He was different in person to the photos and youtube clips. More blonde, more mature. Her heart skipped, and she let go of his hand in surprise. It was disloyal to entertain those feelings, even for a split second.
Finally rounding the final set of stairs, Ritchie found them still stood in the hall, staring at one another.
“Done it again, I see. I told you he was a famous pussy-magnet, didn’t I, doll? Happens to everyone. All my exes got jelly knees in his presence at one point or another. Some for longer than was strictly necessary.”
“I apologised about Hannah at the time-”
“After she broke up with me because you fucked her.”
“Yeah...” Daniel agreed, sheepishly.
“Take this and put it with the others.”
He dutifully accepted the last two cases and dragged them into the room as Ritchie propelled Siobhan into the living space.
“So, what do you think of our home away from home for the next week?”
The apartment was minute, minimalist, very white. It had cost a small fortune, even split between the three of them. There wasn’t room to swing a cat.
“It’s a bit American Psycho, isn’t it?”
He laughed. “You tell him that when he comes back. This was the last place left when we were booking. It was this flat or a month in University halls.”
“I’ve lived in halls, they aren’t that bad.”
“Trust me - single beds and a tinned Scottish breakfast each morning is not the lifestyle of champions or Perrier winners.”
“Speaking of, what are the bedrooms like?”
“See for yourselves.” Daniel called, crossing into the bathroom.
The bedroom was equally claustrophobic - minimalist white again, Ikea furniture. It was mainly bed with a skinny wardrobe and chest of drawers apologetically squeezed into the corner.
“It’s very cosy.”
“You don’t want cosy in this weather. You want air con and microfibre bedclothes.”
“Like you care, you’ll be stripped off to your boxers before I can draw breath. It’s like your body repels clothes after a certain number of hours.”
“You know what,” he said, kicking the door behind them “You’re right. And it looks like I can’t bear to keep them on any longer. Come here.”
“What? No! Daniel’ll hear us.”
Ritchie smiled and lead her over to the bed.
“You’d be surprised. He can tune things like this out.”
By this point he’d pulled off his jacket and t shirt, and closed the blinds for modesty. Still, the idea of someone being able to hear them - maybe even walking in on them - made her nervous. She followed him onto the bed anyway, removing her coat and trainers.
“That’s what he tells you. For all we know he could be crouched at the bedroom door with his cock in his hand waiting for us to get on with it.”
“He’s not the only one, then. Now shush, you’re ruining our first time in Edinburgh.” He unbuttoned her shirt and she allowed him to lift it from her shoulders, replying,
“Are you going to do that every time we fuck in a new city? Will it still apply when you Skype me for phone sex at 3am on tour?” She unbuttoned her own jeans and slipped them off, preferring the sensation of his erection rubbing against her knickers to begin with.
“No,” he moaned, trying to pull them off her, but she clamped he hand over his and wouldn’t let him.
“Ah-ah,” Shaking her head she quickly whipped off her bra and flung it over the wardrobe.
“I thought you’d be happier with a bit of extra recovery time.” She added, hunkering down over his body to kiss him.
“We discussed why gags about my age are not an appropriate form of foreplay, didn’t we?”
“Did we?” She asked innocently, pulling down his boxers. “That’s nice.”
Growling in frustration, he pulled her closer and smacked his hand across her arse.
“No games.”
“If you insist.” And with that she stood, the knickers went the way of her bra (and were never seen again, much to her embarrassment) and sat back perfectly on his cock, making both of them start with the peculiar twinge of pleasure it caused. Ritchie grabbed her breasts in both hands as she bucked against him and seemed reluctant to let go as she sped up and yelped, imagining with perverse excitement the bruises she’d have tomorrow.
“Don’t go so fast, we’ve only just got here,” he moaned after a moment or two, trying to slow her down.
“But-fuck!-Too late! She called, apologetically, falling backwards and hitting her head on the footrest. “Ow!”
