Chapter Twenty One

G O O D

Friday, July 3rd

On the way over to meet Dylan I sit squashed between an old lady with too many shopping bags and a student who is reciting rap lyrics like he's battling against himself.

Times like this call for the easiest distraction to hand which is my phone. Now that I'm able to get Wi-Fi it seems like the obvious choice.

I begin to scroll through a Facebook feed I've neglected for months. Finding that nothing particularly interesting has happened in that time, just a few requests from old school friends I didn't even talk to back then and a handful of invites to events long since passed.

But my fingers remember how easy it is to just type in a name, how quick you can find out things you wouldn't be able to in everyday life. Before I can even comprehend if it's a good idea or not, Jack's profile loads and I find myself swiping through a collection of photos posted that show sunnier climes and a crystal blue pool. Him shirtless and tanned, hair pushed back. Beer in hand on an inflatable, with shades on.

Like he doesn't have a care in the world.

One particular image shows him kicking a football around with who I presume is his young nephew, and another with a brother who looks nothing like him, a blonde girl stood next to them. An arm round her back. She's clearly a waitress or some kids entertainer dressed in a not so seductive polo shirt but still it makes my insides squeeze.

As I switch off, and follow the beat from the headphones of rap guy beside me, I think about how maybe I've been stupid to think that Jack would care at all about me seeing Dylan. Because what if this whole time he's been doing the same? Not exclusively restricting himself either?

I tell myself that he's probably done a lot worse. With likely a lot of other women even if he had protested previously that his reputation had been greatly exaggerated. Who knows what goes on when I'm not around, which is a fair bit. Technically we are both free to do whatever the hell we please.

Meeting up with Dylan for an after party seems so tame in comparison to what the Jack of my imagination is getting up to in Greece. And that's what I hold onto when I gain entry into the gallery with the small club tacked onto the back. Finally scouting out wild hair and stubble, strong arms and those wonderful eyes.

Dylan waiting by the bar for me, a drink in his hand. Looking every inch as gorgeous as when he last flashed me his megawatt smile. He greets me with a sweet kiss on the cheek, and signals one of the bartenders to take my order.

When we sit in the corner away from the swirling lights, and busy dance floor that's churning out trippy electronic beats, he points out those he works with, who he likes, who he doesn't.

It doesn't take long before I realise that he's drinking a bit more than usual. A quick trip to the toilets resulting in another beer in hand, a vodka and coke for me. If I didn't know any better I'd think he wants to get me drunk or he's trying to bury his nerves.

He seems to have picked up two additions also, a young guy with a half shaved head and a mop of bleached hair falling to the other side and a women who I can only assume is the fabled Felicity. All bleached too, a blunt fringe that frames her face, smokey eyes. Effortlessly cool dressed in slack denim overalls and an oversized shirt under.

"Jemima, this is Robbie and Felicity, from the magazine," Dylan beams as they both offer out a hand. These are the only two work colleagues he supposedly 'connects' with and so I make an effort. Greeting them both with a big smile, and soft hand shake.

"Hi, nice to meet you both."

I shuffle to the empty seat to my side and they sit down, Dylan wedged in the middle. Robbie peers down behind his thick black rimmed glasses without any lenses and tells me he likes my bracelet. He asks if it's a Vivienne Westwood piece which it most definitely isn't.

"Uh, yeah it is actually. Was my mums," I lie, the only thing I can personally pull off effortlessly. He seems impressed and it sets the ball rolling for a long discussion about the state of heritage fashion labels, and the lack of fresh creativity which he says is horribly worrying. Like it might keep him up at night.

"All these high street stores, all the knocks offs. Ripped right from the catwalk really makes me sick," he drawls as I nod mechanically, while watching Felicity and Dylan on my other side yammer on about work.

She seems into him. I can tell. And it's no surprise. I cannot even blame her for twiddling her hair round her fingertips, or how she's leaning in close so she can hear him over the loud music.

Because I am Felicity. My only advantage being a different set of circumstances. In the right place at the right time.

"So how do you know Dylan?" Robbie asks, pinching his drinks straw in his teeth.

"We met at a gig."

"Standard," he nods. Not in a horrible way but as if he's heard such a answer one too many times before. "And are you guys, like together?"

