Broken, p.8
Broken, page 8
“But I’m not a make-up kind of lass either,” I add.
“What kind of woman are you?” Raif mocks.
“Not everyone needs to be knee deep in layers to look good,” Damien says, and I can’t control the roll that overcomes my eyes.
Despite being an obvious compliment aimed in my direction, I think Damien is also having a little dig at Raif, who clearly loves his make-up. Raif’s face is tastefully decorated though, his foundation matching his skin tone, his black eyeliner complementing his blue eyes, and the slight tint of blush on each cheek highlighting his high cheekbones. He’s obviously got artistic talent and an eye for detail.
“And you do know thumbholes are so nineties, right?” Raif asks, almost as if he’s out to prove his no filter statement.
“I like the nineties.” I shrug. “And I like my style.”
Raif chuckles. “No offence, honey, but to call a thumbhole top with jeans and a cardigan style is a crime against fashion.”
“Mate,” Damien scolds again, but I merely laugh.
“I did say no offence.” Raif shrugs.
“He’s not wrong in his assessment,” I agree.
“Thank you, Dani.” Raif beams.
“You really shouldn’t encourage him,” Damien tells me, causing Raif to roll his eyes.
“So, everything set for Saturday?” Raif asks Damien, changing the subject.
“Good to go,” Damien answers. “I’m gonna get there early with Paul and get everything set up.”
“What’s Saturday?” I ask nosily.
“Charity gig,” Damien responds. “A dementia charity is holding a ticket-only event, and we’re the entertainment. Supposedly there’s gonna be tombola, a cake stall, and a bunch of other usual fundraising stuff.” Interesting choice of talent for a charity event, but if it brings the crowd, it brings the money.
“Damien here tells me you’re a musical talent yourself,” Raif says.
“Damien gives me too much credit.”
“You sell yourself short,” Damien pipes up.
“Do you always have to have the last word?”
“Oh, you have no idea, honey,” Raif is the one to answer. “Stubborn as a mule this one.”
“I feel sorry for you all,” I joke.
Damien throws me a playful scowl. “Trust me,” he says. “A few hours with Raif and Paul, and it’ll be me you’re feeling sorry for.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Raif asks, but there’s not a single hint of seriousness to his voice. I’m thinking banter is a common occurrence amongst these two, Paul as well, whoever Paul is.
“Imagine Jess times ten,” Damien tells me.
“I think you just sent a shiver down my spine,” I joke. “In pure horror.”
“Jess is adorable,” Raif defends, and I blink, momentarily confused. “I met her at the gig,” he explains for my benefit, I’m assuming. “We went out partying last night. She’s such a laugh.”
She wasn’t such a laugh early Monday morning. I had been correct in my assessment, and Jess kept me up with her never-ending waves of vomit that threatened to stain my toilet. Luckily, she was too groggy to interrogate me, but that didn’t stop her from popping round after work on Monday for the gossip. True to form, despite our growth, I left her hanging, but other than the annoying effect Damien continues to have on me, there’s not all that much to tell.
“That part’s true,” I admit, returning to Raif’s “good laugh” comment and wiping Monday morning from my mind. “Jess knows how to have a good time.” Not that I’ve experienced it first-hand.
Thankfully, talk turns back to music with Raif probing me on my songwriting skills until he makes his exit, leaving Damien and me alone again.
“Come to the charity gig,” Damien blurts out.
I sigh heavily, leaning my palms against the counter. “My last outing wasn’t exactly a positive experience.”
“All the more reason you should come,” he reasons. “It’s at a town hall, not a pub.”
“I don’t know,” I say honestly, forever confused as to the best course of action in anything I do.
“Tell you what,” he says. “You got your phone?”
I eye him suspiciously, but I oblige to his request, nipping into the back and returning with my phone. I pop in the passcode and hand it to Damien.
“Here’s my number,” he says, typing away on my phone. I soon hear a beep coming from his pocket. “And now I have yours.”
“Is there a point to that?” I ask as he hands me back my phone.
