Chapter Text
He didn't phone. I reckoned he wouldn't. My number was probably still in his jacket, forgotten, a lost relic. This would be one of those stories I'd tell my mates on nights out, shouting over music, that Alex Turner asked for my number, and I was too pissed to even care. But a part of me did care, I tried not to feel too deflated. I wasn't looking for anything with anyone, not after what had happened. He was just a bloke from my past that I met at the pub......whose band also happened to be plastered over my brothers bedroom walls. Jesus, Isla.
That was just over two months ago. Cigarette smoke and the raging hangover I woke up with were now an afterthought. It was Tuesday night, and an alive one as I walked through the back door of Brassic!, my scuffed gazelles echoing on the rubber floor. I poked my head around the edge of the office door where my dad sat, glasses on the bridge of his nose reading paperwork as music dully blared through the wall.
"Dyl's on the bar tonight, make sure he doesn't give his mates free drinks" Was all he said, not looking up from whatever it was he was looking over. I momentarily looked at the picture beside his computer, my mother on a beach somewhere smiling back at me.
"If he's giving his 16 year old mates free drinks, I think you're gonna have to take it up with Tony on the doors" I chuckled, lifting a coke out of the mini fridge in the corner of the room, cracking it open, bubbles spewing out. Taking a swig, I set it on the desk leaving my father to the accounts, making my way to the bathroom, where I applied a thick coat of an off red lipstick, flicking my fringe so it fell somewhat satisfactorily. Rubbing a stain of makeup off my black Fred Perry shirt, I pushed open the door and was immediately met with noise. My face was now illuminated in flashing red, the smell of synthetic smoke filling my nostrils.
"Alright, Isla!" A semi-familiar voice rose over the mass of sound, an old friend from school. I gave him a nod, pushing past dancing bodies. A couple were going at it in the corner, tongues down each others throat.
"Oi, Mark, keep it in your keks yeah?" I yelled, to which he detached his face from a girl I didn't recognise, and told me to 'fuck off' with a cackle of laughter.
I made my way down the steps, the colour red merging into the main part of the club. A DJ stood on the stage, miraged in coloured smoke. My brother, Dylan, barely 17 and pouring a pint poorly stood behind the bar that was starting to become busy.
"Thank god you're here. I've had three people ask me for Guinness, I think they just want to see me suffer" Dylan groaned, shaking the sweat off his hair to which I grimaced and moved out of the way. "Must be your turn" He then spoke, nodding to two girls in almost identical outfits who approached. They ordered 4 tequila shots, placing the money down on the counter. I quickly dipped the rim of four shot glasses in salt, before pouring the tequila all to roughly the same height. I finished them off with a slice of lime, taking the money and giving them their change.
"Dad says you've got to leave a key for Jeff tomorrah" Dylan called over Oasis (Tuesdays were indie rock night). I frowned, Jeff had been here the longest other than myself. He was probably the only one dad trusted to run the club in his absence other than myself. Pity, Jeff was dead annoying and desperate to get with any girl in a 1 mile radius. I reckoned it was a coping mechanism for being constantly friend zoned by Zoya for the last 5 years. "He's going to see Keith in Liverpool for a couple days, he's not well or sunmat"
"Right." I nodded, leaning against the back cabinet my face being distantly illuminated with coloured lights. "Aren't you workin'?"
"Nah, I'm going to the monkeys gig with my mates" I looked up when he said this, my interest slightly peaked. They were in Manchester? The excessive playing of their songs by the DJ on the stage was beginning to make sense.
"Oh. They're playing?" I queried, deciding to busy myself with clearing glasses so that he couldn't see the expression on my face. I was only asking a question. I was cool.
"Yeah, you want a ticket? Steve's selling one" Steve was Dylan's best mate, a compulsive shifter of nicked goods and cheap tickets that I wasn't sure were valid. Steve was a laugh I supposed. He didn't have much. He was around our house most weekends for dinner. There were worse out there.
"No tah" 23 year old Isla would have said 'go on then'. 24 year old Isla couldn't listen to the Arctic Monkeys without thinking of telling Alex Turner she'd had a tactical chunder. Bloody hell. I squeezed my eyes shut at the mere thought of it. And then my battered Blackberry started ringing in my back pocket. I slipped it out of my green and black tartan skirt, looking at the screen. No caller ID. Of course. See if this was fucking Olivia on someone else's phone. I pressed the answer button with fervour, entirely ready to have an argument if it was necessary "Hello?"
"Isla. It's Alex" Not Olivia. Not her high pitched posh Mancunian accent that mocked my stronger one. Not Mancunian at all.