I feel like he wants to add just asking for a friend. His eyes bugging out as he waits for my answer.

"Well... I don't know really... I guess so?."

"So it's like just a casual thing then?"

"I suppose."

Robbie smiles, eyes drifting off behind me. "You've the right idea. Who wants to be tied down to just one person these days right? How boring. That's not how we're made to be. Everyone should be free to spread their seed wherever or with whoever they want."

"Maybe."

It's not that I don't slightly agree with him, I just don't like the way he makes it sound or how I feel like he's insinuating something closer to home.

"Work is so crazy right now. We're trying to get a trip to Los Angeles signed off," Robbie tells me with enthusiasm after he's finished his drink . "I mean the magazines sister office is out there, and hardly any of us have been. Can you imagine what a dream it would be? From an editorial stand point of course - just a wealth of inspiration. Felicity and I want to shoot at night on Skid Row. Really capture the gritty side of downtown LA."

"Sounds great."

"Our golden boy here, well we're hoping he'll be our tour guide," he nods to Dylan. "Fingers crossed we get the go ahead. I know Felicity's pushing hard for it."

I'm nodding like those plastic toy dogs sat at the back of cars. Amazing. Wonderful I say in between Robbie reeling off his top five locations, a wealth of air miles under his belt. Felicity mentioned often, usually in the same breath as Dylan.

"The three of us had a lot of fun in Copenhagen, and in Brighton surprisingly."

"Oh really?" I'm aware that prying, aiding him to tell me more is bad. That I might not like what I find.

Robbie grins. "Let's just say what happens in Brighton shall forever stay in Brighton. Lips sealed."

"Bet it does."

When Dylan finally spins his body round, to lean back behind Robbie he asks if I'd like another drink. His wing man already on his feet, ready to help.

"Sure why not," I sigh, feeling Felicity's heavy gaze on me. I suppose both of us don't really want to be left alone with each other but as Dylan follows Robbie towards the bar we don't have much of a choice.

"So, this is fun. The party I mean," I stutter, bopping along to the music through it's hard to find any rhythm in bleeps and erratic beats.

Felicity tosses back her hair, and drags her chair closer so our knees almost touch. "Yeah. Bit of a low turn out but it's to be expected. No one wants to be dragged to what is technically a work event on a Friday night," she laughs so casually.

As she makes chit chat about her role at the magazine, I can't help but just stare in total envy at how long her eyelashes are, and how she's managed to perfectly apply lip liner and a coral lippy that I would never be brave enough to try.

"So what do you do then Jemima?"

"I'm a features editor for an online site. Kinda like a blog but not. It's for women. You know like lifestyle stuff and some fashion and news. Aspire To Be," I say, trotting out the same old spiel. " You've probably never heard of it."

I'm grateful that she doesn't laugh in my face or ask me to repeat my words because I stumble over them. Instead she smiles, places a hand over her chest and gasps.

"How wonderful! Oh I actually used to go on that site all the time. During my lunch breaks back before I started at the magazine," Felicity grins, her accent coming through - a little bit Eliza Doolittle, My Fair Lady. "Unfortunately they monitor our internet usage so I had to curb my time spent on it. Still, you guys pop up on my twitter feed every now and again."

I sip my empty drink, the ice hitting my lips. "You're not really missing out on much."

"And you're a writer? I think Dylan mentioned that you were. He just never told me who you write for!"

At least he's talked about me, I think as I admire how genuinely happy she is to find out my profession. The usual shame felt for confessing to it slipping away.

"I'm a writer, though I tend to use that word loosely."

"Why? That's what you are. Be proud of it."

"Thanks, so um... how's Dylan getting on then, at the magazine?" I ask changing the subject, knowing that her eyes will light up. They do. My stomach sinks because I don't want to dislike her. If anything I'd maybe like her to be a casual friend, who I can ask for make up tips and fashion advice.

She'd be make a great shopping companion for trips to Camden Market only because every time I go I'm always so overwhelmed by the choice and all the vintage patterns and prints. Last time I came back with a pair of mustard coloured corduroy flares that I'm sure even my mum would have turned her nose up at back in the seventies.

Felicity smiles, glances back towards the bar. Dylan is perched on a stool next to Robbie. "Yeah really well. We're all so stoked to have him join the team."