“Think about the gig,” he explains. “I’ll text you Saturday and if you’re up for it, I’ll give you a lift to the venue. You can bring Jess too if you want. I got a couple of tickets going spare.”
I’m about to say something when the bell rings, and I suddenly want to run and hide. It’s James, whom I have been avoiding since his weirdness Sunday night. I swiftly retake my stance behind the counter, sliding my phone onto the shelf underneath.
“Hey, Dani,” James says, moving to the counter.
“Hey.”
“Any chance of a lift home?”
I keep forgetting the gym James works at isn’t all that far from Lloyd’s. It’s not the first time I’ve driven James home after work.
“Erm, yeah,” I answer. “I still got half an hour until the end of shift though.”
James shrugs a shoulder. “I can wait.”
At that moment, Damien rises from his seat and carries his empty cup to the counter. I can’t help but smile at his politeness, nor can I help but witness James’s expression changing from friendly to fierce in the blink of an eye as his gaze trails from Damien’s feet to his face. What the hell is that about?
“You’re Damien, aren’t you?” James asks icily.
“That’s me,” Damien answers politely, holding out his hand. James hesitates for a little longer than necessary before relenting and shaking Damien’s hand. “James, right?”
“You been talking about me, Dani?” James asks with a proud smirk, and I wisely choose to ignore him.
“I should be heading off,” Damien says, instigating the ringing up of his bill. “Let me know about Saturday.”
“What’s Saturday?” James asks.
“None of your business,” I tell him.
“Are you two going on a date?” he asks in surprise, his eyes landing on Damien’s smirk, which isn’t about to help the situation any. “Seriously?”
“It’s not a date, Jay,” I bark.
“You do know he’s just trying to get into your pants, right?” James asks me, ignoring my comment completely and instantly sparking a wave of anger that makes me want to slap him across his cocky little mouth for making a bloody scene. I’m suddenly grateful for a lack of staff and customers. I glance at Damien, but his expression is deadpan, giving nothing away.
“You would think that,” I scoff, “seeing as though you go through women like they’re going out of fashion.”
I really shouldn’t be rising to James’s shit, especially not at work, and definitely not in front of Damien, but his attitude lately is royally pissing me off.
“And you think he doesn’t?” James spits.
I glance back at Damien again. Despite being rudely talked about as if he isn’t even there, he looks super calm and unfazed by the confrontation erupting before him. James may have a slight point. Damien could have a vibrant sex life for all I know, but at this moment in time, it’s irrelevant.
“You’re saying you two are just friends?” James adds.
“That’s right,” Damien says, deciding to speak.
“Bullshit,” James spits. “You don’t want to be her friend, and don’t even think about denying it.”
Damien chuckles, obviously amused, though I can’t imagine which part he’s finding funny.
“I wasn’t going to.” Damien shrugs, and if I’m brutally honest, I’m not surprised. I’m starting to realise Damien is a what-you-see-is-what-you-get kind of guy, and he’s not afraid to say what’s on his mind.
“See,” James scoffs in my direction. “He only wants one thing, and you know it.”
“You’re way off base, mate,” Damien states.
“I’m not your mate,” James hisses. “But please, enlighten me.”
“I like Dani,” Damien obliges, though I’m not sure why he feels the need to. “But I’m not looking to fuck her then fuck her off.” That’s a vulgar way to put it, but it makes the point. “That’s not my style. All I want is to get to know Dani better, and if something comes of it, great, if not, then fair enough. I’d settle for friends over nothing because believe it or not, and you won’t, I’m a decent guy.”
James’s fists clench, and if the bulging vein in his forehead is anything to go by, I’d say his temper is rising. Damien, meanwhile, is still as cool as a bloody cucumber. Me, I’m tempted to pour hot coffee over James’s head. It’s just a snippet of what he deserves right now.
“You do know you didn’t need to justify yourself to James,” I point out.
“I know,” Damien replies, his eyes locking with mine. “I didn’t do it for him.”