"Alex?....Alex." I muttered, not because I was trying to recollect the many Alex's I knew (none, not including the one on the phone), but rather I was not expecting him to call. Realising I had just repeated his name instead of saying anything else, I passed it off as if I was only understanding who was calling. "ALEX" I called over the music and clatter of glasses "Am I shoutin'? It's very loud"
"I can 'ear that" He chuckled, as I pressed the speaker to my ear leaning to hear him. I motioned to Dylan to continue to serve people, as I was currently occupied "Where are ya?"
"I'm workin', why?" I queried, handing Dylan a tea towel after he'd overfilled a pint of lager, the orange liquid spouting over the glass onto the counter.
"I just wanted to apologise for not calling sooner. I've been touring, n' stuff. But I'm in Manchester for the next two nights" I stopped, biting my lip. Dylan looked at me with a raised eyebrow.
"Yeah, I heard you were doing a show" I lowered my voice, turning away from my brother's prying eyes and ears. As if on cue, a glass smashed on the floor behind me, glass skidding under my feet. "Hold on a moment-DYLAN FUCKIN' 'ELL" I yelled over the noise, walking into the store to get the brush and pan. He took it off me with a sour face, getting to work at cleaning it up. He was a more than competent barman, if he'd stop messing around.
"Who's Dylan?" Alex queried, and I thought I heard him laugh at my distant yells. I found my cheeks reddening, as I cleared my throat.
"He's me brother. He's an idiot" I scoffed, but feeling a little guilty at my sharpness, I decided to help him clean the rest of the glass off the floor, shining a torch for him. I heaved myself off my knees, my shitty phone audio failing miserably. "Wait a moment, I'm goin' out the back. I can hardly hear" I walked up the stairs, ignoring the several greetings from people I hadn't seen in at least a year. That was the thing about living around here, everyone knew me. And I knew them. I pushed open the fire door, feeling the freezing cool air travel through my auburn hair.
"Can I see y'?" Alex suddenly asked, before he coughed away from the speaker.
"What? Like right now?" I asked, my eyebrows knitting together in confusion. I walked around the front of the club, onto the busy street filled with traffic and young people on nights out on the pavements. There was already a line forming in the kebab shop across the road.
"Yeah" He replied, and I immediately frowned. Not because I didn't want to see him, but rather because his answer seemed to echo. That hadn't come from the other line. I looked up, to see him leaning against the side of the wall, a cigarette between his lips. I couldn't help but smirk, leaning against the wall adjacent.
"You're insane" I shook my head with a laugh, but there was a part of me that was rather smitten that he'd come. And then I remembered what men were like, and the feeling subsided.
"You're sober" He fired back at me. Sober. Talking to him drunk was like having the stabilisers on a bike, and now that I was sober I wondered if the stabilisers would be violently ripped off. "How was the 'angover?"
"Every time I think of it, I want to chunder" My face scrunched up in disgust, my stomach churning at the mere thought of waking up that morning. I watched him put out his cigarette before he closed some of the distance between us. "What're you doing 'ere?" I asked, sliding my phone back into my pocket.
"I wanted to see the club this drunk girl told me so much about" He motioned to the neon sign above my head that flickered red, 'BRASSIC!''. I reckoned he'd been to hundreds of clubs all over, that were probably no different than this one. Why would he want to see another one a drunk girl on the steps of the pub told him about? It was then I realised what day it was. Indie rock Tuesdays. Fuck me.
"Oh, no you can't come in" I snorted a laugh, standing in front of the side door.
"Why not?" He questioned, looking at me. It was awhile since I'd had a man look at me, rather than look down at me. I was 5'4, Charlie that son of bitch had been almost 6 foot. I didn't want to think of Charlie anymore.
"Because listen" My foot etched open the door and music slipped its way out. Alex's own voice rose between us.
You're rarer than a can of dandelion and burdock
And those other girls are just postmix lemonade
Suck it and see you never know
"Ah" He nodded in understanding, amused by the entire thing or rather just the expression on my face.
"Yeah, in there's a Petri dish of teenage Arctic monkey fans" I pointed dramatically over my shoulder, which only added to his enjoyment. He could laugh all he liked, I was a teenage girl not so long ago, I knew what they could be like.
"They're probably so full they won't even know" He shrugged, hands in the pockets of his leather jacket.
"You're quite recognisable" My eyes narrowed, crossing my arms to extenuate my point.
