Fizz hid in the back bar again, clutching at his drink as he sipped it. Just one step at a time, he told himself. It hadn't been a disaster so far.
Then the door opened, and three familiar boys came in, wet from the rain. Dee, Glen, and Ash. Fizz almost dropped his drink in surprise. He stayed where he was, hoping no one noticed him in the shadows. He could have nipped through the staff door and hidden on the stairs but, for some reason, he didn't want to leave.
The three boys approached the bar. Ryan returned and stood behind the beer pumps, opposite his friends, to greet them. Pete, who was already behind the bar, asked, "Have you pooed a flag yet?"
"No, he hasn't!" Glen laughed. "Not for want of trying, though."
"Too right!" Dee said. He then began to tell Pete in great detail about his bowel movements that morning.
"Dee, shut up." Ash pulled a face. "Can't we eat first?"
"And talk shit later?" Glen suggested.
Ryan cut in quickly. "What are you lot drinking?" He started to fix their drinks without even waiting for a reply. The conversation quickly moved onto beer, then food. Ryan picked up the notepad and wrote down their orders.
Fizz held his breath. He didn't think anyone had seen him yet, but when Ryan tore off the order and turned to look at him, he noticed the others watching. Ryan stayed where he was, and held out the paper between his fingers. "Fizz, can you run this up to Matt?"
Fizz wondered if he was being paranoid, but it was almost as if Ryan wanted him to come forward to collect the ticket. All the other times, Ryan had come into the back bar to hand tickets to him.
Not wanting to keep him waiting, Fizz set down his drink and took tentative steps into the light. He focussed on the ticket in Ryan's hand and gently took it from him.
"Thanks." Ryan smiled, then carried on ringing the orders through the till. Fizz tried to keep his eyes lowered. He knew he was in full view of everyone now, and that knowledge brought on the beginnings of a flush. He turned away, hoping he could escape before anyone noticed. Dee and Glen were busy nattering to Pete.
Then a familiar voice said, "Hey, Fizz."
Fizz's eyes darted up. He caught Ash smiling at him, like he was really pleased to see him. Fizz felt his cheeks burn hot, and he wanted nothing more than to run away. He was surprised when he felt his own lips pull into a smile. It hadn't been a conscious decision, more like an automatic reaction. There was just something about the way Ash looked at him.
Fizz turned away quickly. He caught Ryan glancing at him and was even more embarrassed when Ryan gave him a subtle, knowing smile.
He hurried up the stairs. After handing the order to Matt, Fizz hovered in the kitchen, too nervous to go back downstairs. Matt raised an eyebrow, then glanced again at the order for three roast dinners. The order was: one chicken, no peas; one pork, no cabbage; and one nut roast, extra potatoes, with the addendum, "Customer's request, make them decent-sized potatoes, please!"
"Let me guess," Matt said. "Dee, Glen, and Ash?"
Fizz nodded, too nervous to speak.
"Hmf," Matt huffed, then cast his eye at Fizz with a meaningful glare.
Fizz was confused. Was Matt annoyed with him? What had he done? Matt went back to his work, and Fizz decided maybe he'd better wait out in the hall.
When the dinners were ready, Matt came downstairs with him to carry the third dinner and the gravy pots. As the plates were set on the boys' table, they all broke into laughter over the comedy-shaped Yorkshire pudding Matt had given Dee.
"It looks like a chuff!" Dee guffawed.
"Yeah, thought you'd like it," Matt said. "Easily amused."
While they were distracted, Fizz managed to slip away.
Half an hour later, he was behind the bar, piling up dirty plates. Like the used glasses he'd collected, the used plates were stacked, then placed on the back bar. It was a handy place to dump things when collecting dirties, walking from one end of the pub to the other. Ryan and Pete went around collecting glasses and plates, stacking them at the back bar for Fizz to deal with.
That was fine by Fizz. Even though it was cramped, he liked being in the back bar. There were big boxes of wires stashed behind the bar—used for the live-music nights—and a box of promotional St. Patrick's Day items from Guinness. The rest of the bar was empty, not having been used for a while. The beer pumps here didn't work. Everyone knew drinks were served from the front bar only, so Fizz was safe at this end.
