“Sounds like it,” Yena said.
“So, do you believe me?” Justin asked.
Yena hesitated before answering. “Yeah, I believe you.”
“Are you sure about that?”
Another pause, then Yena snapped, “Justin, not now, please. I need to go back inside. My mum’s really upset.”
“Right, fine.” Justin swallowed hard. “I hope everything works out for you.”
Yena didn’t answer, so Justin lowered his phone and ended the call.
As he stood there stock still, the bustle of the market carried on around him. His mind whirred. All he could think was, why the hell had he ended it like that? He was cross, yes, but he knew that’d been an awful time to throw his toys out of the pram.
Guilt and dread settled, and Justin felt like slapping himself.
Tara found him, and said something about coming to see a necklace she’d found. Justin breathed deeply. “I think, if it’s all right, I’d rather go home.” And hide under my comforter for the rest of my life.
Tara looked at him more closely and nodded her head. “Okay, hon. I’ll choose the present. You go on.”
Justin thanked her and trudged off. He kept his phone in his hand, in case Yena called or messaged him back.
By the time he’d walked home, Justin’s phone hadn’t
Chapter Fifteen
WHEN TARA came back from Camden and knocked on Justin’s bedroom door, Justin was still in the same position on his bed as when he’d first flopped down on it.
“Are you decent?” Tara poked her head in.
Justin grunted. That line was always a perfect setup for a quip, but he didn’t have it in him.
Tara noticed. “Hmm, that bad?”
He grunted again, this time more of an I’m not sure grunt.
“Want some biscuits?” Tara came into the room, proudly displaying a packet of some interesting-looking Cadbury’s chocolate biscuits. Justin gazed at them forlornly.
“Oh… what the hell,” he muttered, sitting up in his bed. “Bring ’em here.”
Tara came to sit on the bed and opened the packet.
After demolishing two biscuits in a row, Justin picked up a third. “Thank you,” he said, still miserable, but at least now he had chocolate.
“No problem.” She took off her shoes and made herself more comfortable on his bed. “I chose the turquoise earrings with a matching necklace. You owe me ten pounds.”
Justin nodded. Presents were the least of his worries.
“So… want to tell me about it?” Tara offered.
Justin wasn’t sure what to say, so he shrugged. “I think I messed up,” he admitted.
“Well, tell me what happened.”
Breathing deep, Justin finished off his third biscuit and then dusted his hands. He told Tara about Eric coming on to him in the bar—if that’s what it could even be called—and Yena’s strange phone call following the incident. He recounted what was said, wincing at the memory of it still fresh in his mind. Yena hadn’t called back or sent a message since Justin had abruptly ended the call.
Not that Justin expected him to after that.
“Blimey, Justin,” Tara exclaimed. “Eric sounds like a manipulative twat, but the two of you have done exactly what he wanted you to do, which is have a row and fall out.”
Justin blinked at her in surprise. “Excuse me?”
“Don’t you see?” Tara laid a hand on his arm and then swatted his shoulder. “You muff, Justin. All it would’ve taken was for one, or both of you, to see through this guy’s flimsy bullshit, but instead you got cross with each other. One of you will have to see sense and apologize.”
As her words started to sink in, Justin frowned in annoyance. “But why should it be me? He started accusing me of sneaking around behind his back, and I haven’t done anything.”
“He told you his dad was in hospital?” Tara clarified.
Justin’s cheeks heated. “Yeah,” he muttered. “Waiting to go in for surgery.”
“So his crazy ex makes up some stories at a bad time, and he goes straight to you for the truth. Justin, I don’t think that’s necessarily a bad thing. But obviously he was stressed out, and maybe you were both touchy with each other.”
Justin nodded at that. Okay, maybe Tara was right. Dammit. He should’ve been more patient.
“I don’t like being called a liar,” Justin said, petulant.
“Did he say that, exactly?”
“Um… no.”
“He asked you for the facts?”
“Um… yes.”
“Did he say he believed you?” Tara pressed.
