Chapter Five Love Will Tear Us Apart
The band was rubbish. They were always rubbish, but tonight they were particularly shit. Aisling might have been inclined to say that was only her opinion, but she could tell with just a cursory glance around the club that the general public shared her sentiments.
The band was comprised of four members, each as talentless as the next.
Julian’s younger sister, Melanie, played bass -- badly.
Rahul’s flatmate, Kwambe, played drums -- clumsily.
Rahul, her boyfriend’s best mate, played keyboards and guitar -- flashily and self-indulgently.
The frontman of this disaster was none other than her boyfriend himself, Julian Bloody Collier.
The “Bloody” wasn’t an editorialization on Aisling’s behalf.
That was the stage name he had given himself.
Aisling had to admit, though, that she enjoyed the way he pranced across the stage like some sort of Adam Ant-Mick Jagger hybrid.
And he did look fetching in those getups of his, with the elaborate hair and makeup.
It really allowed his education in fashion design from Saint Martins to shine.
But his music… It was, frankly, dreadful.
He’d howl and holler, voice swinging without warning from a breathless basso profundo to a weedy tenor.
He’d throw himself down onto the stage in a fit of passion, crying out like a banshee in a sequined jumpsuit.
He’d kick out flamingo-pink platform boots and shout tunelessly about taking out the rubbish on a Friday morning.
He’d karate chop the cymbals on Kwambe’s drums and screech about shoplifting from an off- license.
The crowd, or what was left of it by the end of the show, were usually too nonplussed to clap.
Aisling could count on more than one hand the number of occasions when she’d had to patch up Julian’s thrown beer bottle-related wounds.
But that man was nothing if not stubborn, and he was firmly convinced that his band, known this month as The Flying Carpet Bags, was genius, ahead of its time, and the general public wasn’t ready for them.
Clearly the owner of the club, a hairy-knuckled man known only as Jugs, was of a similar mind because he kept them on retainer to play at the Mango Club every Saturday night.
Truthfully, it was probably just because he fancied Julian’s sister Mel.
Aisling was, however, nothing if not a loyal and supportive girlfriend. If this is what her partner wanted to waste his time on, he was more than welcomed to it… so long as he didn’t quit his day job.
Tonight’s more-rubbish-than-usual gig ended in stunned silence followed by a drunken voice hollering “You’re shite!
” So, nothing out of the ordinary. Julian blinked through smudged, glittery blue eyeshadow, a thousand-watt smile splitting his face in two.
“Fuck off, you slags!” He turned up two fingers and chucked the microphone across the stage before stalking off triumphantly.
That was Aisling’s cue to make her way to the greenroom.
The greenroom was red. And it was less of a greenroom than a cramped hallway upstairs used for extra storage.
Before entering, Aisling made sure the strap of her top was coquettishly off one shoulder.
She was here to make up, after all. Mel and Kwambe were already lighting up the usual post-show spliff.
They nodded politely to Aisling as she entered, accustomed to seeing her around the Mango.
In the far corner, Rahul and Julian were lost in deep discussion.
Rahul, who usually towered over Julian, was of a height with him now that the latter wore platform heels.
Rahul’s face was scrunched in the sort of serious expression that suggested he knew as well as Aisling that tonight’s performance had been exceptionally bad.
Julian’s face was placidly blank, an expression Aisling recognized as Julian’s stubborn optimism, the kind that flew in the face of all logic.
Rahul was the first to catch sight of Aisling, and his already grave expression darkened.
Rahul had never been a fan of Aisling’s.
Tall and broad, blessed with naturally thick, dark hair and unblemished tawny skin, he might be handsome if he weren’t so bloody awkward.
For a long time, Aisling couldn’t understand why he seemed to loathe the very air she breathed.
Eventually she gathered enough information from Julian to formulate a working theory.
Julian and Rahul had been inseparable best friends since they were children, but Rahul went back up North for uni, while Julian had remained in London.
Early on, possibly the first year, Julian had gone up to visit Rahul and they’d had some type of massive fight, at least from what Aisling could parse out.
At any rate, it sounded to her as if some big, friendship-ending event had occurred and they didn’t speak for several years, at least until Rahul returned from university.