“Are you ok?” He sat up, concerned, and took her wrists, pulling her upright again.
“I went a bit dizzy when I came. Am I bleeding?”
He gently took her head in his hands, and when he was sure it was free of cuts, kissed it.
“Our Scottish shag record is not exactly getting off to a great start, is it?”
“Spoon.” She said, simply, slotting herself into the curve of his body, holding his muscular arm across her chest like a seatbelt. “There’s always tomorrow.”
She didn’t feel like she was ready to attempt a run at the festival, however protracted it would be.
“A week. Just one. I can’t do the whole month anyway, because of the tour.”
“Because I couldn’t do it without you holding my hand, you mean?” This was in May, just after her birthday. Six drunken hours into a Motown all-nighter he’d hit upon what he thought was a brilliant idea, and as they recovered the next morning, he wouldn’t let go.
“No, because I reckon “To Ritchie Hewitt and Daniel Armitage: a Son” Is the best show title I could have ever come up with for the two of us working together. I mean the three of us. Because you’re not my son. You’re not even a boy. It’s subversive.
The very loose plot of the show was the boys coming back together after discovering they could both have fathered the titular son. Really, just an excuse for knob gags and bum-waving but Siobhan had laughed until she was sick reading the transcript. The lads had rehearsed together the two weeks she had finals, Daniel wandering around in the background of their Skype sessions whenever Ritchie checked in. Her role was small but critical - ‘Like The Boy’ in waiting for Godot’ Ritchie had said, to lure her in.
“You do all sorts - bit of narration, playing all the minor characters. You’re important.” He’d even left a window - a specific blank section of the script with ‘GRANNY BALLS STORY HERE’ in block caps so she wouldn’t forget to add it in when the lull came during the pub scene. A role, crafted for her. She was bricking it.
Over dinner - a sea of chicken as far as the eye could see - she asked Daniel if he minded this.
“I feel like I’m muscling in on your established roles.” She apologised, reaching for the Peri-Peri sauce.
He shook his head. “Don’t be daft. When you get to our age you’ll do anything to make your act look fresh and exciting. Eh, Rich?”
Ritchie nodded, his mouth full of Extra Hot wings.
“The only thing is, you’re sort of putting the height ratio off.”
She smiled. “Oh?”
“Aye. Cos I’m a massive stocky bastard, and he’s a wee Munchkin. Now there’s you, an even wee-er Munchkin.”
“He’s not that wee. You’re just... Huge.” She said, simply.
His mouth cleared, Ritchie piped up with,
“He has been known to go by the wrestling name ‘Sexy Lighthouse’, in some circles.”
“Is that true?” Siobhan raised her eyebrow.
“Partially. It was a girlfriend.”
“Sexy wrestling then.”
“In a way... It was all a long time ago. Don’t get the sexy comments so much these da
ys.”
“Liar.” Ritchie replied. “I saw that piece you had on your arm when we were in London rehearsing. And that girl in SoHo. And Covent Garden. And all those visits to the agency with the receptionist who guested in Hollyoaks.”
“Piece?” Siobhan looked at him in disgust. “Seriously? That kind of casual sexism is a dumpable offence, you know.”
“Sorry. It wasn’t sexist in my day.”
“Whatever. I’m getting some frozen yoghurt.”
They both watched her walk away.
“Is she serious about that?”
“Half and half. Politically-minded. She likes pointing out when I’m wrong. But don’t they all?”
“And what about you? Are you serious? About her?”
“It’s only been five months.”
“Too early to tell?”
Ritchie glanced over to Siobhan, who was bent over the frozen yoghurt machine.
“I really like her. But she’s so young. She has no childhood memories of Thundercats.”
“That bad, eh?” Daniel’s gaze followed his. “But she’s cute. You always liked them short and bottom-heavy. What’s she like in bed?”
“Shhh!”