The rain had gotten worse throughout the day. Through the windows, Fizz could see black clouds in the sky, and the rain showed no sign of letting up. All the lights inside the pub had been switched on, yet it still managed to look gloomy. A mixture of dim and green-tinted bulbs did not make for good lighting.
Fizz loaded the dirty glasses into the glass washer, and put clean ones up on the shelves. He took plates back up to the kitchen, four at a time. On his second trip down, he shuffled into the bar quietly. His hands reached around the last stack of plates, counting how many were left. Seven. Could he carry seven? Maybe two trips would be best. He didn't want to drop any halfway up the stairs.
Fizz was concentrating so hard on his task that he didn't notice a figure appear on the other side of the bar. "I'll help you take those up," Ash offered. Fizz jumped in surprise, then felt silly for doing so.
Ash smiled at him.
"I… I'm okay," Fizz said weakly.
"It's no problem." Ash darted a look 'round. Pete had disappeared into the cellar to change a barrel, and Ryan was busy talking to a customer, his back to the pair of them. No one was looking. Ash reached up to hold onto the wooden overhang, then eased himself up. He swung first one leg, then the other over the bar, landing fluidly on the ground on Fizz's side. Fizz realised he must have done that before. Either that, or he was naturally graceful. If Fizz ever tried something like, that he'd fall flat on his face.
He blinked up at Ash. Now what? What was he supposed to do? The back bar, quiet and gloomy, was his little sanctuary. Having Ash here, right next to him, threw him off balance.
Ash grinned at him, then grabbed half the stack of plates. "Okay?"
Fizz felt like a fool. The icy tingle stroked his neck, and he tried to suppress the shudder that followed. Keeping his eyes lowered, he nodded. Fizz picked up the remaining plates, and followed Ash upstairs.
Ash hummed as they walked. Fizz was grateful for that, as it meant he didn't have to think of something to say. The look Matt gave them when they entered the kitchen was genuine surprise, followed by another of those meaningful glares. Fizz got the impression that Matt didn't approve of him being friends with Ash.
What had he done? His mind raced away with the possibilities, as he walked back along the hall with Ash at his side. Before they reached the stairs, Ash stopped.
"Have you seen the function room yet?"
"Huh?"
"The function room," Ash said with smile. "It's well cool. I helped paint it. Come look."
Fizz watched him stride off. Where's he going? Ash ignored the door that led to upstairs, and went to a second door. Fizz hadn't noticed it before. It was heavy, with a security lock, like all the other doors had. Ash punched in a code, then twisted the lock, heaving open the door. It creaked ominously. Inside was dark. There were heavy, thick curtains on large windows. Ash slapped his hand on the wall, flicking a switch several times.
"No one's fixed the lights, I take it. They blew last time we were up here. Help me open the curtains."
"Are we allowed in here?" Fizz asked tentatively.
"Ryan won't mind." Ash grabbed the curtain nearest to him. "The view's great, but not as good as the top of the building. In Pete's room, you can see the whole of the pier, and even out to sea."
Ash pulled hard, drawing the curtain back. Light flooded the room, and Fizz followed him inside.
It was a large, high-ceilinged room, with a tiny bar on the far right. That left the rest of the space open. There were five big, old windows here, just like the ones upstairs in
the staff flats. But instead of faded magnolia, these walls looked fantastic.
They'd been painted dark blue, with smatterings of glittery blobs at various intervals. Fizz thought maybe they were stars. On the lower half of the wall was a frieze of black and red flames, rising up from the floor. The floor itself was bare floorboards, covered in the centre with a large, manky-looking rug. There were some tattered streamers dotted about: the remnants of a party, perhaps.
On the far side of the room was a built-in bench section that ran under the windows. Ash jumped onto it, and tried to pull the curtain back. "Can you give me a hand?"
Fizz carefully stepped onto the ledge. He tugged at the section of curtain that wouldn't come free, and together, they managed to get it open. Fizz found himself gazing out on a perfect view of the Old Steine, and Victoria Gardens. The plaster-cast statues of the pub's own king and queen were just visible on either side of the window.
