Just Like You Said It Would Be

by C. K. Kelly Martin

  “That sounds—” The phone rang, cutting me off.

  Zoey bounded into the kitchen to grab the cordless. Seconds later she was zipping towards me with it in her hand. “It’s your dad calling from Greece,” she said with a loaded look.

  I took the phone. “Hi, Dad.” There were two things I had to tell him and I began with the easier one.

  “Not exactly what we meant by an emergency, Amira,” my dad chuckled into the phone after I explained that I couldn’t wait to ask about charging the screenwriting class to my emergency credit card without risking my spot in the class. “But it sounds good to me. It’ll give you something to do with your days.”

  “And it’ll look terrific on the university applications,” I reminded him. “Especially if I want to major in film.”

  “Major in film?” my father echoed. “Well, wait and see what you think of the class first.” My parents knew how much I loved movies, but I hadn’t said anything about wanting a future in the industry before and my dad was probably thinking—from sun-drenched Greece—that a law degree or an M.B.A. were more along the lines of what they’d been hoping for me.

  “There’s something else,” I added, beginning to compose a plea for Saturday night on the spot. Zoey’s plan was the surer bet, but if I was caught sneaking around I’d blow my aunt and uncle’s trust to smithereens.

  I made it sound like watching the contest was all about my cousin, who’d left the living room just after handing over the phone so that I was spared the embarrassment of having to grovel in front of her. The night was about Zoey too, of course it was. But it was Darragh’s blue eyes that kept jumping into my head as I assured my dad that if he let me go I’d be with Zoey’s friends during the show and one of them would drop me off straight after it was finished. Silence crept out onto the long distance wire as I licked my lips and awaited my father’s reply.

  Darragh’s eyes. Darragh’s shoulders in a T-shirt. The Celtic knot in the centre of his guitar tattoo. The way he’d made my head pop when he said that I had to have someone to say things to. It actually made me feel a little nauseous just how badly I wanted to see him again.

  ______

  If you imagine R.E.M. crossed with The Cranberries and add a generous dash of The Runaways, you’d have something approximating The Scarlet Nevers. That’s what some ancient review of their first of only two albums I discovered online said. I found a few Scarlet Nevers videos on YouTube and watched those too. The live one for a song called You’re a Hazard was my favourite because Shel D sounded genuinely heartbroken and furious by turns, like she knew how to ache and wound in equal measure.

  The family resemblance between Shel D and Darragh wasn’t strong. Her eyes were blue but not with the wattage turned up like they were in his and she had a pointy chin that sort of reminded me of Reese Witherspoon. The only part of her face I could really see in Darragh’s was the cheekbones. They looked as striking on her as they did on him and I thought of her as I teetered into Enda Corrigan’s on Saturday night with Gloria. Would she have liked to have been there to see Darragh follow in her footsteps?

  My father had signed off on my presence at the contest, but made it clear that it would be a one-time only event. I had to be back just after midnight (when Zoey said the contest was scheduled to finish, although the band would undoubtedly hang out later), meaning Gloria needed to play taxi driver for me again. My dad’s conditional permission was the best I could’ve hoped for and when I walked into the club I was so excited that you’d have thought I was the one entering the contest.

  Enda Corrigan’s wasn’t full yet, but a steady stream of people continued through the front door. Multiple layers of makeup ensured I didn’t have any trouble getting past the bouncers and my toes—in towering suede slingbacks I’d borrowed from Zoey—peeked out from under the bottom of skin-tight jeans. To top it off, my cousin had applied a sprinkling of glitter to my face and I was feeling almost glamorous inside the club.

  “You look great,” I told Zoey. Her newly-dyed raven hair was shot through with violet streaks and some manga character I didn’t recognize stared sullenly out from her top. A red and blue flannel shirt was tied around the waist of Zoey’s form-fitting black shorts, striped metallic tights underneath them and chunky-heeled ankle boots on her feet.

  “Thanks, so do you.” Her gaze shifted to Kevin shuffling towards the door, an unlit cigarette between his fingers. “You know why I never started smoking? Because it would be bad for my voice and now I’m about to sing I’d murder someone for a cigarette.”

