by Julie Archer
Ah, you’d be surprised. I replied.
You’d better not be cheating on me already!!! This is our first official date, remember???
As if. Who’d be foolish enough to do that?
To use your words, you’d be surprised…
I paused before replying. She’d told me more in a couple of messages than she had done when we’d talked at brunch the other day.
Where are you?
A part of me hoped she was at home, preparing for the trip in the same way I had been.
But this was Saff Barnes.
Her response was a picture message of her and a girlfriend sipping from glasses of champagne, no doubt in a club somewhere. I recognised her friend as Rosie Tatton; the model. They both looked wasted. I glanced at the time. Ten thirty on a Thursday night, obviously nowhere near time to be going home yet.
I chewed the inside of my cheek, wondering whether to send her one back. But I was in bed in only my boxers. It was too soon to be sending her that kind of picture, even as a joke. Instead, I found the shot of me in the suit and sent it instead, not expecting any response.
Almost immediately, she replied with hearts and the drooling emoji. I hoped it was a compliment.
You should be heading home soon. We’ve got a long journey tomorrow.
I can sleep on the train, lol
Oh, so you’re going to be amazing company then…how am I going to get to know you better?
After I’d pressed send, I instantly regretted the last question. Why would she want to get to know me better anyway? This was purely a business arrangement, not real life. As long as I knew the basics, I didn’t need to know anything else.
We’ve got the whole weekend together; you’ll get to know me. Night Tris xxx
I stared at Saff’s last message, the dots telling me she wasn’t active any longer.
Maybe Aunt Annie was right. I needed to be careful. I didn’t want to get hurt.
Although a small voice in my head told me it might already have been too late.
15
Saff
We nearly missed the train.
Obviously it was all my fault.
After staying out with Rosie until stupid o’clock, I slept through my alarm and didn’t wake up until Jonas started hammering on my door. In a fit of organisation I had, at least, got the essentials for the trip ready and all I had to do was throw in a few bits. Anything else I’d have to buy in Manchester.
Tris had worked with his uncle in the morning, already showered and changed, and was sitting in the living room waiting for me when I barrelled down the stairs with my stuff.
“Late night?” He quirked an eyebrow at me.
I remembered our message exchange and him telling me I ought to go home. I really should have taken his advice. For once, I wasn’t horribly hungover, just tired. The shoot had been fun and going out with Rosie always guaranteed good times, but staying out late when I had a big weekend ahead hadn’t been the best idea. Rosie had spent much of the evening grilling me about Tris. Clearly, the uni explanation hadn’t washed with her. I answered as best I could, trying to remember the salient points, so when I finally introduced Tris to Rosie, he wouldn’t screw up the story.
Jonas warned me I’d be asked questions about Tris and about the band, so I had to be sure I had the stories straight. The band responses were easy. The fact Tommo was joining TheSB had become common knowledge, plus Darren and I had been working on new stuff, so I had the band covered.
Tris was a whole different story.
A story I determined to get to know on the two and a half hour train journey.
Which, we nearly missed.
We got to the platform as the guard was about to close the doors, but we managed to get on board.
Our tickets were in First Class, and we found our seats easily. The other passengers in the carriage stared at us as Tris hoisted our luggage onto the rack. I’m pretty sure they felt the girl with pink hair, tattoos and a nose ring didn’t belong with them in their business suits and designer labels. I sat down and smiled at them all, safe in the knowledge my shoot yesterday had probably earned me more than their annual salaries - and that was with pink hair.
“Can I relax now?” I asked Tris as I sank into my seat. We had a table for four and sat opposite each other.
“Well, apparently you’re going to be catching up on your beauty sleep, so I guess the answer is yes.” Tris gave me a crooked smile and then turned to pull a magazine out of his bag. “I came prepared in case I got bored. Oh, and I brought these in case I needed to block out your snoring.” He waved his headphones at me.
“You don’t know if I snore!” I protested.
“You were this morning.”
“Were you spying on me?”
A flush crept up the side of his neck. “I, um, popped up to your room to see if you were awake.”
It was cute to think he had done that. I wasn’t bothered if he had seen me sleeping. After all, he’d put me to bed the other night when we’d been out. And I’d been in a much worse state then.
“It’s okay, I don’t mind. It was sweet of you to check.”
If anything, my comment made the colour on his neck even redder. He mumbled something under his breath, then shoved his headphones on, curtailing any further conversation. A pang of disappointment curled up in my chest. I had been hoping we could chat on the journey, do the whole getting-to-know-you thing. We had to pretend to be a proper couple tomorrow night and I didn’t want to be the one who fucked it up. You know, like I usually did.
I stuffed my own earphones in and started listening to the rough recording Darren and I had made the other day of the new songs. To the untrained ear, it might have sounded like a whole bunch of unconnected riffs and mumbled warblings, but to us, we knew it was the start of something special. It made me glance over at Tris who appeared to be engrossed in his copy of GQ.
“Any drinks? Sandwiches? Cake?” The train manager appeared next to us with the trolley full of goodies.