"Oh, wow." Fizz leaned into the glass for a better look. He loved the figurines, and the way they stood guard over the building.
"Cool, huh?" Ash said, standing next to him. "It's a shame you weren't here in August. We watched the Pride Parade from up here. Best seats in the house."
Fizz breathed in sharply. The flutterings of panic rose in his stomach, but it wasn't the usual, trembling sort of panic he was used to. No, this was much lighter: a feeling tinged with anticipation. This special blend of panic only seemed to appear when he was with Ash. Fizz barely noticed the icy tingle on his neck, but he heard the voice.
"Ask him."
"Are—are you gay?" The words tumbled out of Fizz's mouth before he realised what he was saying.
Ash didn't seem offended. He shrugged, gazing out of the window. "Maybe half. I guess some people would call that bi, but I don't like labels. You just like who you like, right?"
Fizz swallowed. "Do—do your parents...?"
"I think my dad's guessed by now. It's not really an issue with him. He went against an arranged marriage to be with my mum, and they went through all sorts of shit for that. He knows he's not in a position to judge me, so I guess I'm lucky that way."
"Oh." Fizz glanced at Ash's face; the burnished skin, the blacker-than-black hair. "Where's your mum from?"
Ash's smile faded. "Mum was English. Paler than you, even. She died a few years ago."
Fizz winced, hating himself for ever asking the question. "I'm so sorry."
"It's okay." Ash looked at him and smiled.
This time, Fizz didn't look away. He searched those dark eyes. "How old are you?"
"Twenty-one," Ash told him. "I'm in my second year of uni. How about you?"
"Huh?"
"How old are you?"
"Oh." Fizz tried to ignore the heat creeping up his face. "Twenty. I—I never went to... I mean, I never finished school."
A look of concern passed over Ash's face. "Oh, right."
Fizz looked away, more embarrassed than he ever remembered feeling in his life. He hated admitting to not finishing school. Why had he even said anything? He didn't want anyone—least of all someone like Ash—to know how utterly useless he was.
Ash shrugged. "School is overrated anyway. Don't know about yours, but the school I went to was proper rubbish. The other kids mucked about so much, I swear our teachers gave up. I didn't learn anything decent until I went to college."
"Really?"
"Yeah, totally. So many of us failed the exams. Guess we weren't paying much attention, to be fair. When we got to college, loads of us had to retake stuff."
"Like what?"
"Oh, the basics. Maths, English, Science." Ash absently traced the rim of flaking window pane with his finger. "I know he's older than us, but did you know Ryan failed most of his exams, too? And he didn't go to college either, he just jumped straight into work. Look at him now, working his way up the ladder here. Although—" he grinned, "—between you and me, I think Ryan would do any job going, so long as he was close to you know who."
"Oh, right. Does Ryan—I mean, are you sure he likes Dan that way?"
Ash just kept smiling at him. Fizz had to look away. He was suddenly very aware of a warm flush stealing over his whole body, and the fact that he was alone with Ash.
"Look out there." Ash pointed at the window, distracting him. Fizz looked, then froze in panic, as Ash moved his body to stand next to him. Ash pressed his finger to the window, pointing at something in the distance, as he dipped his face near to Fizz's. "See out there?" he said. "That contraption on the skyline, the one that looks like a giant jack hammer?"
Fizz tried to stay calm. He looked to where Ash was pointing. He'd forgotten to breathe, and had to quickly suck in a breath. "Um, where?"
Ash moved his head slightly lower, to see from Fizz's height. He adjusted his finger on the window. "That tall one there. Over the top of the pier domes. See it?"
Fizz followed with his eyes, focussing past the decorated points of the Palace Pier. Sure enough, there was something that looked like a giant jack hammer, or a crane, behind the domes.
"I don't know if you've been on it yet," Ash said. "But that ride kinda flings people up and down, like a giant slingshot. The whole pier jerks a bit when it does that."
"I—I haven't been on the pier."
Ash moved back slightly to blink at him. "What, never?"
Fizz shook his head. Those dark eyes trapped him again. Even though the panic danced in his belly, he found he couldn't look away.