Justin huffed. “He hesitated about it, but yeah, he said he believed me.”
“Give him a chance, Justin.” Tara pinched a biscuit and started munching it. “Why don’t you send him a message? Ask how his dad is.”
Eyeing his phone, Justin’s stomach fluttered with nerves. “But… he won’t want to hear from me, will he?”
Tara gave him a look. “What if he’s sitting alone, worrying about his dad, waiting to hear from you?”
“Oh.” Justin hadn’t thought of that. “Okay, you’re right. I’ll text him.”
“Good.” Tara patted his shoulder and made to get up. “Now I’m going to hog the bathroom. I need to get ready for my date.” She paused at his bedroom door. “You working tonight?”
“No, thank God.”
“So what are your plans?” she asked.
Sit here and sulk? “Um….”
“If you aren’t busy, Justin, you could clean the kitchen.”
Dammit.
“Yeah, okay,” he agreed. He’d send this text first, though.
As Tara left, his fingers typed out a message. He finally decided on: Hello. Sorry for being cranky. Hope your dad is doing okay. I miss you. Xxx.
Was it too much?
Justin sent it before he could overthink it. He might as well try, though he had a feeling he’d already screwed things up.
THE NEXT day, Justin did his day shift at the bar. He checked his phone at regular intervals and kept it charging behind the bar. Still no message from Yena.
Well, maybe he was busy, Justin reasoned. Maybe something awful had happened with his father’s surgery. Therefore, Justin had absolutely no right to feel sulky about this.
Not one bit.
Did it make him a bad person if he couldn’t help feeling at least a little bit sulky?
The day shift was uneventful, aside from a trio of women lining up at the bar to lure Tracy into doing shots with them. Justin watched with muted amusement, until George came out of the office and told Tracy to clean the lines instead.
Tara came in at five to relieve Justin. She was in a good mood because her date last night had gone well. Justin was pleased for her, but when she went skipping off behind the bar, Justin gave in to his sulk. Fuck it, he was having a cheeseburger.
He ordered the food from their kitchen and sat at the end of the bar with his phone and a pint of lime soda. If he was too groggy to dance well tonight, Tam would kill him, but so be it.
Justin checked his phone. Still no messages. Tara, George, and Tracy were chatting behind the bar. Apparently there was a staff do on soon; something about a tour of the local brewery.
Beer? Justin’s nose scrunched with distaste. He’d had his fill of beer today, having managed to dribble some over his favorite jeans, the stonewashed pair with silver rhinestones on the pockets.
When his fat-laden burger arrived, he ate it slowly and checked his phone for the time. And still no messages. He’d have to go home soon, have a shower, and go back out again for this show tonight with Tam.
The dreaded Ooh La La number. Had to be tonight, didn’t it, Justin thought. But maybe it was a good thing, having something else to distract him. He’d be forced to focus on the dance, the show….
Justin winced. Oh, who was he kidding? Tonight was going to be awful. He didn’t like the venue it was in, either. The backstage was
smaller than a postage stamp, and the female performers always spread their belongings all over the place.
Finishing his burger, he wiped his hands and mouth with a napkin. “I’m off,” he announced. “See you lot later.”
Tara waved good-bye, but they were deep in their conversation about beers. Justin trudged off. Maybe he’d have a drink tonight. Not beer. Something fun. Loosen himself up… or trip over in his platforms and fall flat on his arse. Tam would murder him.
Once he was home, it was a quick wash and change, grab his kit bag—which had already been packed—and he was out the door again, heading for the overground station.
It wasn’t a good time to travel; commuters of all types were bustling through the barriers, trying to rush home. Justin gritted his teeth and dove in. He had to change at Highbury and Islington to get the New Cross line to Shoreditch. Trendy central, in other words.
On the train, Justin found himself a space to stand and leaned against the window. He gazed out, watching the world of terraced houses give way to industrial estates, scrawled with graffiti. One good thing about the overground, he could still get a signal.
Justin resisted the urge to check his phone for a whole two minutes. Then he gave in.