He did it for me, I’m assuming, to clarify his intentions, and it’s appreciated. James’s behaviour, however, not so much.
“Are you falling for this shit?” James asks me.
“That’s enough,” I snap, sending a wave of pain shooting through my already aching head. “I have no idea what the hell is going on with you, but you need to pack the whole protective big brother shit in, right now.”
“Protective…” James scoffs in disbelief. “You know, I had you pegged for a lot of things, but stupid wasn’t one of them.”
Damien inches closer to James, his cool demeanour replaced with a flash of disgust. I reach over the counter and put a hand on his arm to stop him. He looks at me and shakes his head, but he doesn’t make a second attempt to move. The last thing I want is a fight breaking out, although I appreciate Damien’s desire to defend me. I’m guessing it was the “stupid” part that irked him.
“I like you, Dani,” James clarifies without being asked, and my breath hitches.
I’m floored, eyes wide and jaw dropped. James is staring at me, but what’s terrifying is the indisputable honesty with a hint of vulnerability and fear in his eyes; he means every word. I don’t think I’ve ever seen James look… I don’t even know how to describe it. Nervous? Intense? Desperate?
“And not in a neighbourly, big brother way, but in a –”
“Do not finish that sentence,” I cut him off, the realisation hitting me like a hammer to the head. Out of the corner of my eye, I spy Damien retaking his seat.
“What did you think the invitation to dinner was?”
Last week in the hallway, the same day he shamelessly sent his latest conquest packing, James was asking me out. I don’t know where to look or put myself, but I sure as hell do not want to go on a date with James. No offence to the guy, but he’s not my kettle of fish.
“But…” I’m gobsmacked. “Jay… You can’t.”
“Why not?” James asks. “He does.” He wafts a hand in Damien’s direction for dramatic effect, and I officially can’t argue.
“No offence, Jay,” I say instead. “You’re a nice enough guy, and I like you as a neighbour, but I don’t see you in that way at all.” I emphasise the “at all” a little too much. “And I can tell you right now that it ain’t ever gonna happen.”
“Are you gonna stand there and tell me you’re not attracted to me in the slightest?” he asks, and I scoff.
“Arrogant much?” I mock, but James is deadly serious, and he’s awaiting an answer. “I’m really not. I’m sorry.”
“But you are to him?” James is determined to keep dragging Damien into this, and I really am getting a little sick of it.
“It doesn’t matter,” I state calmly. “Doesn’t change anything.”
“You really are stupid.”
Okay, that’s the last straw. “You know what, Jay? I’ve tried to be nice, but since you’re determined to piss me off, you can walk home. In fact, I think it’s best you stay away from me for a while.”
James laughs, not a happy kind of laugh, but more of a pissed-off snigger. Thankfully, he doesn’t argue and storms out of the café. I stand, shaking my head in sheer bewilderment.
What the hell just happened?
Chapter Seven
So, what’s the verdict?
It’s the text message from Damien I’ve been dreading all day, and as I stare at it, I honestly don’t know the answer. Saturday is here, and he’s referring to the charity gig he invited me to. I want to find the courage to go, knowing I will probably enjoy myself or at the very least, I’ll enjoy the music, but the thought of being in a crowded room has me crumbling at the seams. That, and I haven’t – or should I say I deliberately haven’t – talked to Jess about it and being a Saturday, there’s every chance she already has plans. The thought of going alone only makes me feel worse.
I don’t – delete – I just – delete.
I slam my phone down on the breakfast bar and bury my face in my hands. What the hell is wrong with me? It’s just a charity event. It’s just people. No one there wants to hurt me. No one there gives a crap about me, except Damien. And there’s the real issue right there: Damien. If I go, I might as well be holding up a sign saying “I’m yours”. Okay, so I’m overexaggerating, but I can’t seem to get a handle on the way Damien makes me feel.
My phone beeps again, only this time it’s Jess.
You got twenty minutes to get ready x
What are you talking about? x
I already know the answer. She and Damien are in cahoots, and they’re planning on ganging up on me. I suppose I should appreciate the effort and determination, even if it is an ambush.