  “How about a drink instead?” Rory offered.

  “Absolutely,” she replied. “Bottle of Miller.”

  Rory scratched at his three day old stubble. “Amira, what about you?”

  “The same. Thanks.” I glanced around the club hoping to catch sight of Darragh and spotted him leaning over the bar, talking animatedly to a cute redhead in a crochet tank top. “Where’s Ursula?” I asked. Surely she’d be here tonight of all nights.

  Zoey shrugged. “I haven’t seen her.”

  Rory returned with the drinks and Gloria and I joined the others at their table. Out of the corner of my eye I spied Darragh still chatting with the girl behind the bar. The sight was beginning to leave a bad taste in my mouth, which wasn’t remotely how a friend should’ve felt about it.

  But once the contest started I was easily distracted. The first band on stage was called Mental Wealth and they were as loud as they were good. A pounding backbeat reverberated around the room, warning me that my ears would be ringing later. The wild-eyed, bearded lead singer verged on scary-intense but the bassist looked nervous, hardly daring to glance out at the audience. I’d begun to get antsy about starting screenwriting class on Monday—the thought of sharing my work with a roomful of people—and found myself sympathizing with him.

  The next band was competent but entirely forgettable and then four guys playing watered down nineties type grunge shuffled on and sucked most of the energy out of the room. They were the ideal opening act for The Brash Heathens, who couldn’t help but sound fresh in comparison, and our table went manic as Zoey strode onto the stage, exuding confidence. “We’re The Brash Heathens and we’re here to convert you,” she shouted as the band opened with a raunchy number called Today and After.

  The crowd moved in time with the music, their heads bobbing and bodies swaying. I could hardly make out Kevin near the back of the stage with the drums but Zoey, Rory and Darragh were so emotionally immersed in what they were doing that they yanked you headlong into the song with them. I watched Rory mouthing the lyrics along with Zoey, and Darragh playing the guitar like it was the most important thing he’d ever do. I’d never had a thing for a musician before but watching Darragh Leavy that night the idea made perfect sense—the lure of a creative energy that could be given and received in the exact same moment, audience and musician vibrating to the shared wavelength.

  “Does everyone here have an open mind?” Zoey cried as The Brash Heathens launched into Wide Open Mind, the audience still in the palm of her hand. I didn’t know how she did it—made the crowd feel like they wanted to know her secrets. I guess it’s not something you can explain, but I honestly wasn’t sitting there with my eyes stuck solely on Darragh; I was watching my cousin just as keenly—until she sat down on the end of the stage for one of their slower numbers and half the audience couldn’t see her.

  “Stand up, love,” some invisible guy in the crowd barked. “Show us your pole dance. I’ve got a tenner with your name on it in me pocket.”

  Zoey jumped to her feet, striking a pose that screamed unadulterated urban attitude as band number two’s female guitarist shouted back from her place near the stage: “Show some manners you fucking gobshite!”

  Zoey’s head slanted forward as if to say thanks and next thing I knew she’d stopped the slow number and was shouting something about pissing on public toilet seats and driving slow in the fast lane. “He’s an asshole,” she chanted. Darragh
had changed chords and he and Rory were singing it too. He’s an asshole! He’s an asshole! Some people in the audience started to sing along, like they already knew the tune. He’s an asshole. He’s an asshole.

  “Thanks to Denis Leary for the world’s best comeback tune,” Zoey said. “The arsehole will be happy to send you the royalties.” She tipped her neck, her smile bordering on bashful. Everyone was loving her even more now, clapping raucously in support. “Thank you,” she said sweetly. “And now back to our regularly scheduled setlist.”

  The band ended with Save Me, the song I’d first heard Darragh and Zoey sing on her birthday. I’d liked it right away but with Kevin and Rory behind them it sounded whole, complete. Our table shouted and whistled its approval, the audience applauding around us for what felt like nearly twice as long as they’d clapped for anyone else.