“Better than he deserves.” Siobhan answered, sliding a bowl of plain vanilla and pineapple chips between them on the table.
“I am very good in bed, Daniel. I am exceptional. Now eat your pineapple.”
The first show did not go well. An 11.40pm weekday start was always going to be tough, but this was like pulling teeth. Half an audience at best count; and half of them drunk. None of them paying attention to the stage, to the comics, to anything, Apart from Siobhan. If anything, she was getting too much attention. Cat calls and remarks and a full can of Strongbow which glanced off her right tit and ricocheted back into the audience at the culprit in a glorious example of karma.
As they filed out of the room forty five agonising minutes later, Ritchie sat on the edge of the stage dejectedly, pulling Siobhan onto his lap.
“It gets better, Doll. Honest.”
“Could have fooled me.” She replied, burying her head in his shoulder.
“It wasn’t that bad.”
“Just... tiring.”
“You’ll have to get used to that.” Daniel added, joining them. He patted her back. “Some nights are bad. Some nights are violent. Some nights you want to slit your wrists. But the good ones, they make up for it.” He clapped his hands together. “Right, time for a pint and a kebab.”
“Really? More like a shag and bed.” She yawned, stretching and grimacing as her cider-soaked t-shirt peeled away from her skin. Unthinkingly, she pulled the t shirt off and held it in front of her, oblivious to the boys pulling questioning faces behind her back.
“Um...”
“What?” She didn’t look up.
“You must be more tired than I thought. Let’s go home.”
“What do you-Oh.” She looked down at her chest, glowing softly blue in the stage lights. “Fuck me, I’m tired. Take me home, shag me senseless and let me sleep this off.” She held out her arms and Ritchie wrapped his warm - and dry - hoodie around her shoulders.
“See you at home,” Called Daniel, waving them off, conscious of the strip of skin at Siobhan’s lower back that was visible as they walked away.
The bedroom was illuminated by pools of light from the French café opposite. Considerably revived by the early morning walk home, they were still going when Daniel came back a couple of hours later. Closing the front door behind him, he rolled his eyes at the sound of the bed creaking, and headed for his room, but stopped, by the shard of light cast by their bedroom door, open by more than a foot. He could hear the soft slap of skin on skin; of breath catching in excitement. Stepping past, he turned his head; almost against his will but only expecting to see Ritchie’s backside, which had been shoved in his eye line so often it barely registered any more. Instead, he caught Siobhan’s full gaze as she lay with her head lolling over the foot of the bed, naked from the waist up with the duvet covering her legs; Ritchie’s head partly visible as he presumably went down on her. In all his thirty years, Daniel had never had cause to note the way that a woman’s breasts, when she was positioned upside down, took on a buoyancy that was astounding to behold. Siobhan’s were just so, and the nipples perfectly tipped, pink and striking even in the relative darkness.
He started, coughed, and hoping that her eyes were the unseeing ones of ecstasy, passed into his own room, making sure to lock his door behind him before dropping his jeans in frustration and desperation to finish the job they had started for him.
At the halfway point, with only four shows and a Late N Live to go, the boys woke up that morning to the scent of bacon and flowers filling every room of the flat.
“What’s all this in aid of?” Daniel yawned.
“Felt like treating you both. I woke up early, his Lordship was snoring his head off but the weather was beautifully sunny and I really fancied a bacon sarnie.”
“With flowers on the side?”
“I’m a girl, so sue me.”
It was two nights since he’d seen her, eyes flaring in lust. Neither of them had discussed it. They’d carried on as normal. Now they were silent, listening intently to the sound of Ritchie showering; singing Bette Middler’s Wind Beneath My Wings.
He appeared five or so minutes later, wearing a towel.
“Did you start without me?”
“There’s plenty left in the pan. Don’t burn yourself.” instead, he grabbed the nearest rasher from her plate and kissed her cheek.
“Hey!”
