by Natasha West
Casey laughed at her. ‘My arse, you’re not sure. I was on stage with you just now. You loved every minute of it.’
Megan couldn’t hold out any longer. ‘Fine. Yeah. I’m coming.’
‘Cool. We leave tomorrow.’
It was only then that Megan thought of Phoebe and the promise she’d made her. She was supposed to go to Manchester.
Megan was sat in the ball pit. The place was dark and empty, spooky in the silence. She wasn’t sure why she’d come here. But she’d needed to think, alone. Her room was empty, Phoebe would be on stage about now. But to be in that room, sitting on the bed where she’d slept with Phoebe, it was too much right now. Only the night before, Megan had made promises in that bed. She’d planned a life with Phoebe. And it had seemed like a fantasy coming true. She was going to live with Phoebe and they were going to be in love forever.
But here Megan was, a day later and everything was different. She’d been given an opportunity. Maybe it wasn’t the kind of offer that would entice a lot of people. Touring around the country in a stinky bus with Casey, Greg and broken-toed Freddy. But that’s because they didn’t know, couldn’t know about the stage and the light and the applause. It had meant something to Megan that she couldn’t explain. It had made her feel like she was good at something, that she was valuable, that she was right. She’d never felt right before. She’d only ever felt like she was getting in the way or slowing people down.
Kelly and her Dad, for example. She was a third wheel, an obstacle to their happiness. And that thing Phoebe’s Mum had said about her not having any focus. And school. Middling grades, mediocre test scores, never part of the in-crowd, never one of the strong and clever ones. She’d watched people like Phoebe working hard, flourishing and she’d never understood how that was even possible.
And her Mother, walking out all that time ago, not seen since. That had weighed on her all this time, that feeling that she wasn’t enough to hold onto the woman who was supposed to love her.
But tonight, on that stage, it had been different. Everything she was missing was suddenly in the palm of her hand. The people had clapped and laughed and it was like they were saying ‘You’re OK, you’re a real person, you count.’ And she wanted more of that. Even with Casey and the crappy group, she knew she could do well, that it could be the start of something. But it wasn’t that simple, was it? She still wanted Phoebe and the life they’d talked about too.
That was the trouble. Megan wanted everything.
She hadn’t had anything a few months ago. No girlfriend, no money, no prospects, no direction. And now it had all fallen into her lap at once. But with that sudden flourish of good fortune, came a different set of problems. Megan supposed that was what happened when you had something to lose. The choice you made mattered and so it was actually hard to make it. Nothing had prepared her for this. Nothing.
Megan lay back in the ball pit and began to pile balls on top of herself. It was comforting. It reminded her of being a kid. She’d sit in the ball pit and nobody would ask her to decide the course of her life. She’d been responsibility free, playing with coloured balls. It sounded pretty good about now.
But as she lay on her back, only her mouth visible to the outside world, she knew what she had to do.
She had to talk to Phoebe.
Twenty-Four
‘Where have you been?’ Phoebe asked with relief as Megan walked into the room. ‘I’ve been calling you, why didn’t you answer?’
‘You did?’ Megan asked. She took out her phone and there they were, a bunch of missed calls. ‘Sorry.’
‘How was the rest of the show? It was going great when I left. They loved you.’
Megan smiled sparingly. ‘Yeah. Went good.’
‘I was really proud of you. I can’t believe you’ve never even done it before!’
Megan sat on her bed.
‘What are you doing over there?’ Phoebe asked naughtily. She reached over and touched the tips of Megan’s fingers. ‘Wanna come over here and lie down with me? I’ve been thinking about last night all day.’
Megan nearly said to hell with the Pickle Pickers right then. She could just jump into bed with Phoebe and pretend tonight hadn’t happened. She could still be happy, couldn’t she? She had Phoebe, the girl she was madly in love with. It could be more than enough. Couldn’t it?
‘Something’s wrong. What is it?’ Phoebe asked.
Damn Phoebe and her bloody perceptiveness.
‘Err… Well…’
Phoebe waited.
‘Like you said, tonight went really great. So great, in fact, that Casey offered me a job.’
‘Oh!’ Phoebe exploded, amazed and excited. And then she realised what that meant. ‘Oh.’
‘Yeah. They tour around, wherever they get a gig. They’re going to London next. And then, I don’t know.’
Phoebe wanted to cry. She wanted to break down, fall to her knees and sob on the ground, renting her garments, the full works. Instead, she said ‘That’s great, Meg.’
Megan sighed. ‘But you know what that means?’
Phoebe licked her lips nervously. ‘Yeah’ she said, trying to keep hold of herself.
‘I couldn’t come to Manchester’ Megan said, wanting to be clear.
So now it had been said out loud. Phoebe’s stomach roiled with dismay. But she didn’t want to react with complete selfishness. It wasn’t fair to spoil the moment for Megan. ‘Yes. I get that. Still, I’m pleased for you.’