My ears flinch at the word stoked, adopted straight out of Dylan's vocabulary. I'm not sure if it's intentional or not, perhaps just a slip of the tongue.

"That's good."

"He's smarter than most. Fun too. It's nice to have someone so chilled out to work with. I'm sure you know what it's like - the relationships you form at work tend to last a lot longer than those in real life."

I nod. I understand though I'm aware that she's fawning over him a little too much than I'd expected. Still I find it hard to be too annoyed. Someone like Felicity probably deserves him more than I do. I bet she'd treat him right. Not end up having sex with the a different guy you're really not supposed too.

I bet she's got her head screwed on properly, unlike mine.

"Robbie told me you guys are hoping to go away soon, LA or something," I say casually playing stupid.

Felicity nods enthusiastically. "Truth be told I want to go purely for selfish reasons. I'm so bored of London, and all of this," she wafts her hands about, frowns. "I'd love a transfer but it's difficult without actually going there, meeting the other team. Get my foot in the door and all that."

"Can you do that? Isn't it hard to get a sponsorship?"

"It can be. Depends how bad you want it I guess," she grins.

We say no more as Dylan and Robbie approach, balancing drinks in both hands. And I hardly speak to Felicity after, as she resumes her chatter with Dylan. Him none the wiser that I am sat twiddling my thumbs because Robbie has collared a young guy in double denim and won't stop talking.

I feel left out. And old as they natter about things I've no real interest in or understand. I'm well past the sell by date to be of any use to a intense discussion about a new underground art movement somewhere in East London. Their mutual enthusiasm impenetrable.

Downing my drink so I can get another, I make an excuse about nipping to the loo's. Which I spend a lot of time holed up in, texting Ruby and stalking Jack's Facebook page.

I'm not proud of it but I can't stop myself. It's not like there's much use for me back out in the party. I sincerely doubt Dylan's even concerned I've been in here for close to twenty minutes. Running my battery done to almost zero to gawp and zoom into pictures of Jack's toned and tan abs. Captivated by how green his eyes are in sunlight.

Intensely jealous and envious of all the bikini clad women in the background as he lounges on a white sandy beach. Their tight tummies and slim figures causing my stomach to drop.

I bet he's noticed them all too.

"Oi you gonna be in there any longer?" A voice calls, as the cubicle door shakes against the hard pounding of a fist. "There is a queue out here you know."

When I emerge, phone burning hot in my hand a young girl elbows past and slams the door. I dip my head low and quickly wash my hands, slinking back out.

Dylan is still sat with Felicity. Robbie is chatting up double denim guy.

I contemplate slipping out the exit but then I know there's nothing to be gained from leaving. I really don't want to go home alone tonight.

"So do you guys want to come back to mine?" I hear him ask as I sit back down. Robbie and Felicity look up at me, and side eye each other. "For a couple beers?"

"I'd love to but I think I'm gonna head over to Cargo Club, with Ed," Robbie replies, hand on his friends denim clad thigh.

Felicity pauses, then shakes her head. "Same. But thanks, maybe another time? You still owe me a few drinks after Brighton remember?"

"Don't even remind me aha," Dylan laughs nervously, rubbing his temples. This is obviously some in-joke I'm not privy too and I'm a little worried to ask.

When Robbie downs the last of his drink, Felicity takes her coat off the chair and gives us both a wave. "See you next week Dyl."

He flashes his megawatt smile and I'm pretty sure I can see the butterflies lifting her off the floor as she glides through the crowds. It's a feeling I've known all too well.

"So you wanna come back?" Dylan asks, like it's a tacked on after thought. He doesn't sound as upbeat as before. "Have a beer?"

Though I am a last resort I still don't want to go back to my flat. I've really nowhere else to be.

What's the harm?

"Sure."

*** *** ***

After a tube ride and some mild panic when his key won't turn in the lock back at the studio properly, we finally climb up the stairs, and he places a vinyl down on the player. Soft music filling the studio.

"I'm sorry we didn't get much of a chance to talk tonight. Robbie seemed quite taken with you," he grins, breath hot against my neck.

"It's fine."

This is a big lie. I am still annoyed about being ignored for most of the night and that it's taken him so long to acknowledge that fact.

"Felicity's great too, isn't she?" he asks, though it sounds like he's already answered for me.