“Hey, nothing. There’s plenty in the pan, you said so yourself. Nice and crispy, too. Any plans for today, you two?”
“You said you’d take me to the dungeon.”
Ritchie grimaced. “I did, didn’t I?”
“Mmmhmm.” She agreed, swallowing. “You never know, if you play your cards right, you might get sucked off by Jack the Ripper.”
“Jack the Ripper never came to Edinburgh. Did he?” Daniel reached for the brown sauce.
“Who knows? You got any plans?”
“Admin. And I’ve got a short notice MC gig at 8. I’ll meet you at 11.”
“Cutting it a bit fine, aren’t you?”
“It’ll be grand, no worries.”
“Well don’t be late. We can’t do the show without you. And that’s not just sentimental, rose-tinted bullshit. Siobhan doesn’t know your half, and she couldn’t pull off a bloke if she tried.”
A loaded silence fell.
“Excuse me?” Siobhan asked, an eyebrow raised.
“Oh, you know what I meant!”
“Less of the lover’s tiffs, you two. Please, it’s early.” Having tried to quell the argument before it got out of hand, Daniel retreated behind a copy of the Daily Record, his ears pink. He stuck his head above the paper briefly to add “And go and put some clothes on, Rich. You’ll scare the neighbours.”
Exasperated that his entire act appeared to be turning on him, Ritchie ripped of his towel and sauntered proudly out of the room.
“Has he always been like this? Like a toddler trapped in a man’s body?”
“Pretty much. I just block it out, now.”
“No such luck for the girlfriend, unfortunately.” she smiled. “I’ve got to be eye to eye with it at every available opportunity.”
He nodded, and stood to take his plate to the sink, but she touched his arm.
“About the other night.”
“What?”
She hesitated a fraction, then smiled broadly. “Everything’s fine. I’ll wash up. You get cracking on that admin.”
It was the Late N Live that did it. As soon as they’d finished a decent fist of their own show, the three
of them high tailed it across the city to do the second half. The Green room was full of despondent acts.
“It’s a shitstorm out there. Like a Stag and a Hen had a baker’s dozen of horrible, mutant offspring who started interbreeding and didn’t stop til they could fill a 500 seater.” One of the Toms offered as they stopped outside the venue for a smoke. Siobhan looked ashen.
“Maybe I shouldn’t go on.”
“It’s character-building.” Insisted Ritchie.
“It’s not.” Replied Tom, darkly.
But in the event, it wasn’t drunken thirtysomethings baying for her blood that did it. The gig was fine. Turns out everyone finds the idea of their granny having testicles hysterical at two in the morning.
But in the bar, afterwards, she had to watch - had to endure watching a parade of girls who were older than her and younger than her, and prettier, and uglier, and almost exactly the same as her, make their way over to her boyfriend, lean their chests into his arm and try to catch his attention.
And even though he smiled politely, and pointed to her through the crowd, or pulled her closer to him to indicate he was taken, the line didn’t let up.
She went to the toilets and splashed her face with water, trying to calm down. He was a known name. If she became equally well-known, chances were that she’d get attention from all quarters too. It was to be expected. He wasn’t going to run away.
It was still pretty awful to endure, though.
Exiting into the corridor, she ran into Daniel.
“Hey hey, what’s up?”
His lips looked funny, extraordinarily pink. As she stood staring at him, a woman walked past with glittering eyes and equally smudged, swollen lips. She smiled at Daniel as she passed and disappeared into the crowd.
“Someone’s been busy.”
He shrugged, grinning. “Nice girl, don’t think she actually recognised me. Just wondered why we’re wearing the same colour lipstick. Got a tissue?”
Siobhan dug in her purse and passed the packet over.
“Thanks. You didn’t answer my question. Why so grumpy?”
“All those girls with Ritchie. It never ends.” she rested her head on his shoulder. “It’s so hard going out with a fanny-magnet.”
Always Leave Them Wanting More Page 4