"Am I?" He raised his eyebrows, and I wasn't sure if it was because it was fucking freezing or-whatever else-but a lightness travelled over my chest and I took a deep inhale passing it off as an exasperated sigh.
"Yeah" I muttered, before deciding I didn't care anymore. It was almost below freezing, I wasn't going to stand out here and argue with him. "Shite. Alright." I swung the door open, the heat of the club immediately being a comfort. We walked down the brightly lit corridor, music echoing in the background, each wall plastered with photos of the staff and the bands that had played. He stopped at a candid photo that my father had taken of me outside the front of the club, a black beret on top of my head and a cheetah print coat wrapped around me. "C'mon" I whispered, sort of hurrying him past my dad's office, and to the doors at the end. I held the door open for him, our faces being illuminated in red, smoke filling the space between us. He looked at me briefly, and then our eye contact was broken with the calling of my name.
"Isla!!" A familiar dark haired girl came bounding up to me, her arm clamping onto my arm the smell of Britney spears perfume and booze radiating off her.
"Oh hey, Zoya" Zoya was one of the few actual friends I had in Manchester, but I hadn't talked to her or any of the others in my friend group since my birthday. They were friends with her, it just felt weird. But I missed her. And her family. Dinner at the Gills was always my favourite.
"How are you, girl, y'know after everything?" She asked, and I almost laughed. How was I? Oh, you know, fan-fucking-tastic.
"As one would expect " I cleared my throat, looking at Alex out of the corner of my eye, wanting nothing more than this conversation to be over.
"I'm not talkin' to her either" She called into my ear, placing a hand on my shoulder. I wasn't sure if the hand was to comfort me or to ensure her ability to stand upright.
"You don't have to do that" I admitted honestly; I wasn't expecting her and the others to stop talking to Olivia because she fucked my boyfriend. No, wait. Maybe that was the bare minimum that they could do.
"No, I do. What she did was dead shitty" She spat out, shaking her head in exaggerated anger. It was then that her eyes fell on Alex. I doubted Zoya would recognise him. It was so long ago and these days she listened to Kylie Minogue and that was about it. She stood up a little straighter, as if the mere sight of him knocked some sobriety into her. "Oh, hello. I'm Zoya, are you a mate of Isla's?" She called over the music, her hand still on my shoulder.
"Yeah, Alex" He replied, giving her outstretched hand a shake. I rolled my eyes. Zoya could flirt with the bloody wall. But I liked Zoya. She was entirely different from me and I found it quite refreshing to get along with someone that was the complete opposite of me. Zoya looked between Alex and I, with a sense of realisation.
"Wait, band guy....from that dickheads party in Sheffield?" She tilted her head, looking Alex up and down unapologetically.
"Yeah, I reckon I fall under that title" he chuckled, glancing at me sheepishly.
"Jesus christ, you've grown up" she widened her eyes, smacking the piece of gum that was in her mouth.
"Alright, have a nice night, Zo" I quickly inputted, as he looked at me rather relieved. The two of us walked through the large space that almost looked apocalyptic with the odd flash of light through complete red.
"Mate, huh?" I shouted to him through the noise, raising an eyebrow. His hand that had rose to the small of my back to lead me through a group of people, pulled me to a stop.
"What was I supposed to say?" He asked, the two of us standing face to face.
"You hardly know me" I replied with a shrug. Was that cold? But wasn't it the truth? I was still confused by this. Not insecure, in a 'why me' kind of way. No, just dubious.
"It doesn't have to stay that way" He moved forward calling into my ear. I wanted nothing more for him to flirt with me like this. I knew guys like him, bloody hell, I'd dated guys like him before Charlie, and it was working like it always did. And there was that bedroom and the yelling, and my heart sank.
"Look, I'm going to be really frank with ya" I told him, directly into his ear, his hand now resting on the same shoulder that Zoya's had. "I've just got out of a relationship that ended really badly. I know we had...a moment at that party. But it was so long ago" I wasn't looking for anything. That was the truth, wasn't it? Or was it just easier and easier on the heart?
"Then I'll be frank too. It doesn't have to be like that. I've just got out of a relationship meself remember?" He replied surprisingly well. I thought I'd put him off with my bluntness, but there he stood almost seeing right through me. We weren't looking for anything. I nodded, exchanging a glance between my adidas shoes before he looked at me and chuckled. "Fuckin' 'ell you don't mess about do you?"
"Sorry" I replied before I too laughed. I was like my mother in that way. I wasn't one for waiting around to say things. Why wait? If I thought about something for too long I would never say it.