‘I can say no, though. It’s not set in stone yet. We could still do what we planned.’
Hope gripped Phoebe’s heart. ‘Is that what you want to do?’
Megan paused before opening her mouth to reply, but nothing came out. But that was an answer in itself. Phoebe’s heart sank. ‘You want to go with them, don’t you?’
Megan groaned. ‘I want to be with you. And I want to go with them.’
‘But you can’t do both.’
‘We could do a long-distance thing?!’ Megan cried, desperately. ‘I could visit you! You could visit me, wherever I end up?’
‘And how long would that go on for?’ Phoebe asked gently.
Megan frowned. ‘I don’t know.’
‘Because if you do this, that’s the kind of life you’re signing up for. You’ll move around a lot.’
‘This is all new. I really haven’t had time to think about the future.’
A tear slipped out of Phoebe’s eye and rolled down her cheek. She wiped it away quickly but not before Megan saw it. Megan stood and went to Phoebe, kneeling in front of her, grabbing her hands. ‘Phoebe, I swear, I meant every word I said last night.’
Phoebe couldn’t look at Megan. It was too much. ‘I know.’
‘I love you.’
‘I know’ Phoebe said, still not looking at Megan.
‘Please, Pheebs. Don’t cry. This is killing me.’
Phoebe felt a flash of anger. She was trying to take this well, to be an adult about it, but she was also hurt. Megan was choosing this over her. She knew it was more complicated than that but still, that was the simple truth at the centre of the situation. And that truth was digging into Phoebe, a sharp knife in the ribs.
And then the dam burst.
‘It’s killing you? You’re the one who told me you loved me and slept with me and promised to come with me. Now you’re just gonna go? But it’s killing you?’
Megan dropped Phoebe’s hands and knelt back. ‘Phoebe, don’t be like that. It’s not fair.’
‘There’s a lot of things that aren’t fair’ Phoebe said, standing up and walking to the other end of the room, leaving Megan on her knees. ‘But I’m not even allowed to cry about it? Well, fuck you.’
It was the second time Megan had heard Phoebe drop the F bomb. It was different than the first time. It was anger-fuelled and ugly. It hurt.
Megan stood, her own pain going the same way as Phoebe’s, translating to anger. ‘It’s alright for you. You’ve had everything. T
wo parents, money, nice holidays, nice clothes, your lessons. All that bollocks. You’re good at everything. Your life’s been easy. I’ve never had anything. But something happened tonight and I found out I did have something after all. I can make people laugh’ she yelled furiously.
Phoebe was stunned. Had Megan always been this jealous, bitter? Did she really believe that Phoebe’s life had been sunshine and lollipops? It was true that her family had money and Megan’s didn’t. But that was the end of Phoebe’s good fortune. Her parents were critical, unhappy people who had turned their disappointment with their awful marriage onto their children, trying to fill the space their love should have been with the achievements of their progeny. Phoebe had never had a moment’s peace under their roof. And Megan should have known that.
In fact, she did know that. But she’d taken all that she knew about Phoebe’s life and crushed it in her hands, made it unrecognisable, thrown it in Phoebe’s face. Phoebe wanted to throw up.
‘Well go ahead, then!’ Phoebe shouted. She wasn’t one to blow her top, a lifetime of her mother’s polite domination had curbed the desire to ever state what she thought at high volumes. But she’d trusted Megan and only Megan. And Megan had just shit on that trust. ‘You go ahead and make them all laugh if it’s so important. I don’t care. But once you’re gone, that’s it. Don’t call me, don’t text me, don’t email. I never want to see you again.’
And she walked out of the room.
Megan sat on the edge of the bed, face red, her eyes wide, her throat aching from yelling. She was in shock. Phoebe, her best friend, and everything else they’d begun to be, was gone.
Phoebe never came back to the room that night. And in the morning, Megan packed her bag and left her room, the room she’d shared with Phoebe, the room they’d fallen in love in. She got on the minibus with the rest of the group, who were indecently cheery, oblivious to Megan’s grief. But Megan barely noticed them.
She sat at the back, looking out of the window, trying to see Phoebe. Just a glimmer, that was all she wanted. If she could see her, maybe she could catch her eye and smile. Maybe Phoebe would smile back and Megan would know that even though they were going different ways, that they still had each other in some small way. That it wasn’t the end.
But as the bus drove away, the magical moment never occurred. And then Megan was on the road, headed for London. And for god knows what else.
In the nearby field where Phoebe had spent the night, she awoke in the long grass with a headache and the knowledge that her Mother was right about one thing. This had been an easy place to make a mistake.
2017
The Comedian and the Rockstar
Twenty-Five
Megan Hunter was on the balcony of her flat, hiding. In her bedroom, through the window of the balcony door, Megan could see a naked woman, fast asleep on top of her duvet. Nicole or something. The club had been loud last night so she couldn’t be sure she’d caught it correctly. But it didn’t much matter. She’d be going soon, Megan hoped.
