“Payton’s hiding this morning,” Seph said, catching up with me. He reminded me of Tigger from Winnie the Pooh: overly enthusiastic and happy, continually looking for the next happy thing to go to, but that made him vulnerable. Payton told me how the split with his long term girlfriend had ruined him, to the extent where she’d come home early from working at the Manchester office.
“What do you mean, she’s hiding?” I said, panic stabbing me. I knew it was irrational. If any one of them had been worried about where Payton was, they’d have started a fucking search party.
Seph gave me shit-eating grin which let me know my panic had been duly noted and would be used against me later. “She’s reading our messages but not saying anything. Ava’s spoken to her though; she is okay before you go postal.”
“What are the messages about?” I said suspiciously.
“There are lots of friends references—not the programme. She’s fine though, probably in a better state than us after that,” Seph said, pulling off his top, his hair staying perfectly styled.
“How much fucking hairspray do you use on that?”
He shrugged. “Fuck knows. Ask Victoria. It’s hers.”
Max’s eyes fell on his brother. “Does she know you use it?”
Seph pulled a face. “I’d assume so. It’s either that or she thinks you’ve got a hairspray fetish. I’ll replace it, don’t get your jockstrap in a twist.”
There was a grumble from Max that was mostly unintelligible.
* * *
Once everyone smelt better than stale beer and sweat, we headed for a late breakfast at a chain pub near to the field where we’d trained. A rugby game was being shown on the large TV screens and a few of my new teammates had already hit the Guinness. I was in work later, so more alcohol wasn’t on my menu. The stores were well managed enough that I rarely had to get involved in the day to day running of them, but when we had gigs on, particularly with well-known singers and groups, I tried to be available. Tonight, there was a singer-songwriter on at the Covent Garden store and a band doing an acoustic set in Soho. I knew the band well and on a couple of occasions I’d subbed in when they needed a lead guitarist. It was also the band that my ex, Amber, would join if she had nothing better to do and they wanted something different, not that she was there tonight. Amber was in L.A. at a coding conference as one of the speakers; I’d had an email from her a couple of days ago with a picture of the view from her room, another man’s feet included in the picture. They were probably her new boyfriend’s, Gregson’s, if I’d listened properly and she didn’t mean anything by including them. It had been three years since we’d been over officially and more since we’d been over. We were friends and much better that way.
“Which gig are there tickets available for?” Callum said, pinching food off Seph’s plate while he wasn’t looking. They were on their second full breakfast, and to be fair, so was I.
“I can get you in either. If your friend needs something a bit happier, go for the band in Soho. I’ll be around there as well so just give me a call when you arrive. Doors open at eight,” I said. The all-day-breakfast was doing its medicinal job.
My phone chimed. I checked it, hoping it was Payton. She hadn’t responded to the drunken selfie I’d sent her last night when I’d finally got in bed and the room had stopped spinning.
It was her.
My chest felt like someone was whacking it from the inside. There was nothing detailed, just a message to check her Instagram.
Her feed had a picture of her sitting on a snuggle seat in the Soho branch of Cases, her feet tucked under her with the caption ‘My favourite store’ and a load of hashtags. It already had over fifty likes and had only been posted for five minutes.
My response was immediate and easy.My favourite girl.I knew as soon as any of her brothers saw it I would be ripped to pieces, possibly online.
I opened my camera app up and elbowed Callum in the ribs. “Try to look pretty,” I said. Seph saw what was happening and pushed his way in. From the looks of it, someone had bought him a pint of Guinness. A couple of the others stood behind us and I ended up with a series of photos with various faces being pulled and hand gestures. I picked the one least likely to get me put in Instagram prison and posted it without a filter, although Seph was trying to talk me into airbrushing his hair which Max had managed to mess up properly.
It took about fifteen minutes for Payton to comment on the photo withsome of my favourite people.Then my phone pinged with a text.
Payton:I see Seph’s liver survived.
Owen:Just. Callum made him clean the bathroom first thing this morning. I can no longer tolerate the smell of bleach.
Payton:How’s your head?
Owen:Fine although I had a lump from where I ran into Max. I swear your brother is made of stone.
Payton:According to Victoria, parts of him are. I didn’t ask which.
Owen:That’s too much information. Are you still in Cases?
Payton:I’m surrounded by books. I think I may be on the way to bankrupting myself.
Owen:Leave them behind the main till and I’ll get them for you.
Payton:Seriously, I can afford a few, err, dozen books. Might need a bigger house though. Your mum said hi and told me she’ll give me the staff discount. Check my Instagram again.