Okay, still no messages. This was getting worrying. Either Yena was really mad at him or the worst had happened to his dad. Justin wasn’t sure what to even hope for in this situation.
At Shoreditch High Street station, Justin got off the train and exited along with everyone else hurrying to get out and into the street. Last time he’d been at this venue, Tam had been with him, leading the way. On his own, Justin wasn’t entirely sure which way it was.
It’s all right, he thought, that’s what the maps function is for.
He got out his phone and, using an old flyer for the club, put in its postcode. The satellite-enabled app used his location to bring up a map on his screen and draw a handy orange line to his destination.
Justin squinted at the screen, trying to read the road names. He hadn’t exactly got the hang of this app yet.
Okay, this way.
He set off. The sky was still light, though the sun had set a while ago. It was a pleasant, warm night. The high street was reasonably busy; traffic rushed past, and people darted this way and that on the pavements. Justin glanced up at the street names as he passed alleyway after alleyway. He remembered the one he needed being quite far up, past a Tesco’s Express, if he remembered correctly. Maybe he could nip in there and get a packet of crisps and some chewing gum.
Justin realized he’d forgotten to bring his spray glitter as well. Hopefully Tam would have his.
As he was paying so much attention to which street was which, Justin didn’t notice the surrounding area until it suddenly dawned on him he was in a rough part of town. Why hadn’t he noticed this last time?
He looked around with caution at the growing number of youths strutting around together in hip-hop gear, attempting—and somewhat succeeding—in looking threatening. A woman in a revolting velour tracksuit came careening out of an off-license, clutching a bottle of vodka and screaming. A man with a large beard came after her, shouting in a heavy accent.
Oh, good grief. Justin picked up his pace, and once again cursed the venue for being where it was. He glanced at his phone. Nearly there. Please, God.
“’Ere, mate.” A white boy gangsta and his friend approached him. “You know where Sap Street is?”
Justin blinked. God, they thought he was local?
The white boy and his black friend came closer. Justin was trying to decide if they were a threat, when the black kid reached out and snatched the phone from Justin’s hand.
They took off at a run, the white kid calling “Sap!” before they disappeared round a corner.
They stole my phone.
Justin was too stunned to move. That was, until another youth in similar attire walked past Justin, eyeballing him a little too intensely.
God, get me out of here. Justin gave the phone up for lost; no way he was chasing rough kids around suburbs, when who knew how many of them were around. He was already on the right path, and he had the club’s flyer in his hand with the address. He’d just have to ask directions if he got lost.
He prayed he wouldn’t get lost.
It was only as he walked that his shock gave way to anger, and a quivering feeling of loss settled over him. They’d stolen his phone! Right out of his hand. Those little….
Justin cursed his way all up the high street, so angry he almost missed the small road he needed. He vowed never to come out here again. But for the time being he wanted to get inside someplace safe.
He’d need a bloody drink after this.
As he marched down the dark road, power walking due to anger, the old, red brick venue loomed into view. Crappy, bloody, poxy Shoreditch. Justin stomped up to the steps, only to be met by a bouncer who wanted to look inside Justin’s bag. Sighing heavily, Justin relented and handed over his bag. Inside the glow of the door, he caught a glimpse of girls in party frocks queuing up for the cloakroom. Then a petite Asian girl, wearing red sequined hot pants and a black bra, clicked past in her heels. Justin recognized her as a performer; one of the nicer ones. The evening wouldn’t be all bad, then.
When the bouncer deemed him safe, Justin was allowed through. The office of the club, immediately on the left, served as a very unglamorous and brightly lit changing room. To his dismay, Justin saw that inside most of the space had been claimed by girls, spreading their feather fans and sparkly bits of this and that everywhere. One performer, clad only in a nude underwear set, was busy dusting herself down with powder that shimmered. The air filled with glittery dust.
Wonderful. Everyone else can choke.
Tam was sitting on a desk, glass of bubbly in hand, chatting to a girl dressed as a mime. When he saw Justin, he waved. Justin walked over, carefully picking his way through seminaked women and their costumes. He dropped his bag near Tam and crossed his arms huffily.