"Never apologise for that" He called back into my ear, before we walked down the stairs, the red hue lifting from our faces.
"Heya Isla!" Steve, Dylan's mate in question, yelled, giving me a thumbs up from where he stood with a girl that looked like she'd rather be anywhere but there talking to him. He then looked at Alex, and I seen the recognition wash over his face " .....is that-?"
"No but I think they share the same barber" I quickly shouted back, the two of us disappearing behind the bar. Alex let out a laugh, a complete and chesty one that I didn't know he had in him. "Want a drink? On the house" I asked him, as the two of us stood behind the large pillar that divided the bar in half.
"Whatever's going" He shrugged, and I took two Peronis out of the bottom fridge, cracking the bottle tops off with the bottle opener built into the counter. I handed him one. Technically I wasn't allowed to drink on the job, but technically I wasn't supposed to be working tonight. My father wasn't shy of a hot toddy or two in his office himself.
"Cheers" He nodded, before looking over my shoulder at pictures of more artists that had played here. These pictures were older, most artists having gone on to be successful "The Strokes played here?"
"Yeah, 2001." I rhymed off, remembering the gig quite well. I was 14, my auburn hair streaked with riot orange before riot orange was a thing. It looked terrible but I thought I was the coolest. There was a picture of me with Julian Casablancas somewhere back home. Huh. I made a note to fish that out from wherever it lay in my room. "It was a good one"
"I'll fucking bet. I first seen em' in 2003. Ally Pally. Took the bus down" I could tell by the way his eyes lit up that he was a fan. Fucking hell, he probably knew them personally now. I smiled softly at him studying the pictures (most I'd taken myself) and other local newspaper clippings mentioning the gigs. It was then that Dylan appeared, having been busy serving people at the other side of the bar
"Isla, where the hell did you go?-is that?" He immediately stopped when he seen Alex.
"Yeah" I nodded, raising my eyebrows and shaking my head at him, 'don't be weird'. "Alex, this is my brother Dylan"
"Alright, man" He outstretched his hand, and Dylan had no choice but to panickily wipe the sweat off his hands and shake it rather stiffly.
"Uhm yeah-yes it's nice to meet you Mr Tur-Alex-sir" He struggled over his words, looking at him as if he was a devout Christian seeing God in his fucking living room.
"Jesus Christ" I muttered under my breath, rubbing my temple for a moment.
"Big fan" Dylan admitted in one airy breath. Alex, looked over at me once again amused by the entire thing, humoured by the dynamic between my brother and I.
"Ah, that's good to hear." He nodded, but there was sincerity in it. "You coming tomorrah night?"
"Yeah-me mate got some nosebleeds" Dylan replied, scratching the back of his head, seemingly coming down from his moment of being star struck.
"Listen, man, I'll put you on the guestlist." Alex told him, taking a swig from the bottle I'd handed him. I thanked a guy who left two empty glasses on the counter, putting them in the box under the bar to be cleaned. "I was going to put your sister on it anyway"
"You were?" I queried, appearing beside him with a raised eyebrow.
"Yeah, if you want to come?" It was a question, but there was something in his eye that seemed like he really hoped the answer would be yes. How could I have said no? I wouldn't have said no. I wasn't looking for anything, but it was just a show, just a band. It was fine. He was fine-
"I mean yeah-I would like that." I nodded, with a small smile and he looked down for a moment, in that way people did when they were trying hard not to smile themselves.
"Good" He admitted, taking another swig of beer. Good. I looked away, taking a swig of my own drink. The Wombats were playing over the speakers. It was 11:30.
I've met someone that makes me feel seasick
Oh, what a skill to have, oh, what a skill
I could feel Dylan's eyes on the two of us for the rest of the night. When Alex bid me goodbye, telling me to just say my name at the VIP entrance tomorrow (or rather that night seeing as it was well past midnight) I turned to my brother, whose hands were now running through his hair in disbelief
"Isla?!" He yelled at me in frustrated confusion as if to say, 'how dare you bring the Alex Turner here'.
"If you tell dad about this-" I began, crossing my arms. My father famously hated any man I associated with. After Charlie, that had only intensified. I pictured my father eyeing Alex up and down, looking like the poster boy for bad boys. I could almost hear him.
"What the hell is going on?!" Dylan interrupted my thoughts, still freaking out about the last hour. He then leaned forward, resting his arm on the bar "How do you know Alex Turner?"
"It's a long story" I called to him, throwing a cloth in his face before I left the bar collecting glasses, having had enough of the conversation. But I couldn't help but laugh and shake my head. What the hell was I doing?