I twist my body round, give a shrug. "Yeah. Really great."

"Not sure what I'd do without her to keep me sane at work," Dylan laughs and he must catch the nonchalant look in my eyes. "And Robbie too of course. Both of them."

"Uh huh."

I'm not really jealous but still it's kind of ruining the moment. My selfish side believing that I've worked quite hard to get to this point, though I've tarnished it somewhat by involving myself with Jack again.

Still as bad as it sounds I really don't want Felicity to be the first to give Dylan a royal British welcome. Though I can't be one hundred percent that she already hasn't. I take my chances. I've hype up this scenario too many times to let it go to waste.

Even if it's not quite how I'd hoped it to be.

When I slip a hand under his shirt he smiles down at me, a little warily and I make a decision. I let the bad kind of frustration and my annoyance slide.

"Thought we'd agreed not to rush into anything..." he says slowly.

"We don't have to rush," I reply, fingers tracing the small buttons on his shirt. Itching to undo every single one. "I can just take your clothes off very slowly, if you'd prefer?"

It's a bit cheeky but he goes with it. After resting his hands on my hips as I rise up on my tip toes to kiss his cheeks, he walks me over to the bookcases, reaches for the light switch and dims it, so that only the strip light from the kitchen and outside continues to shine.

"Are you sure?"

"Sure."

When Dylan grins I find that I'll always be sucker for such attention, and the interest he's now giving me. Even if this has all just been an after thought. The second best option. Maybe.

I gently kick off my shoes to join him at the foot of the bed. Our weight pushing down on the mattress that sinks low.

Slowly we lie back, fingers twisted together with expectation.

Late into the night, with nowhere better to be.

*** **** ****

When Dylan struggles to pull off my jeans, and they get caught round my ankles I have to laugh about it. Thankfully after a short pause I continue to crawl up the bed to get under the light bed sheets in just my undies.

His touch is warm and gentle. There is an eagerness but not the urgency I've come accustomed to. When he pulls them off instead of sliding them aside I repeat a mantra in my mind. Just go with it. Different is good. You might even like it this way.

Dylan's skin is hot to the touch, and when the hard rhythm of his hips melt against mine I lose my mouth in his stubble and hair. Back arched as he slides a warm hand under to the base of my spine. And it's good. I cling to that. Good is better than awful and much better than nothing at all.

If it allows me a few minutes not to live inside my own head then I'm all for it.

With crystal blue eyes catching mine between light kisses it doesn't take long for me to fall in with the flow of just how my thighs feel like they might be on fire. When Dylan takes the back of my head and rolls me on top in one pretty impressive swoop, I dig my hands into his hard chest and I grind my hips down.

He doesn't say much. He doesn't whisper into my ear as his mouth nuzzles my neck. Dylan is quiet though he breathes heavy.

Minutes pass and I feel the loss of sensation in my fingertips and toes from fight against the rapid decline of pleasure.

Completely underwhelmed from the momentary blur in vision. All of it disappearing just as quickly as it came. A tiny explosion. Like a firework in the rain.

Dylan's breathing speeds up and I can feel him, both his hands reaching out to push my hips down harder and faster. When he's completely spent he brings me down to rest on his chest.

"Wow, that was... wow," he sighs, his breath tickling my ear. It's the most he's said since our clothes came off. Not really a talker between the sheets. No naughty words spoken or any requests made. Different is good, I tell myself again. Maybe it is supposed to be this way. Jack is just a stupid anomaly.

I repeat back Dylan's breathless words and allow him to hold me close though my skin is itching to kick off the covers wrapped round me. The air hot and smothering.

"Was that... I mean did you...?" he whispers as I untwist my legs from the covers. I can feel his cheeks flush, like little rosy balls against mine when I lift my head.

Usually I'd just smile, in the hopes they'd see that I'm absolutely flat out exhausted from the feeling akin to that of a hundred explosions, so forceful they could flatten whole cities but his eyes on mine beg for an answer.

So, I nod, even though no cities have been flatten.

"I did," an eyebrow raised when his does, like he doesn't quite believe me either.

"It was... Incredible," he smiles. "I mean, you were."

I mumble back ditto and shift my body off him. I am tired. Too sleepy for words.

