A/N: SMUT AHEAD
sorry i've left this update for so long, i have been somewhat distracted by what i won't describe as a love affair, but at least an emotional fuck affair.
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Saturday 29th April 1995, 09:19pm
The Underground,
London
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Jamie crossed his legs. He then uncrossed them. Could he possibly do this? She hadn't seen him in years, they'd hardly even met. Oh well, it's not like she'd know. She wouldn't know the effort he'd gone to to be invited to this party. Perhaps he could just catch her as she moved across the room, tap her on the shoulder. 'Oh hello, love. Fancy seeing you here.' No, she'd be surprised that he'd remembered her, and he had to come across as cool. He had to come across as very relaxed and uncaring.
He fiddled with his sleeve. The tube came to a stop. Kensington was a posh place, but this was a posh party. Well, maybe not, more like a rich party. That usually meant a lot of snobs and a lot of cocaine. Jamie didn't usually go to these kind of parties, mostly because he wasn't invited. He was known enough to hang out with a few celebrities, but in this atmosphere he was the poorest, least famous person to get in, he had to get Graham Coxon to pull a few strings in the end, although he didn't tell him why.
The train pulled to a stop with a gentle jolt. He stepped off, ignoring the older lady walking past, who was looking at him like he was going to push her onto the tracks. Old ladies always looked at most people like that. He left the tube station and turned a left, then a right, then another, just as he had been instructed. Eventually he found the street. The houses were huge Victorian terraced houses, and he could tell instantly which one the party was at. There was a faint thudding music emanating from it.
He didn't bother to knock, just walked in. It was swarming with people. A bloke in a t-shirt and blazer combo stopped him before he got through the hall.
"Who are you? Have you got an invite?" he asked in a rather plummy accent.
"Jamie Hewlett, I did Tank Girl," he explained. The bloke gave him a confused look.
"Sorry?"
"You know, Deadline?" he continued. All he record back was a blank look. "Fucksake!" he snapped, angrily shoving into his hand into his jacket pocket, searching for the invite. Why in the hell had had they made it so bloody small? If it had been A5 he would have had it already.
"I'm sorry but if you don't have an invitation I'm going to have to ask you to leave."
"Look, it's here," he told the guy angrily, shoving the crumpled invitation at him. The man looked surprised and sheepishly handed the invite back.
"Oh," he said deflatedly. "Um, well, go through I suppose."
Jamie headed straight upstairs, looking through the many rooms to find at least one person he knew. There were plenty he recognised, celebrities and what not, mostly doing things that he was sure most of them wouldn't want to be recognised doing. There was no one he knew. He couldn't help feel perhaps there were too many rooms in this house. How could one person need this much space without feeling like a penny rattling round a big empty tin.
Eventually, he spotted her, and in that moment his spirits lifted, at least she was here, he hadn't come in vain.
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Thursday 20th April 1995, 09:08am
(Y/N)'s flat,
Camden,
London
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The cold air nipped against my bare legs, I regretted the decision to wear nothing but the Fred Perry shirt outside. I thought it would be sexy, sultry and cool. It was cool, a bit too cool, I could feel goosebumps rising on my skin. I took another drag of the cigarette, dangling it lazily from my fingers. I was trying too hard, I'd lost my touch.
