Chapter 25
Chapter twenty-five
Matty got back to her flat and found what sounded like a full-on rave taking place in Brandon’s room.
Loud electro-pop music blared out, along with the sound of his friends shouting to be heard.
The floor was probably bouncing. It was a good job the shop below was shut, otherwise they’d be getting another visit from the landlord about the noise.
She banged on his door. Boom. Boom. Boom.
Of course, nobody heard her. She opened it and almost choked on the weed smoke that hung in the air.
“Brandon!” she shouted at the sprawled figure on the bed. He raised his head and flapped an arm. Someone turned the music down. “Seriously, mate?” She wafted her hand in front of her face. “Open a window and turn it down.”
“Yeah, sorry, Matty, just chilling, ya know.”
“I can see.”
“Alright, Matty.” The lanky one with hair longer than hers grinned at seeing her again.
“Hi, Sean,” she said quickly, not wanting to give him any idea she might be interested. Telling him, “I’m a lesbian,” hadn’t done much to put him off last time.
She turned back to Brandon. “Why don’t you just go down to the pub?”
“Got no cash, innit,” Brandon answered. They were all in the same boat.
“Right, well, can you pack it in before we’ve got no roof over our heads either?”
“Yeah, sorry, Matty,” Brandon said again, sitting up.
“It’s nice out, go sit in the garden.” And by garden, she meant the patch of concrete out the back of the shop, where they were allowed to have a couple of deck chairs when deliveries weren’t being made.
She shut the door on the lot of them and headed to her own room, flopping down onto the bed with a huge sigh. Her thoughts instantly moved to Sloan and the kiss, and then the complete reversal that had followed, seemingly over nothing, really, just Gloria being Gloria.
It was confusing, for sure, but Sloan had been clear, and Matty had no choice—leave it where it was and move on.
She needed this job. The longer she could hold onto it, the more chance she had of getting out of the dump where she currently lived and into her own place—somewhere she could finally call home.
She sat up.
The job was hers if she wanted it. She wasn’t going to mess it up. She could handle Gloria, but could she handle Sloan?
Rifling in her pocket, she dug out her small purse and opened it.
She could afford to splurge now that she was earning twice what Compton’s paid.
She started counting without meaning to, then stopped herself.
Old habits. She shut the purse and held it for a second, grounding herself in the fact that she didn’t have to panic. Not today.
With a quick change, she pulled on something that made her feel like herself, then she headed for Art.
***
It had become rare for Matty to find the time, let alone the spare cash, to go out. Since her divorce and subsequent move, she’d almost embraced poverty as the price of the freedom to be who she was—and who she wanted to be.
Working multiple jobs hadn’t bothered her.
It was nice to meet new people and stay busy.
But occasionally, she’d look around at all those people who had time and spare cash to spend, just sitting in a coffee shop on a Tuesday afternoon or necking pints on a Friday night. She wanted that kind of lightness.
She pushed open the door and entered the bar. It was already rammed for a Thursday night, and she squeezed her way up to the bar and gave a wave to the bartenders on shift, Greta and Dean.
“Hiya,” Dean said, flashing his campiest grin. “What’re you doing in here?”
Matty returned the smile. “Thought I’d see how the other half live. Can I get a vodka cran when you get a sec?”
“Course ya can,” Dean said, handing the pint he’d just pulled to a woman two along from Matty. “Ere, did you get the news?”
“What?” It was hard enough to hear him, never mind clearly catch whatever bit of juicy gossip he’d gotten hold of.
“You know the owner? She’s coming over next week.”
“All the way from the States?”
“Yep.” He grabbed a glass and filled it with ice, before reaching behind for the bottle of vodka, skipping the measure and giving Matty a quick wink as he poured what she was sure was a double. “So, we’ve all got to be on best behaviour and have everything spotless.”
“More work, then.” Matty rolled her eyes and laughed. “Like we don’t keep the place clean as it is.”
“I know.” He filled the glass with cranberry juice from the carton and slid it across to her. She handed over a ￡10 note and waited for her change.
The music kicked up a notch and people moved onto the floor to dance. Matty scanned the room, looking for anyone she might know—someone she could sit with and pass the time in conversation. All the booths were crammed, except for one.
She tilted her head for a better look, then recognition hit her square on, right in the gut. Sloan. All by herself, nursing an Old Fashioned by the look of it.
What was she doing here? Should she interrupt?
She guzzled her drink and coughed. Forget a double—that was more like a triple.
“Oh, what the hell,” she said to herself, taking a step forward.
She moved quite easily between bodies, until one girl grabbed her arm, shouting a garbled, “Hey, come dance with me!” Matty shook herself loose and kept moving until she was hovering over the table where Sloan was sitting. This time she didn’t pick up the glass.
“Want some company?”
Sloan looked up suddenly, so lost in her thoughts she clearly hadn’t seen Matty approaching.
“Matty... I wasn’t expecting—”
Matty shrugged. “I’ve got this well-paying job now, so I can afford to actually go out once in a while.” She smiled and pointed to the seat opposite. “So, can I join you?”
Sloan glanced around and noted all the other seats taken. “Sure.”
Sliding in, Matty placed her glass on the table, then immediately picked it up and took another swig, wincing at the strength of it.
“Are you not enjoying that?” Sloan asked.
“Dean got a little heavy-handed with the measure,” Matty admitted. “What brings you here then? I thought you were calling it a night?”
“I didn’t realise my social life was under such scrutiny.”
Matty sat back, her smile faltering.
“Sorry, that was uncalled for,” Sloan said at once. Her lips twitched, then flattened.
“You know, you can talk to me…if you want to,” Matty offered.
“Wouldn’t that make things even more confusing?”
“Maybe,” Matty said, “or—and hear me out—maybe it would make things clearer.”
Finishing her drink, Sloan said, “I’ll get us another drink.”
“Just a cranberry juice will do me. I can dilute this a bit.” Matty held up the glass and watched Sloan slide out from the booth.
Sloan nodded. “I’ll be right back.”
Matty watched her walk away, acutely aware that Sloan in joggers and a sweatshirt was about as far as possible from anything she’d assumed Sloan would even own.
Other than the time she’d set this whole thing into motion, accidentally spilling coffee over the now infamous designer jeans and cashmere jumper, Matty had only ever seen her in business suits and pencil skirts.
She would bet her last pound those joggers were also designer and expensive. Still, Sloan was devastatingly attractive...because it wasn’t just clothes that made the woman, was it?