  “Fucking hell!” Gloria exclaimed, her eyes as big as Frisbees. “If they don’t win after that, the bloody competition must be fixed.” She stared down at my empty drink after the applause had finally subsided. “This calls for another round. What’re you having?”

  I told her I’d take the same again, feeling so elated for Zoey and the rest of The Brash Heathens that I couldn’t stop smiling.

  “Triple whiskey for me,” Darragh cracked, grinning widely beside us. He crouched down by our chairs as the entire band crowded around the table, glowing with success. “I’m joking.” He touched Gloria’s arm. “I’ll get them. What’re you having?”

  “Not on your life,” Gloria protested. “This is a congratulatory round. You can get the next one.”

  Darragh nodded. “Fair enough—pint of Heineken. Ta.” He sank into Gloria’s seat as she disappeared into the crowd. He had dark circles under his eyes and rubbed his forehead as he leaned forward. “You made it,” he said, his head close to mine so I could hear him above the music. “So what’d you think? Honestly now?”

  Honestly? Honesty would embarrass me too much. “If I tell you the truth it’ll swell your head.” I smiled like I was kidding. Then I bowed my head in nearer still to his and got as close to the truth as I dared. “You guys were fantastic. That first song, Today and After, hooked the crowd right away and that Asshole thing was unbelievable. So far I think your only real competition is Mental Wealth.”

  “Careful, you’ll make me blush,” Darragh said, reprising his angelic look from the game store.

  I’d guess it would take a lot more than that to make you blush. I didn’t say that, but I thought it hard enough that I wondered if he might guess.

  “Zoey was fucking brilliant with that Denis Leary bit, wasn’t she?” he continued. “You wouldn’t want to mess with her, I tell you.” His hand grazed my forearm. “I’d agree with you about Mental Wealth. Every one of those songs sounded like proper album material. If I had a say I’d vote for them.”

  “No, I’d vote for you,” I said truthfully. “Their songs were really good, but you guys have tons more stage presence.”

  “Tons more?” he repeated, grinning. “We should hire you to promote us.” He motioned towards the stage. “A friend of mine is the bassist in this band.”

  I’d barely glanced in the direction of the stage since Darragh had sat down. “They have a cool sound,” I said as we turned towards the band. So far they sort of reminded me of The Vaccines and I leaned over and whispered that to Darragh the same way I would’ve done if Zoey or Gloria had been sitting next to me.

  “Musically, yeah,” he said into my ear, “but their lyrics are really political.”

  The lead singer’s delivery was so breakneck that I hadn’t been able to distinguish many of the lyrics, but I tried harder, feeling energized as I inwardly congratulated myself on keeping my cool with Darragh. I hadn’t said anything special about him in my emails, not even the ones I’d sent Jocelyn. Part of me was dying to tell someone, but it felt as though admitting my feelings, even to people who would never cross paths with him, could potentially change things between us.

  Gloria returned too soon with the drinks and Darragh thanked her for the pint. “I like the sparkles,” he said, his eyes on me as he got up to give Gloria her seat back.

  The way his stare hung there almost my head pop again, but then the room erupted into applause. Zoey leaned breathlessly across the table and said, “That’s the lot of us now. Do you think we did it? Do you reckon we’ll make it into the semi-finals?”

  “Maybe if Mental Wealth has an accident backstage,” Kevin replied cynically.

  “I thought we were better than them,” Rory disagreed. “Here’s your man now to announce the winners.”

  Everyone turned anxiously towards the stage as the emcee shouted, “Has everybody had a good time?” The crowd cheered and whistled in response. “Remember, we have a continuing Battle of the Bands on at Enda Corrigan’s this time next week where this evening’s winners will go on to the semi-finals. Tonight is very unusual because we have a draw!” He paused, letting the suspense build in the silence before whipping his face back towards the microphone and roaring: “Mental Wealth and The Brash Heathens!”

