‘Shut up, you’re perfect.’ He hooks an arm around my neck as he adds, sweetly, ‘Way out of my league.’
I snort and he lets me go because it’s too difficult to walk these hills conjoined and not stumble.
‘You are,’ he insists. ‘You always have been.’
‘Rubbish. It’s totally the other way around, especially now you’ve gone and got famous.’
I reach over and punch his arm and he rolls his eyes.
When I’ve been in a dark place at various points over the last year, I’ve found myself obsessing over Door 54’s Instagram feed. It’s full of grungy shots of four boys on tour, falling over drunk onstage, crowd-surfing, stumbling out of sleek SUVs, frequenting cool-sounding venues with names like the Fonda and the Roxy … And then there are the reels. There’s one in particular that shows Finn and his lead guitarist, Dylan, standing on the rooftop of a low-slung bungalow, throwing random objects into a bright blue swimming pool. The backdrop is a brilliantly blue sky, complete with a tall, skinny palm tree.
It made me feel oddly small, watching that video.
The Finn I knew – or at least, the Finn IthoughtI knew – didn’t seem to fit in with the Finn on Instagram at all.
‘Howisband life?’ I ask. ‘Are you getting on better with your guitarist now?’
I don’t call him by his name, I’m not sure why. Maybe because I don’t want Finn to realise how much I’ve been learning everything there is to know about Door 54 and its members.
Fun facts: the baby-faced drummer, Gus, is the son of a country-and-western star, and the bass guitarist, Ernie, was photographed recently at a club with Selena Gomez.
‘Not really,’ Finn replies. ‘Things are a bit strained all round, to be honest.’
‘In what way?’
‘We want different things. They’re all on the same page, but I’m not.’
‘What do they want?’ I ask with a frown.
‘To move away from alt-rock into a more aggressive metalcore, electronic sound. But I like the way we sound now.’
‘I like the way you sound now too.’
‘Have you heard our album?’ He glances at me.
‘Of course.’
‘Aw.’ He grins and hooks his arm around my neck again.
‘Argh, Finn, you’re going to pull me over!’
‘No, I’ll keep you upright,’ he bats back. ‘Is that the sculpture garden?’ He releases me to look through an arched gateway built into a high stone wall.
‘Yep.’
I step closer and peer through the bars of the black wrought-iron gate at sculptures that are barely visible amongst the thick tree cover.
‘The entrance is around the corner,’ I say, leading him away.
I’m still holding his hand when we arrive at the museum.
We linger in the entrance hall, reading information about Barbara Hepworth and her life as an avant-garde artist. I’ve been here so many times, but there’s always something new to discover.
‘Do you still want to become a member of the Royal Society of Sculptors?’ Finn asks me as he reads through a list of Barbara Hepworth’s key achievements.
I lift my shoulders in a small shrug and nod towards the staircase. ‘Right now, I just need to focus on getting back into sculpting.’
‘Any ideas for what you might make?’ he asks as we come out at the top into a gallery space with white walls and wooden floors.