As she stood waiting for Possibly Nicole to wake up and realise it was time to skedaddle, she checked her watch. She had somewhere to be today. Goddamn it, why couldn’t one night stands be more bloody considerate?
She knew some people offered their overnight guests full amenities after a night of casual sex – breakfasts, showers, offers of a lift home - but that wasn’t Megan’s style. She didn’t like awkward chit chat. She didn’t enjoy that moment when phone numbers were requested. She certainly didn’t like pretending she wasn’t counting the seconds till they fucked off.
Possibly Nicole began to stir at last. Megan watched through the glass as she sat up and began to get dressed. And then she began to look around the room for something. It was her bra. And it was right in front of the balcony doors. She walked over to it and looked directly at Megan. ‘Hi’ she said. Megan waved at the topless woman. She wondered briefly if she could stay out here and make a shoo motion with her hand and perhaps Possibly Nicole would just go, like getting a pigeon off your car.
But Megan was British. Once eye contact was established, she was pretty much fucked. She opened the door and slipped in. ‘Just getting some air’ she explained.
Nicole seemed to accept that. She began to put her bra on. ‘So what are you up to today?’ she asked.
‘I’m driving to Deepforest, to the festival. Got a gig.’
‘Oh yeah?’ she said as she put her dress back on.
‘Headlining the comedy tent.’
‘Cool.’
‘Mmm’ Megan nodded. At thirty-five, she was more than old enough to know that when somebody asked you what you were doing with your day, the polite thing was to ask the same back. But she really didn’t want to prolong this. It wasn’t Nicole’s fault. There was nothing wrong with her. She was perfectly attractive and seemed nice enough. But when someone picks you up after a gig, it was clearly not going to turn into a marriage, was it? So why do this dance? Why pretend they hadn’t just been in it for the endorphins?
‘Live nearby?’ Megan asked.
‘Not far’ Nicole replied.
‘Well, don’t let me keep you’ Megan said, plainly.
Nicole raised an eyebrow. ‘Alright, I get it.’
Megan felt bad. She wasn’t trying to be cruel. She just didn’t like bullshit. She watched as Nicole headed for the door, wondering if there was something she could say to make this less unpleasant.
‘I’m sorry, I’-’
Nicole turned at the door. ‘I liked you more when you were on stage.’
Megan nodded, unsurprised. She’d heard that said before. ‘That’s really your problem more than mine, isn’t it?’
Nicole snorted derisively and slammed the door shut behind her.
Megan sat down on the sofa in the quiet and wondered why she kept doing this. Scenes like this were getting more and more frequent. Was it really worth it for the sex? Her friends said she should stop acting like a twenty-year-old and get a steady girlfriend, settle down, all that. But Megan thought that was death. She wasn’t ready to spend her Saturday nights binge watching Game of Thrones and her Sundays at B&Q, thank you very much. She was still young. Sort of.
But still, her friends dropped their little not-particularly-subtle hints. ‘Meg, do you think it’s maybe time to consider whether you should get to know the girls you sleep with?’ And Megan would answer ‘I don’t think that would work. I like to kill and eat my one night stands after the sex so it’s better not to get attached.’ And then they’d roll their eyes but it would be the end of the conversation, thank fuck.
But she wasn’t going to think about all that today. She was far too busy to examine her life choices. She had a trip to pack for.
Twenty-Six
Phoebe Fitzgerald grabbed her ear and yelled ‘Ow! Danny, would you switch on the amp after you plug in, please? You nearly blew my eardrum out!’
Danny the Tech, who was hired by the festival to look after the musician’s instruments, looked up at Phoebe, mortified. He couldn’t believe he’d almost deafened the singer and lead guitarist of Subatomic.
‘Sorry, Miss Fitzgerald. It won’t happen again.’
Phoebe relented. The twenty-year-old boy in the Subatomic band t-shirt was clearly a fan. ‘It’s alright. And call me Phoebe.’
Danny smiled, relieved. He would have died if she’d shouted at him. But people said she was nice. He was glad to confirm it. He scuttled off out of the green room tent, to deal with another act, calling ‘Can’t wait to see you play tonight!’ over his shoulder.
Joe, the bass guitarist of Subatomic, looked over at Phoebe, blankly. ‘Hey, Fitzy, are we on tonight?’
Phoebe sighed. ‘Yes, Joe.’
‘What, tonight, tonight?’
‘Do you know a definition of that word that I don’t?’
‘It’s just, I met this bird in the cider tent, supposed to see her tonight.’
‘We’re tuning up now and you didn’t know we were playing
?’ Phoebe asked.
‘I thought we were on tomorrow night.’
‘Meet her after.’
‘I didn’t get her number, just arranged to hang.’
‘Well, if she looks at the schedule, she’ll figure it out.’
‘I never told her I was in the band.’
Mack, the drummer, chipped in. ‘Trust me, she knows.’
‘You trying to say I can’t get a bird if she’s not a groupie?’ Joe asked indignantly.