We hadn’t had time to get any train snacks and I was starving. I hadn’t eaten anything since… Actually I didn’t remember. Maybe Rosie and I had got food somewhere last night. Or maybe not. It was all a bit cloudy still.
“Please, I’d love a black coffee. And a cheese sandwich and…” My gaze ran over the sweet treats, I definitely felt like I needed the sugar. “One of those blueberry muffins.” I kicked Tris under the table. He looked up and frowned as I gestured to the trolley.
“Oh, right.” He perused the options. “Can I have a bottle of water and a chicken sandwich please?”
“Not a problem. Anything else, sir?” The train manager busied himself with preparing our options.
Tris shook his head. “No, that’s great. Thanks.”
I reached into my bag and found my purse, tapping my card on the machine and paying for the sandwiches; everything else was part of First Class hospitality. I was desperate not to lose Tris to his headphones again and wanted to start a conversation.
“How long have you been working with your uncle?” I asked, breaking off a piece of the muffin. It looked more appetising than the sandwich.
He unscrewed his bottle of water, taking his time in answering. “A little while,” he replied vaguely. “I moved down south to help him out.”
“Oh, right so where did you live before?”
His eyes clouded over, eyeing me with suspicion. “Why all the questions all of a sudden?”
“In case a journo asks me something I don’t know the answer to.” I shrugged. “There are likely to be people who will be interested in us, how we met, what you do, where you’re from etc.”
“Really? I’m not that interesting. I’m a builder’s mate. Plus, I thought we met at uni.” The corner of his mouth quirked up.
I smacked my forehead. “Of course! That’s what I’ve been telling people, isn’t it?”
Tris nodded. “Good to see you’ve got your own story sorted.” There was a pause bef
ore he said, “Do you think people will really be asking questions?”
“You know I’m pretty much a staple of the gossip columns, right? After all the latest Troy Carson nonsense, I’m meant to be cleaning up my act. It seems to be working though, The Goss were quite complimentary about me for once.” Even Jonas hadn’t mentioned the latest story.
“I guess.” He fell silent for a moment, studying the table and twisting his bottle around in his hands. “It’s… well, I’m not used to this level of attention. I don’t want to do or say something wrong and let you down.”
I reached across the table and stroked the back of his hand. “Don’t worry, you won’t let me down. I’m perfectly capable of doing that myself.”
16
Tris
When Saff started asking all the questions about where I was from and what I did, my blood ran cold. I couldn’t risk telling her the truth.
She was trying to make a fresh start with a good, clean-cut guy.
Or at least with someone she thought fitted the bill.
It would be fine. I had to tell myself that.
Instead of worrying any more about it, I turned my attention to Saff’s question.
“You and Jonas have an interesting relationship,” I began. “How did he get to be your manager?” I took a bite of the chicken sandwich. It was disappointing. The chicken was rather dry and there was barely any mayo, meaning it was practically tasteless.
Saff bit her lip. “He’s looked after me since I was twelve.”
“Really? You’ve been in the music business since then?”
She shook her head. “No. I mean he’s actually looked after me since then. My mother died, and I didn’t know my dad. To be honest, I’m not sure she did either. I think I was the product of a one-night stand she never saw again. Jonas is all the family I’ve ever had.”
Saff had lost her mother at the exact same age as I had.
The connection wasn’t lost on me.
An air of sadness and vulnerability fell over her as she wrapped her arms around her chest. It took me all of my willpower not to move over to her side of the table and gather her up.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to drag that up. You don’t have to say anything else.”
“It’s fine, I’m okay about it.” Her tone was light, but her eyes belied it. “And it’s only fair I tell you.”
“I get it, I really do.” Thinking of my own mum made me long to be eleven years old again. Back to a time when life had been carefree and innocent and I didn’t know anything of the shit time that was to come. “My mum passed away when I was twelve too.”
“Oh, Tris, I’m so sorry.” Saff’s hand snaked across the table again, gently touching mine and I was both comforted and turned on by her touch. “Was it sudden?”
“Car accident,” I managed, suddenly choking up. “She went out one night and didn’t come home.” The memories of that night came back to me with startling clarity. I remembered how my dad had broken the news to me with his usual care and tact. Was it any wonder I didn’t hold any respect for him?
Saff’s eyes filled with tears. “I think I might have preferred that to watching my mother get progressively sicker and weaker. Basically becoming a shell of the woman she once was.” She blinked hard. “Cancer’s a bitch.”
I gripped her hand a little bit tighter as we became lost in our own thoughts, no doubt thinking similar things. Sad though the connection was, it made me feel closer to Saff.
“How did you get into music then?” I asked, steering us away from our painful thoughts.
“It was my escape. I think my mum loved to sing too. Jonas showed me some pictures of her when they were teenagers, at open mic nights and in competitions before she got sick. Coming up with lyrics and tunes made me forget about what happened.”