By then, however, Julian had met Aisling at art school and they had begun dating.
Aisling surmised that Rahul believed Julian had meant to replace him with Aisling, and, even though Rahul and Julian began to mend their friendship, he still resented her for moving in on his mate while he was away.
That was daft and had led over the years, to Aisling despising him in turn.
Noticing Rahul’s glance, Julian turned and saw Aisling for himself.
Her breath caught for an instant. Maybe this would be the time, the one where they didn’t get back together.
The last straw. No matter what she’d said last night, she didn’t want it to be the last time.
Not really. God help her, she loved the charming bastard.
Then Julian’s smile stretched even wider, his eyes lighting up in that way they always did when he looked at her, and Aisling’s breath left her in a relieved whoosh. It wasn’t the last time. Not this time.
Rahul rolled his dark eyes as Julian pushed past him to greet her. She liked when Julian wore heels. He stood taller than her and it felt as though he was powerful, like he could pick her up and toss her about -- though with those skinny arms they’d be lucky if he could lift her handbag.
“Rahul said you’d came round the shop and you’d be by tonight, but I didn’t believe him. Thought he was just winding me up. But you came,” he said, giddily.
“Of course I came,” Aisling replied, letting some of her chestnut-coloured hair fall into her eyes in what she hoped was a sultry way.
“D’you hear the one we did about the sparrow with the Sellotape stuck to its little foot? Hopping around, can’t get it off, ends up having to get a taxi?”
“Er, yes,” Aisling lied, artfully.
“That one was about you!”
“Oh.” Aisling frowned, less artfully.
“I thought for sure you’d still be cross with me. I would be. I was a right twat last night.”
“You weren’t, love,” she cooed, taking his hand in hers. “I was the one who was just awful. I should’ve never said you were a mod with flat hair.”
“That one really hurt,” Julian said gravely.
“I know, chicken.” She pouted her lips prettily as she said her pet name for him. “I didn’t mean it. You know I didn’t, don’t you?”
“‘Course I do.” The corner of his mouth tilted up.
“So we’ll put all of that behind us, won’t we?”
“‘Course we will.”
“Jules.” Rahul’s grating, Northern accent brought their flirtatious rhythm to an abrupt halt. Just like his music, Rahul had no sense of timing. “We’re leaving for the Barber. You coming?”
“Oh, ah…” Julian faltered, looking from Rahul to Aisling. Aisling lowered her eyelids invitingly. “Actually, go on ahead. Me and Aisling are gonna call it a night.”
The suspicious glare Rahul flashed her made it clear he knew exactly what sort of night they intended on calling it. “Yeah. Fine. See you Monday.”
“Cheers,” Julian said, but he was already looking back at Aisling, lips curved in a small, private smile.
* * *
They had barely made it through the door of Julian’s flat before he was slamming her up against it.
She shrugged out of her coat and he freed her breasts from her flimsy top, groping and nuzzling them greedily.
She giggled at his eagerness. He fell to his knees in front of her, wasting no time in pushing his head under her short, corduroy skirt.
She threw a stockinged leg over his shoulder and tossed her head back against the door.
Aisling felt that Julian was in bed much like he was on stage.
Passionate, unselfconscious, and entirely engrossed.
While his cock was average, even slightly on the small side, and he could be rather clumsy at times, he more than made up for those faults with enthusiasm, admirable stamina, and a willingness to try just about anything.
She clamped down hard around him as her body seized with orgasm.
She’d barely finished trembling before she found herself bent over the back of the sofa.
It took Julian an embarrassingly long time to wriggle free of his sequined jumpsuit and kick off his platforms, though he didn’t seem embarrassed in the least. Freed from constraint, he rustled up a condom from his wallet and set about fucking the daylights out of her.
“Fucking Christ, Ash,” Julian’s voice pitched up, his short fingernails digging grooves into her hips. “Jesus fucking Christ, you feel so fucking good.”
Julian was very vocal during their lovemaking, something Aisling greatly appreciated.
Her previous boyfriends had been manly, laddie sorts.
They grunted once, at the end of it -- if she was lucky.