"The pier's amazing." Ash said. "Well, I mean, it's kinda lame with all the kiddie rides and the arcade full of morons... but apart from that, it's got great views, and the best hot donuts ever in the history of all mankind!"
Fizz wondered how to tell Ash that he'd never be able to set foot near the pier, let alone walk on it. All those people. The thought terrified him. But the way Ash looked at him now made him feel awful for even thinking like a defeatist. In his mind's eye, Fizz saw himself walking along the pier with Ash. Maybe, he thought. Maybe—
"Fizz, there you are." A familiar voice broke into his thoughts. Fizz whipped around, almost stumbling against the window. Ash grabbed his arm to steady him. Ginger was at the door, eyeing them both. "What are you doing?"
"Just checking out the view," Ash said casually. "Fizz hadn't seen it yet."
"Hm." Ginger frowned in response. "Fizz, I'm going to the kitchen to get a roast. Go wait upstairs, and I'll bring one up for you, too."
Fizz's heart sank. "Okay," he said quietly. Ash's fingers released his arm, allowing him to step down on his own. Fizz kept his face lowered as he hurried past Ginger, then lingered at the door. He hoped Ash wasn't in too much trouble.
"Come on, Ash," Ginger said, a touch of annoyance in his voice. "Get back downstairs. I'm sure the others are missing you."
"Oh, always," Ash quipped, getting down from the window. He didn't hang around, clearly wary of getting on Ginger's nerves. He hurried away, flicking one last conspiratory look at Fizz before he left.
Chapter 10
They were supposed to be having a rehearsal, but all they'd done for the last hour was bicker. Ryan wasn't sure he could take much more of this. He hadn't been sleeping well lately. When he eventually did manage to get to sleep, his dreams left him in knots of tension. In his last one, he'd actually told Ginger how he felt. The answer he'd received was a bland and uncaring, "What do you expect me to do about it?" Ryan woke in a panic, resolving once again to never, ever breathe a word of his crush to anyone. Least of all Ginger.
It would fade in time, he kept telling himself. It wasn't worth losing their friendship over.
Was it?
Ryan was dragged away from his endless agonizing as the bickering stepped up a notch. Dee and Ash were having a disagreement over the cover songs in their set. The set which currently consisted of only three original songs, and not all that brilliant either, in Ryan's opinion. He'd already suggested they keep practising, but Dee really wanted to play Sunday Slam.
Ash had agreed
with Ryan, and said it was too soon to play live. Glen obviously didn't care either way, and never bothered stating his views. Even now, he wasn't paying attention to the argument, fiddling with his drumsticks.
"If we mix two songs together, no one will know it's a cover," Dee said, yet again.
Ash rolled his eyes. "Or we could hurry up writing our own songs, so we don't come off looking and sounding like a bunch of idiots."
Glen yawned. Ryan pulled the guitar strap over his head and placed his guitar back in its stand. "Shall we call it a day? I've got a headache."
"Yeah, me too," Ash said.
Everyone agreed and downed tools. Glen stood up from his drum kit and stretched. Dee was still wittering away about cover songs, insisting that no one would notice if they merged two songs together.
Ryan's shoes crunched on something. He glanced down, remembering the mess of sand from Dee's not-that-great egg boxes idea. Dee's plan for sound proofing hadn't worked, surprise, surprise. The egg boxes were still stapled to the wall, the sand having simply poured out of them. At the time, Ryan had laughed heartily, especially as Dee had been proved wrong. Now, he was annoyed because he knew who'd get stuck cleaning all that sand away.
"I still want to cover ‘Let's Go To Hell’," Ash announced.
"No," Dee said flatly.
Ash gave him a level look. "What do you mean, no? Who died and made you king of the band?"
Ryan bit his lip. Those two were obviously determined to have a spat today. The question was, did he let them get on with it, or step in? It seemed bad tempers had been brewing since they'd entered the pigeon loft over three hours ago.
"We're not covering Backyard Babies," Dee said.
Ash stared at him incredulously. "Why the hell not?"
"Only girls listen to Backyard Babies," Dee retorted.
"In case you weren't aware, Dee, girls make up half the audience at Sunday Slam," Ash said. "Sometimes more."
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