#before that i was writing about friendships drifting away after the transition from secondary education -> further education

[rosekasa]

creating for a fandom from teenage years to adulthood is so special because you can see where your subconscious was through the history of your works

[catfishandthebottlefan]

#11 - Heathrow

A/N - So I’ve been gone for a few days, because I’ve been writing this long fic! It’s over 5,000 words (sorry😂) I’m super proud of this one though, and I’m sure you’ll love it :) Enjoy reading it, and, if you enjoyed it, please leave a note for me so I know what to write more of or less of! ~ A x

Van had always loved you. Well, it was the first thing he’d said to you when you were in pre-school - despite Van being a few months older than you, at your primary school they mixed the first two classes - and you’d given him your cookie cutter to help him make his sculpture out of play-dough. Through primary school, you’d stayed friends, before drifting apart gradually in secondary school as you began to see him less and less. Everyday chats turned weekly, and you only saw each other when it was organised by your parents, such as at family barbecues or special birthdays. You never forgot about each other, however, and you’d often smile as a surprise “how r u, havent spoke in ages xx” would flash up on your phone when Van was away.

You were 16 when you had to call Van for the first time in a couple of weeks. You were stranded at Heathrow Airport after a terrorist incident, when someone attempted to detonate a bomb in Manchester. Your flight back from Spain (where your family were on holiday - you had to return early to be home in time for GCSE results day) had been diverted to Heathrow.

“Van,” you pleaded, tears falling down your face, “Where are you?”

“Hey, you ok? I’m at home, sleeping like every other sane person on the planet. Why?”

“It’s ok, don’t worry-” you choked back a sob.

“Y/N, Y/N, hey, why are you upset?” the concern in Van’s voice shone through, “Where are you?”

“I’m stranded at Heathrow, someone set off a bomb somewhere, I’m ok, I just don’t have enough money for a taxi home or a hotel room and I, I don’t know what to do-”

You heard a jingle of keys in the background. “Van, it’s too far, it’ll take you 4 hours to drive-”

“I’m not in a rush, are you?” Van replied, jokingly, as you heard the slam of a car door.

“Van, you don’t have to do this, it’s 3 o’clock in the morning-” you choked, as you sat, shivering on a bench outside Heathrow Airport.

“Hang tight, love, I’m coming to pick you up.” Van replied, reassuring you, “It’ll be okay.”

He hung the phone up, and you held it close to your chest, disappearing inside your hoodie. You didn’t know how to feel - happy you were being rescued, or guilty you’d had to ask Van to come pick you up. You didn’t have a lot of choice as none of your other friends could drive yet, but you still allowed a few tears to fall down your face as you thought of Van’s kindness.

It turned out there was no need to feel guilty. At 7:30am, you spotted the white Transit van come round the corner, The Streets blaring from the stereo. Van was, of course, in the driver’s seat, however, you were surprised to spot Larry sleeping in the seat closest to the passenger door. You leapt up off of the bench, wheeling your suitcase over to the van. Van jumped out of the driver’s side and wrapped you in his arms. He threw your suitcase into the back, which was filled with guitars, amps and other music equipment, and hustled you quickly into the middle seat of the van.

“Y/N?” Larry muttered groggily, as you wriggled past him into your seat.

“Thank you guys so much.” you smiled, pulling your knees closer to your chest under your hoodie.

“No need, I know you’d have done the same.” Van placed his left hand on your knee, “You’re freezing, babe!”

“I’m okay,” you smiled, leaning into Larry, “Thank you guys so much.”

“It’s fine!” Van replied, cheerily. Then, more sincerely, he told you, “I’m here, whenever you need me.”

Van gently put his hand on your thigh as he pulled out of the drop-off bay, and you felt a slight shiver travel up your spine. You told yourself not to be ridiculous, he was just a friend. As Van drove you home, you began to fall more and more in love with him - it was like you’d never been apart for all those weeks when life had come between your relationship. No, not a relationship, you told yourself. It was just a friendship.

Little did you know, he was telling himself the same thing.

-

You hadn’t heard from Van for after that summer. Stemming from him driving you home that  August morning, you had begun to meet up more and more. You would sit in the park together for days on end, then, at night, you would get smoke joints in the playground and get drunk by the duck pond. This led to blurred, yet fond memories of Van pushing Larry into the pond, and drunk Bob, who was always a laugh. Yet, once you started sixth form, you studied hard for your A-levels, and life began to push you and Van apart again. He left to tour with the band, who were still relatively unsuccessful, but you always admired his optimism. You kept in contact via calls and texts, always just as friends, but you slowly drifted further and further apart, just like the space between calls. You got into Oxford, to do a degree in Astrophysics, while Van was still living at home, or was on the road with the band, living off a pasty and a joint a day. Your parents - who had now divorced - expected you to have forgotten about him, and your uni mates knew nothing about him, but you still longed for his company, and would sit up late at night, contemplating calling him. Once again, little did you know, he was doing the same thing.