“Justin, bang on time,” Tam greeted.
“Some cunt stole my phone,” Justin said.
“What?” Tam frowned. “When?”
“Just now!” His voice rose, and Justin realized he was more upset than he’d thought. “On the street. Little shits came up to me and snatched it from my hands.”
Tam looked suitably indignant. “Fucking ball begs,” he said.
The mime girl blinked sad eyes at Justin. “That happened to me,” she said. “Only last month. Did you have insurance?”
Justin blanched. “Insurance?”
“You can get a replacement phone if you have insurance,” she said.
Tam chuckled. “Don’t think he had insurance, darling.”
“I might have,” Justin retorted. He definitely didn’t. “I’ll check when I get home.” Shit. Why didn’t I take out insurance?
“Have you actually got another handset?” Tam asked.
Justin shook his head. “Not anymore. I traded it in for money.”
Tam rolled his eyes. “I’ll see if I’ve got an old one I can lend you. I need to be able to contact you, Justin.”
Oh.
Suddenly Justin realized the worst of it. Now Yena couldn’t contact him. Just when he’d thought things couldn’t get any worse.
Chapter Sixteen
“JUSTIN?” TARA poked her head in his room. She raised an eyebrow when she saw him curled up on his bed, without even the TV on. “Erm… your mum’s on the phone.”
“Oh.” Justin dragged himself up, not really in the mood to talk to anyone.
Tara entered his room and handed him her mobile, asking quietly, “Fancy a coffee?”
Justin nodded, rubbing at tired eyes. He hadn’t slept well. As Tara left, he put the phone to his ear and attempted to project cheer into his voice. “Hi, Mum.”
“Hello, love,” she trilled, loud as ever. Justin winced, holding the phone slightly away. “Why isn’t your phone picking up?”
“Uh….”
Justin tried to remember if he’d decided on an excuse. Nothing brilliant came to mind, so clearly not. Shit. “Er, I lost it, actually,” he fibbed. Mum didn’t need to know it’d been stolen; she’d only worry. And truthfully, Justin hadn’t had any more—or less—trouble since relocating from Brighton. A city was a city, after all.
“Oh, Justin,” she scolded, using her patented telling-off voice. Justin rolled his eyes.
“Well, I didn’t do it on purpose, Mum. Tam’s going to lend me his old phone until I get a new one.”
“Are you sure?” she asked. “You’ll give me your new number, won’t you?”
“Yes, Mother,” Justin said. “As soon as I get it, you’ll be the first to know.”
She laughed. “Good. We’ll be up in London on Saturday, actually. Your father has a daytime booking. We thought we’d take you for dinner in the evening, if you aren’t working.”
Justin really wasn’t in the mood for a fancy meal out; his parents liked to treat themselves at posh restaurants, and Justin always felt like he should dress up for the occasion, as in, shirt and trousers. It was the normal dressing up that didn’t appeal to him in any shape or form.
Thankfully, he had a get-out.
“I’ll be busy, Mum. Sorry. Working during the day, then got a gig in the evening.”
“Oh,” she cooed. “Where’s your show?”
“Soho Revue Bar,” Justin said. “We’ve been there before, but not with this particular show.”
“I know the place,” she said. “What sort of show will it be? A sit down one?”
“Yeah, think so. There’s seating at the back anyway.”
“Will they serve food?”
“I dunno.” Justin frowned, leaning back against his pillows. “Maybe. I don’t really….” Suddenly it dawned on him. “Mum, I don’t know if you’ll like this show.”
“Nonsense!” she insisted. “I’ll look at their website and book tickets. If they serve food, we’ll have our meal there.”
“But, Mum—”
“We haven’t seen you perform for a while now, Justin.”
“You saw me two months ago!” he argued, hand wringing his hair. “Mum, I think there’s gonna be tits and arse in this show. Not mine, but girls and stuff. Are you sure Dad can handle it?”
Love on the Rocks (Bar Tenders) Page 14
