Chapter 2 #2
‘On you go home and spend the last day with him, Maddie. I’ll take care of things here,’ Jessie pressed.
There was nothing Maddie wanted more, but there was one thing stopping her. She couldn’t afford to lose the day’s income.
Jessie read her mind. ‘And I’ll put the takings from your clients today into your account. You can return the favour next time my varicose veins are playing up. Or if Val here drags me to another Daniel O’Donnell matinée show at the King’s.’
Val immediately burst into a chorus of ‘Danny Boy’ and her pipes were indeed calling… but only for singing lessons.
‘I could hug you and not let go, Jessie, but the smell of that bleach is making me retch, so I’m just going to tell you that you’re magnificent and I’ll love you forever and get out of here.’
Alyssa jumped up at the same time. ‘I made up a bag for you when you came in because I knew she’d send you home. Just some soup and bread. It’s on the counter.’
Oh, damn, the weepiness was threatening a resurgence. It had been this way since her mum died. Waves of emotion that just crept up and the only thing to do was to go home and watch a romcom with a clanger of a sad bit three quarters of the way through that gave her an excuse to let the sobs out.
Maddie left the shop with a full heart and a brown bag containing two cartons of Scotch broth, a sourdough loaf and two caramel shortcakes.
It was only a ten-minute walk home, and when she got there, she used her key to let herself in. The first thing she noticed was the silence. When she’d left this morning, Dylan had the telly on and was singing along to the tunes in the adverts.
That had been the biggest adjustment when she’d moved in.
In Edinburgh, she’d lived on her own, in a lovely but bijou studio flat just off Queen Street, and other than some music when she was in the shower, it was a pretty quiet house.
Not here. If Dylan was awake, he was usually singing, talking or laughing, and if he was quiet, then it was because he was thinking about the words to a song that he was writing in his mind.
If anyone had told her a year ago that she’d be sharing a house with an aspiring country singer from her home village, she’d have wondered what they’d been inhaling.
But here she was. Although, maybe she should drop ‘aspiring’ from that description given his plans for his future.
She slipped her feet out of her Ugg Tazz clogs and padded through to the kitchen, ignoring the two suitcases and two guitar cases that were already packed and ready at the door.
The short, curly-haired boy she’d been in school with had turned into a six foot four, chiselled-jawed bloke, who had worked as a joiner for the last ten years while gigging in any bar that would pay him.
He’d been in bands and he’d been solo, but no matter where he performed, he’d uploaded the videos to social media.
A couple of months ago, he’d captured an American talent agent’s attention, who’d invited him over for a meeting in Nashville.
Dylan had blown his entire week’s wages on the flight, but it had paid off, because when he was there, he’d done nightly open mike sessions in a bar on Lower Broadway that was owned by a friend of the talent agent.
The crowd had loved his voice and his songs so much, the owner had offered him a three-month trial gig in the epicentre of Nashville nightlife.
Maddie had never been there, but Dylan’s grin couldn’t be wider when he’d told her all about the street they called the Honky Tonk Highway, packed with bars and clubs, live music blaring from doors, windows and rooftops.
Landing a job there, even a temporary one, was the stuff of his dreams, so he’d been ecstatic, especially when it came with the promise that it could be extended indefinitely if he made a success of it.
Which, of course, he would, because even Maddie, who knew nothing about country music, could see that he was all kinds of talented.
‘Do you think I’d be mad to leave my life here?’ he’d asked her, when she’d picked him up in his work van at the airport on the night he’d got back.
‘Absolutely.’
He’d visibly flinched. ‘Really?’
She’d nodded, eyes focused on the road. ‘Completely. You’d be far better staying here, working on building sites for crap wages for the rest of your life, while rain drips off your boots. It’s every man’s dream.’
His face had melted into a slow, easy smile. ‘You’re right. I’m living my best life here. Be crazy to leave.’
‘Then there’s the extortionate rent for a flat that sounds like it’s permanently groaning because the dodgy boiler makes weird noises.’
‘Another thing that’ll be hard to say goodbye to,’ he’d agreed solemnly.
‘And not to mention your Saturday night curries with your grieving flatmate, who is also your emotionally unstable oldest friend and prone to bursting into tears whenever something reminds her of her dead mother. Another treat you’ll be leaving behind.’
He’d put his cowboy boots up on the dashboard of his van. ‘I actually will miss that bit.’
‘You will?’
She’d been touched by that until he’d added, ‘Of course. The curries are great.’
She’d kept the van steady with one hand while she’d playfully punched him with the other.
Much as she was thrilled for him, there was no denying that the timing sucked.
Now, with his suitcases packed in the hall, it still did.
They’d paid their rent two months in advance, so she had one more month left in this flat and then she was going to have to find somewhere that she could afford on her own.
It was the first thing she planned to do after she dropped him at the airport tomorrow morning.
Actually, the third. First, wave him goodbye with a big smile on her face.
Second, have a pathetic but hopefully brief sob into the sleeve of her hoodie.
Then go to work in the salon and start searching for a new home in her break.
‘Oh. Hi. The flat was so quiet I thought you were out,’ she said, as she reached the kitchen and saw him sitting at the table, head down, writing something on a page of the notepad he used for scribbling down ideas for songs.
At the sound of her voice, Dylan’s head snapped up and he immediately covered up the page with his arm. ‘Hey. I didn’t hear you come in. Are you okay?’
‘I actually feel so much better after that walk back here. Jessie sent me home. Told me to take the rest of the day off, so here I am. And Alyssa sent food.’ She held up the paper bag, then plonked it on the table, noticing that he was still covering up the pad.
Strange. He usually loved to share his lyrics as he was working them out, playing with words and phrasing until it all felt right.
‘Okay, Secret Squirrel, what’s happening here then? Let me hear it.’
‘Och, it’s nothing.’ Still covering the page.
Maddie took the soup cartons from the bag, and put one in front of him, and the other on her side of the table.
She grabbed a plate and a bread knife for the sourdough, and the butter from the fridge, then sat down opposite him.
She’d come to love their sessions at the kitchen table.
Being here with him for the last four months had been so completely different from her old life in Edinburgh, but it had felt safe.
Secure. Like a comfortable, warm breathing space while she decided what to do with her future.
They’d known each other for so long that there was no awkwardness or tension, just the best kind of easy friendship.
‘Oh no,’ she said, eyeing his expression and immediately jumping to the obvious conclusion. ‘You’ve changed your mind. You’ve got cold feet. Or cold cowboy boots.’