  Zoey threw her arms around Rory and then Kevin as our table howled its approval, clapping wildly. I spun just in time to catch the redhead behind the bar smashing her mouth against Darragh’s. Disappointment caught in the back of my throat. My feelings for him flipped from toasty warm to blistering cold in the blink of an eye, and I snapped around, forcing myself to focus on the members of Mental Wealth congratulating each other across the room. “Where’s Darragh?” Kevin asked no one in particular. I shrugged and pretended to scan the venue, glancing everywhere but where it’d happened—was still happening for all I knew.

  Whatever, right? Not like it should’ve come as a huge surprise. It was a mistake to think I had any idea what Darragh was really like from a handful of conversations. For all I knew he locked lips with girls in clubs all the time. He was in training for rock star status—trading in his steady girlfriend for a string of one night stands was practically in his job description. I was the one in the wrong, making assumptions and casting him as someone I could be friends with based on flimsy evidence. If anyone had known how naïve I’d been about Darragh I would’ve felt worse still and even as my cheeks burned I was grateful that I’d kept my mouth shut.

  “Darragh’s back at the bar,” Gloria replied, motioning for Kevin to pull up a chair. Kevin, Zoey, and Rory dragged chairs in towards the table as Darragh returned with a tray of drinks. The four of them sat talking and joking together while Gloria, the others and I compared contest notes. It was stupid enough to have had feelings for Darragh in the first place, I wasn’t going to let him keep me down for another second and I shifted into overdrive, keeping myself so busy talking, laughing and steadfastly ignoring the Darragh/redhead non-event that I lost track of time. Enda Corrigan’s featured late night dancing after the bands and soon a D.J. was starting up, playing that old Blink 182 song All the Small Things. I shouted to Gloria and Kevin above the music: “Let’s dance.”

  Gloria squinted and shook her head, but Kevin followed me out to the dance floor. We weren’t so much dancing together as next to each other. He was a good dancer, really frenzied and in touch with the beat. Me, I’m only good when I like the song, but All the Small Things made it easy. I forgot about being off-balance; I forgot everything. Darragh who?

  Then Zoey grabbed me by the arm, making me jump. “Sorry,” she said loudly. “Everything’s been loaded into the van, but Darragh’s about to catch a taxi and I wondered if you wanted to go with him.” Why would I want to go with him? I gave her a blank stare, trying to figure out how she’d fit the pieces together. “It’s ten past twelve,” she continued. “I just texted Mum that you were on your way back.”

  Right, that. Darragh himself was sauntering across the room towards me, smiling that annoyingly dazzling smile of his. “I’m absolutely wrecked,” he said, rubbing his eyes again. “Do you want to head?”

  Not really, no. Ursula should’ve
been the one feeling this resentment, not me, but I was feeling it anyway. It was building under my ribs and making me want to bang my head against something hard to snap myself out of it. “Isn’t Whitehall out of your way?” I asked him. “You live in Raheny, right?” Both neighbourhoods were on the north side but not exactly next to each other. I’d looked them up on an online map days’ earlier, after Darragh had driven me home and mentioned that he lived in Raheny. The knowledge came in handy now that I didn’t want to be anywhere near him, but Zoey scrunched up her face like I was being difficult.

  “It’s no hassle, Amira,” he insisted.

  If it weren’t for Zoey I probably would’ve continued to turn him down but how many options did I really have? I was already wondering what to expect from my aunt and uncle when I reached home late. “Okay then,” I said in a low voice. I followed Darragh out of the club, angry with myself for being so typical. The last person in the world I wanted to feel drawn to was somebody with his own personal fan club. I glanced quickly over at him—from his dark hair all the way down to his Docs—and frowned.

  “So how’s Amira?” Darragh asked, slowing his pace so I could keep up.

  Where was a cab when you needed it? “All right,” I said heavily. “How’re you?”

  Darragh didn’t answer straight away. He gave me a sharp-focus stare, his jaw slack. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

  I nodded hurriedly, pointing silently back at him. The trip home would be easier if I didn’t have to say much. “I’m just knackered from practicing late last night,” he said. “Now that the pressure’s off I’ll sleep like a baby.” His arm brushed against mine. “I saw you dancing to Blink 182 in there. Do you like a lot of their stuff?”