You know what x
I sigh. Deciding to go compliantly and avoid being dragged kicking and screaming, I resign myself to changing into my trademark clothing, and my grey ankle boots. Not feeling my denim jacket, I dig deep into my suitcase and pull out a casual cotton blazer-style jacket I’d almost forgotten I had, sliding it on. It’ll do for tonight, and although it’s nothing like a school blazer with shoulder pads and more like a collared cardigan, it’s enough to appear dressier than normal.
Twenty minutes fly by, and there’s a knock at my door. I take a much-needed deep breath before sliding my phone, keys and money into my jacket’s zipped pockets, forgoing a bag, and opening the door.
“Nice jacket,” Jess says. “Damien’s waiting outside in his car.”
“When did you two get so pally?”
“When we discovered we have a mutual acquaintance that needs to get a life.”
“Acquaintance,” I repeat, chuckling. “That’s a big word.”
“Bog off,” she says, grabbing my hand and dragging me into the hallway.
I lock up and we head outside. Through the car window, Damien smiles that beautiful smile, and I return the gesture unknowingly. Jess jumps into the back seat, leaving me to plonk myself into the passenger side. Damien doesn’t say a word, but the smugness in his face is as clear as day.
“Just drive,” I order.
“Yes, ma’am.”
Damien drives us through Manchester and to a neighbouring town, pulling up at a large town hall I’m assuming has a large function room, a bar and kitchen facilities. Jess jumps out first, Damien next, but I’m hesitating a little. Damien walks around the car and opens the passenger door, smiling that bloody smile again. I reluctantly climb out, desperately ignoring my quickening pulse and clammy palms. You don’t need to tell me I’m being ridiculous. I’m fully aware.
“You do know we’re an hour early,” I point out. “You can go in, but –”
“It’s fine,” Damien cuts me off. “If anyone asks, I’ll tell them you’re here to help set up.”
“That I can do, actually,” I say, entirely aware of how a musical set-up works. “Jess, on the other hand…”
“I can lift shit.” Jess shrugs. “Or stand around looking pretty.”
“Where’s your gear?” I ask.
“Paul’s on his way in his van,” Damien explains.
Damien leads us inside, and the room’s already set up, ready to go. It’s large, as I expected, with circular tables laid out around the edge of the open space I’m assuming will be used as a dance floor. The kitchen is to the left with a large hatch, and the stage is to the right, set back against the same wall as the entrance. I notice double doors leading off to the side of the stage, on floor level, with a poster advertising tombola and various other fundraising games, finished off with an arrow pointing up and the words “This Way” signalling the presence of another room. There’s no real decoration other than bunting lining the walls advertising the charity’s name and ways to donate. I will say though, with the number of tables and chairs laid out, they must be expecting a decent number of people to show up.
A rough-around-the-edges bloke with a bald head and yesterday’s stubble enters the room, making a beeline for Damien. “Van’s outside, mate.”
“Paul,” Damien says, instigating the introductions, “this is Dani, and you remember her mate, Jess.”
“Is that what I’m reduced to?” Jess scowls playfully. “Her mate.” Damien merely laughs as Paul shakes each of our hands.
“It’s nice to finally meet you,” Paul speaks directly to me in a Mancunian accent, the hint of suggestion in his tone unmissable. There’s a weird glint in his eye too. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”
I opt to ignore his comment, hoping Damien’s only had nothing but nice things to say, flashing him a polite smile instead. I’m going to go out on a limb and say Paul’s the drummer. It’s a vibe I’m getting. He looks older than Damien, maybe early-to-mid-thirties with a bit of a dad vibe too, and his dress sense, made up of a Led Zeppelin T-shirt and ripped-at-the-knee jeans, reminds me of Dave. In fact, he looks like the kind of guy you’d find screaming at a football match on the telly down at the pub after one too many ciders, only with a slightly rockier, athletic edge to him. His tattoo-covered arms scream former bad boy, yet there’s one tattoo that looks rather familiar.
