For a Song [#Wattys 2015]

Chapter 2

Hilly

I didn't rush home after leaving the shop. I never rushed home, actually- especially not when I technically still had three hours left on my shift. Despite it being a Saturday, I knew Dad would be working and wouldn't have noticed if I was early, late or had grown an extra head that hurled insults at people in broken French. Why did I prefer to stay away? Uh. The quiet I suppose. The memories. We didn't have many pictures of Izzy out; digital cameras meant her biggest presence was still on facebook which felt as corporeal as heaven sometimes, but I could picture something of her in any given corner of the room.

Plus our house had turned into a complete dump. Kasia, the Polish girl who cleaned up twice a week was surly and not much bothered when it came to housework. She fit in well with the rest of us; me, my dad and my brother could all be surly and not much bothered about housework too. Izzy had been tidy. Mum had been even tidier, but they were both gone and so in our filth the three of us wallowed.

Instead, I texted Boy Frankie. Told him to meet me at The Earth Cafe, pronto.

Boy Frankie is my best friend- we call him that because he's been dating Girl Frankie since the two of them were practically fetal. For the purposes of this I hope it makes things less confusing. In life, in person, though the differences between the two are actually pretty obvious. Girl Frankie is mixed race, tall and tubby with enormous knockers and a septum piercing while Boy Frankie is tall and thin with messy blonde hair, a scruffy beard and thick framed glasses. He texted back to tell me he was already there.

There and ready with a pint of cider for me, bought with his brother's I.D- not that anyone actually cared at The Earth Cafe. We were regulars, most of the bar staff knew perfectly well we weren't eighteen but since we behaved ourselves no one ever seemed to mind and accepted Boy Frankie's brother's ID without question

"Still up for the open mic on Wednesday?" was the first thing he said to me when I arrived. Boy Frankie played guitar too and once a week he growled a Nick Cave song at The Earth Cafe's open mic night- a huge event that always pulled in people from all over town and beyond, attracting a mixed spice of hippy and hipster and even sometimes hip-hop. Some nights Boy Frankie and I played together, some nights I struggled through on my own. I can sing I guess and Izzy had been a patient teacher- but I never had her talent.

"I need you to tell me to calm down," I blurted out as soon as I got to the table, a round battered wooden thing to match the slightly ramshackle vibe of the whole place. It was always dark, even in the daytime- tinged with the reddish hues of silk scarves and fabrics that were pinned in random places on the wall."I need you to tell me I'm overreacting."

Boy Frankie pressed his lips together, part puzzled, part tickled but didn't seem to need any context before he was taking a deep breath and leaning close into me.

"Cool your tits!" He bellowed, sonorous and booming like the hammiest of Shakespearean actors up on the stage. As he slammed a fist into the table a few patrons turned around to glance at us, making me draw down into my seat mortified. But they quickly returned to their books and their chai teas and Boy Frankie seemed as if he was having the time of his life.

"Goddamit Hilly; you're overreacting I tell you! You. are. Over. Reacting," he finally finished, drawing back again to get my final review. "Good?"

"Bit much, Robert DeNiro. But thank you."

It had worked in the sense that I'd been distracted momentarily, but it didn't last and I found myself once again thinking and worrying on my lip.

"So am I allowed to ask what you're over reacting to?" said Boy Frankie.