you helped me put them there?’ Dylan teases, a mischievous glint in his eye. ‘What was it we all used to say? Wilde by name…’
‘Me?’ I squeak playfully. ‘Never.’
‘Remember that night in Paris?’ he says with a devilish grin.
I laugh, my mind racing back to a memory that these days feels more like something I saw in a movie.
‘I’m sure everyone has been escorted from the Jardin des Tuileries at least once,’ I protest.
Dylan’s eyes twinkle with mischief.
‘Not with their top off,’ he adds.
Rowan’s jaw lands right in his lasagne.
‘He’s exaggerating,’ I insist to Rowan, trying to keep a straight face.
‘I’m sure he is,’ Rowan says. ‘I know Nicole would never behave so appallingly in Paris.’
‘Yeah, yeah, of course,’ Dylan says, playing along. ‘She did that in LA.’
My heart feels like it’s going at a thousand beats per minute. Dylan and I only went to LA once. My mind flashes back to that night, remembering what his hands felt like on my body, the smell of his aftershave, the taste of his skin.
I glance at Dylan, the hint of a grin playing at the corners of my mouth. It’s cheeky of him to bring it up here, now. It’s also as though he’s lit a match and flicked it into my lap. My entire body feels like it’s on fire.
‘Erm, your reputation is the one in question,’ I remind him, getting our conversation back to where it should be.
‘Does that mean you’re taking me on?’ Dylan asks. ‘As a client.’
I’m glad he added that last part or Rowan might have boiled over.
I’ve been thinking about it, ever since he asked me earlier, and I have to do it. Not just because he’s my friend, or because I already know him so well, which cuts out a lot of the legwork, or even because I know he’s a good person deep down. I have to help him because he deserves it, and because I owe it to him. I can’t help but feel responsible for him going fully off the rails, and for The Burnouts breaking up, so this is my chance to put things right.
‘It does,’ I confirm. ‘Assuming you can still afford me. We can start tomorrow.’
‘Great,’ Dylan replies. ‘Your place or mine?’
‘Yours,’ I say.
‘What?’ Rowan splutters in disbelief.
‘You’re using the garden room tomorrow, remember,’ I refresh his memory. ‘You’ve got that sponsorship meeting. Plus, it’s only across the road. It’s hardly a commute.’
‘Perfect,’ Dylan says. The he points at his food. ‘Mmm, Nic, honestly, this lasagne is amazing. You’ve turned into a proper little housewife.’
‘Thanks,’ I reply, knowing he’s teasing me – although I do make an amazing lasagne.
Rowan’s arm suddenly wraps around me, pulling me closer to him. I feel incredibly awkward in his embrace but do my best to act normal.
‘We’re lucky to have her. Me and the boys,’ he says proudly, as though to emphasise our set-up – or our pretend set-up, at least.
‘Well, I’m easier than kids – these days, anyway,’ Dylan insists.
‘Then this will be a piece of cake,’ I reply.
Well, I’m hoping it will be easy anyway, but if he brings up LA again, I’m not so sure.
12
I make my way across the street to Dylan’s house – words I never thought I’d say.
Well, it’s not his house, technically, it’s the house where he’s staying, but still. It felt so bizarre last night, lying in my bed, thinking about him sleeping just metres away. It’s not quite the same as having him in the bunk next to me on the tour bus, but it’s definitely a lot closer than the years of radio silence we endured for pushing a decade.