She never knew if they were truly enjoying themselves or just getting it over with.
When Julian wasn’t gasping or moaning, he was babbling endless curses and encouragements.
It left Aisling feeling quite chuffed, if she were being honest. She was also quite loud when they got going, and she hoped that between the two of them they were the envy of all the neighbourhood.
When Julian came, he collapsed over her back, kissing her neck.
Aisling couldn’t come in that position, but that didn’t mean she hadn’t enjoyed herself thoroughly.
Later, they lay together on the sofa, squeezed in tight.
Julian nuzzled his nose into her hair, idly cupping one of her breasts.
She twirled a lock of his unnaturally black hair around one of her fingers, watching him breathe through kiss-raw, parted lips.
“I really am sorry about last night, chicken.”
Julian tilted his head up to look at her.
His face was soft and serious, no cartoonish grin to distort it.
Aisling liked him best like this, when he wasn’t performing, relaxed and vulnerable.
She hoped she was the only one who got to see him like this.
Though she knew she probably wasn’t. There was at least one other person he shared this soft, real version of himself with.
“I know, bunny,” Julian said.
“But you understand why I was upset, don’t you?”
His lighter-coloured brows drew together slightly. No, he didn’t understand. “Yeah, of course,” he lied.
“As your girlfriend, I ought to be the most important person in your life. Isn’t that right?”
“Uh, yeah. ‘Course. I mean, you are the most important person in my life.”
“Yes, well, you see what I was getting at last night is that I’m not. Not really. And don’t say it isn’t true. We’ll just start fighting again. If I really were your most important person, you’d share things with me. You’d tell me how you’re feeling. You’d be honest with me.”
“I am honest with you, bunny.” His eyebrows pitched, giving those big eyes of his a forlorn, puppy-dog look.
“I know you think you are, but you’re not as honest as you could be. You’re not as honest as you are with Rahul.”
He rested his forehead against her shoulder, hiding his face. “Rahul again.”
“Yes. Rahul again. You feel perfectly fine telling Rahul everything, from what you dreamed about last night all the way to things I’ve told you in confidence.
But then I go and ask you what you’re thinking about and you say ‘nothing,’ or you make a joke.
And whenever I want us to have a romantic night in or go to see a show or grab a drink with my friends, it’s always ‘Rahul and I are going to the Barber,’ ‘Rahul and I are going to the arcade,’ ‘Rahul and I are going to wash each other’s bollocks’. ”
Julian giggled, tickling her shoulder.
“It’s not funny! Almost the entire time we’ve been together I’ve felt like a second-class citizen in our relationship. Because you always put Rahul first.”
Hearing the genuine note of hurt in her voice, he picked his head back up.
“I know what you’re feeling. Really, I do.
And I’m sorry. You are my most important person.
And I’ll try and talk to you more. Honest I will.
But you gotta understand, you and Rahul are completely different.
I’m not choosing him over you. And I’m not telling him stuff I don’t tell you.
I’m telling him Rahul stuff. Stuff that’s just for me and him.
Telling you the stuff I tell him would be like me trying to get off with him the way I get off with you.
You wouldn’t want me bumming him, would you? ”
Aisling relented and cracked a smile. “No, I wouldn’t.”
“Exactly. So, yeah, I’ll try and talk more about my feelings and stuff, but I can’t talk to you the same way me and him talk.
We got a bond, you know. Well, you wouldn’t understand.
Not really. It’s a man thing, innit? Like, a manly bond sort of thing.
Just know it doesn’t mean I love you less.
I love you loads, bunny. You know I do, right? ”
“Of course I do, chicken.”
“Good. ‘Cause I do. And if you try and leave me again I’ll go to pieces, I will. I’m not joking. I’ll chuck myself right off London Bridge. Eaten by crackhead Thames eels before I even reach the bottom.” His threat was rather undercut by his enormous grin. Aisling kissed it off him.
As her tongue explored her own taste in his mouth, the hardness against her thigh alerted her that Julian was ready for a second round. She was on top this time, a position that better suited her. He suckled her nipples as she rode him.
Her favourite part of their frequent break-ups was, without a doubt, the incredible make-up sex.