And I don't remember the lights turning off and I don't remember pulling his arm round my waist but when I wake myself, as if I'm slipping on water I find that the room is much darker, his embrace tighter and I allow it.

Knowing that come morning I will likely be spread out like butter, legs and arms jutting out at all angles, bum pushed out. Taking up as much space as I can lay claim too.

Dylan just has no idea yet.

*** *** ***

The morning light creeping through the large windows falls onto my face, and when I wake I feel hot and sticky. A feeling that reminds me of being in a tent, stuck in stuffy stale air. And just like back at the festival when I turn my head Dylan's not beside me. The bed empty, just a faint outline of where he's slept visible.

As I stir, fumble round down the side of the messy bed for my knickers a waft of coffee hits my senses. The smell of bacon, not burnt but sizzling spurs me into putting some clothes on. When I can't locate my floral blouse I make do with Dylan's discarded shirt, just how they do in the movies. Seductively tip toeing across the cold wooden floorboards like a kitten to find him.

"Yeah, tomorrow. Sounds good. I know, sorry about last night. Maybe another time, after we've got though this week? Beers on me." I hear him say, his head pushed against his shoulder blade. A phone nestled between. He's shirtless. Cooking up eggs in a pan over the stove.

When he catches me pull back the kitchen counter stool he spins round, and grins.

Two seconds, he mouths. "I've got to go now, see you tomorrow okay?"

As Dylan pulls the phone away from his ear and places it down, I yawn a little.

"Hey sleepy."

"Hi," I smile, resting an elbow down on the kitchen counter.

"That was just some work stuff. Sorry."

"On a Saturday morning?"

"Yeah, there's some big deadline. Been bought forward. But anyways, enough work talk. I'm afraid this isn't quite ready yet, was planning on bringing it over to you," Dylan laughs.

"No ones ever made me breakfast in bed before."

Pouring out a mug of coffee, he leaves the eggs and comes closer. "You've obviously been waking up with the wrong people then."

Such a flirty delivery leaves me feeling a little hot. Even though he's got all the windows cracked open, and it's raining outside. And I'm under no illusions that Felicity had been on the other end of his call.

"Did you sleep well?"

I nod. "Yeah."

"For such a small person you really demand a lot of space," Dylan smirks, spatula in hand.

"Ah god, I'm sorry."

"It's cute."

As I thank him for the coffee, stealing a couple of ripe grapes from the bowl in the middle of the counter whilst he continues to prepare breakfast, he tells me to go back to bed. How he'll be over real soon.

I do as I'm told. Get back under the sheets, warm mug in hand until he appears with two large plates, and another with pancakes.

Maybe this is his way of showing that he's a bit sorry for mostly ignoring me at the party. Or maybe it's just his plan to get me back into his bed, I think when we've finished eating, legs tucked under, pillows scattered round us. The sticky syrup left over from the pancakes sweetly licked from my fingertips when I'm careless and clumsy with it.

Dylan pushes the plates aside, and nibbles the corners of my mouth. He tastes sweet, just like the sugary honey spread over his toast. And when his hands run up my thighs under his shirt I think, why the hell not?

What else is there to do on a rainy Saturday, when summer has stuck two fingers up and taken the day off?

Fooling around, still sleepy and a little turned on he kisses me for a long time before we're reenacting like deja vu the night before, though it's more leisurely, mellow.

The afternoon passes in similar a blur

"You about tomorrow?" he asks after, with only a thin cover to protect his modesty. "I've got some photographs to develop, and Felicity needs me to pop into the office to sort through overdue editorials but I should be free in the evening if we finish early."

That name again. Once more I let it slide.

"Can't tomorrow but next week?"

"Sounds good."

"I'll call you."

Dylan takes a while to pull himself away from bed to walk me downstairs once I'm dressed in more than knickers. And it feels odd to just give him a peck on the cheek after everything we've done in the time between breakfast and sunset.

Holding the door ajar he kisses the top of my forehead. "Hope you have a good night."

As I tread the well worn path down his street back to the bus stop, I think about the past twenty four hours have been. How something good can happen even if it had started a little shaky. And even in spite of all the confusion my mind's wrapped in. Like Abbie and Dave, their undisclosed plans to move across the country, and Jack hundreds of miles away. Still for another week.

I feel like good can get me through for now. Because good is good enough and better than nothing at all.

. . .