I nodded. There had been times in the recent past where I would have given anything to be able to escape. But I didn’t sing or write, or create. I wished I could, it would certainly have helped with the excruciating boredom. Saff took a bite of her own sandwich and made a face, making me think her opinion of the food was the same as mine. “Jonas always worked in music. Even when he was a teenager, he was always scouting out bands in pubs and approaching record labels on their behalf. And I really did meet Darren and Barney at university and we formed a band. With Jonas’ contacts and our obvious talent.” She flung her hands in the air. “We were destined for amazing things. Here we are, three years after being signed and trying to work on the difficult second album.” She pushed her phone over to me. “You can listen to the stuff Darren and I were working on the other day if you like.”
I pulled out the jack of her headphones and put mine in its place. Firing up the app she’d used to record, Saff pressed play.
The quality of the recording wasn’t great, and I could barely make out her voice, but the song had definite potential. Her tone was spot on and Darren’s guitar playing didn’t overwhelm it.
“It’s pretty rough.” She played it down, although I could tell she was keen to hear my thoughts.
“It’s good.” I met her eyes. She was staring at me expectantly as if my opinion was important to her, like it mattered. I’d known her four days and already I was critiquing her new work. “And I like rough.”
Her mouth curled up into a smile. I couldn’t help staring at her lips, plump and glossy. For a fleeting moment I wondered what they would taste like. I had to stop thinking like that. This was simply a relationship of convenience. Nothing else.
The rest of the journey passed quickly. We exchanged tales about university, friends, other hobbies; real stories to find out more about each other. It was easy to talk about the past with Saff, but I was wary of bringing too much of my recent history into the conversation and deliberately kept it vague. She didn’t seem to notice when I batted things off or turned the questions on her.
Before long, we were walking up to the hotel. As we walked in, I felt the immediate disapproval of the receptionist who gave a cold glance in Saff’s direction. I realised she probably got treated badly by people who judged her on appearance alone. In the sleek, elegant, sophisticated lobby of the hotel, I’d say she stood out delightfully with her pink hair, leather jacket and biker boots. I’d put money on the fact if a reality TV star appeared in the same outfit, they’d be welcomed with open arms, not suspicion.
“Can I help you?” Her tone was as Arctic as her stare as she directed the question to me.
Saff took charge. “Yeah, hi. We’ve got a room booked in the name of Barnes. Two nights.”
The receptionist’s perfectly manicured fingernails tapped on her keyboard as she found the booking. As she read the information on the screen, her demeanour changed instantly.
“Ah, yes, Miss Barnes. You have one of the penthouse suites; let me get your key card for you.” She turned away for a moment, flicking through a box on the desk behind her.
“Money talks,” Saff whispered. “I knew Jonas’ PA had booked us something pretty special.” She gestured to the woman with her chin. “And that confirms it.”
“Here you go. The room is already paid for, but if you’d like anything charged to the room, I’ll need a card.” She looked toward me, but Saff brandished her credit card.
“You can use this one.” Saff gave her a tight smile as she took the details.
“Lovely, thank you. You’re right up on the top floor.” The receptionist gave Saff her card back, then slid the keys across the counter towards me. “Do give us a call if you need anything at all.”
I picked up our bags and we made our way to the lifts. It was certainly an experience being in a place like this, with someone like Saff. I wanted to make sure I enjoyed every moment.
“Wow.” I whistled as we entered the suite.
It was an enormous, split level affair. We came in to a living/dining area with a massive LCD TV on the wall, and a midi stereo with iPod dock. Leading off from it was a huge bathroom with a roll top free-standing bath, a s
eparate shower and double sink units, while there was a mezzanine bed deck with another flat screen TV and en suite toilet.
I had never been in something quite so luxurious. Usually if I stayed away from home, it was in the cheapest B&B or chain hotel I could find. Nothing like this.
“Wait, there’s only one bed.” Even amongst all the good stuff, I’d managed to find a flaw.
“Yeah, but it looks like a king size,” commented Saff. “Plenty of room for us both.”
The thought of actually sleeping next to her scared me a little. What if I had an involuntary reaction to being so close to her and she thought badly of me? I couldn’t risk it. Luckily, it looked as if the sofa would be able to accommodate me, as long as there was some extra bedding.
“It’s fine, I’ll sleep on the sofa.”
“Don’t be silly, you don’t have to do that.” Saff shook her head. “I’ll feel bad if you do. After all, it’s because of me you’re here and you shouldn’t have to suffer.”
I didn’t want to tell her spending time around her was enough and I definitely wouldn’t be suffering.
“Or I could see if they’ve got another room?” she added.
“Because that will go down well if someone tips off your gossip columnists or whoever they are. Imagine the headlines of ‘Saff Barnes and her new boyfriend already in lover’s tiff as he sleeps in a separate room’.” I used air quotes to indicate the potential headline. “Seriously, Saff, it’s not a problem. I’ve slept on worse places than that sofa.” I wasn’t even joking. With the squishy looking cushions and acres of space, it was a hell of a lot more inviting than the bunk bed I’d gotten used to. And even though I’d already witnessed Saff’s snoring, I knew it wouldn’t be anywhere near as bad as my old roommate’s.
17
Saff
Tris was amazing. I couldn’t get over the fact he wanted to sleep on the sofa instead of in bed with me.