You were twenty-one when your professor broke the news that you were one of the few students he believed was capable of giving a talk to thousands of younger aspiring scientists as part of a education programme.

“Like a TED talk, only for teenagers.” he had told you.

You were eager to take part, until you realised the large scale of the project. You had to speak for half an hour, non-stop, about the same subject you were writing about in your dissertation - yours being a division of Nuclear and Particle Space Physics. Worst of all, it was situated in a theatre in the west end of London - as if you didn’t need to feel even more inferior. You had six months to prepare your speech and background slides, and you threw yourself into it.

The project became a welcome distraction from your life at the moment, as, that December, your mother was diagnosed with terminal breast cancer. You didn’t tell anybody, not even your housemates, instead filling your emptiness inside with uni work, taking on every project or extra credit assignment you could. Your grades prospered, and you quickly became a straight-A student in every assessment. You somehow managed to balance this with the gut-wrenching visits home every weekend, to see your mum. Everyone admired your tenacity and effort with your work, and some people even became jealous of your success, yet they didn’t know the emotional turmoil going on inside your head, as your mother became sicker and sicker.

What you failed to consider was how quickly news spread in Llandudno, and, only minutes after you were told your mum was in the hospice, your phone lit up with a call from Van. You declined the call at first, as you got in your car, ready to make your final 3 and a half hour drive to Llandudno. Once your mother passed away, you had no further plans of returning. There was nothing left for you there.

But, then again, there was Van.

As his call lit up your screen once more, you connected your phone to your car’s Bluetooth system, and answered the phone.

“Y/N!” Van’s voice boomed through your speakers.

Quickly, you turned the volume down, forgetting how loudly you had The National playing on your last journey back to Oxford from seeing your mum. You had taken to turning it up as loudly as you could on your way back from visiting, to drown out your sobs.

“Y/N,” Van almost whispered, “I had no idea, I’m, I’m so sorry-“

“Van.” you said, his name almost croaky in your throat as you say it for the first time in years, “It’s not your fault.” “I should have called earlier, I just, I don’t know, I just didn’t want to think about ya. I’ve been missing you.”

You pulled over into a lay-by. If you were going to have an emotional conversation, you did not want to risk crashing the car over it.

“Van,” you mumbled, “I’ve missed you too.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t call earlier, I just-“ his voice trailed off, “I want to see you.”

You sniff, holding back tears, “Well today might be your lucky day. I’m two hours away.”

“Hardly very lucky though, what with your mum-“ he checked himself, “I wish this wasn’t, I don’t know, I wish the circumstance wasn���t as bad.”

“That’s just life, innit.” you sniffed, trying to force yourself to smile, “How’s things with you?”

You started your car again as Van began to tell you about Catfish, and how they’re on the cusp of getting a deal, and how well they’re getting on.

“People know us, Y/N, it’s mad. They say stuff to us like, put that one on the album, or don’t bother with that one, it’s shit. It’s mental.”

You spoke to Van for most of the drive, until you got to Wrexham.

“My phone’s dying, love, I need to go,” he said, sadly, “Where can I meet you? Mine?”

“What do you mean?” you replied, “You’re home?”

“I am now I know you need me.”

-

You spent two days by your mother’s bedside as she slowly passed away. You had been preparing for this for months, but there was one eventuality that you hadn’t prepared for, and that was a new kind of relationship with Van.

After your mum passed on, you had every intention of returning to Oxford, but Mary and Bernie insisted upon you staying at the B&B. You lived there for two months after obtaining special permission from uni, and you spent nearly every waking hour with Van. It soon became every sleeping hour as well, because it would be nighttime when the grief would suffocate you. Van held you in his arms, and it felt as if he was gently squeezing the broken parts of your heart back together. In the daytime and evenings, you would follow Van around to gigs, and you realised he was right about Catfish - they really were becoming popular, and the band who once played covers in bars were now getting their own following, and recognition for the songs Van spent countless hours writing in his bedroom.

You didn’t know initially, but you became his muse. One day, Van went out to rehearse at Benji’s, and you stayed home, catching up on some lectures you’d asked your friends to video for you. However, after two hours studying, your mind began to wander, and your eyes were drawn to a leather-bound notebook on Van’s dresser. Against your better judgement, you opened the book, to find some half-finished lyrics and songs which Van hadn’t played to you yet. This was unusual; he’d played nearly every song he’d written to you in the time you’d been staying with him. You read the unfinished lyrics carefully.

“Love her from the get-go/pick her up from Heathrow/whenever she needs me” - was this about that time when you were 16 and he drove for hours to come and get you?

“I wanna make it my business, I wanna make you my problem” - was this about how you had told him not to worry about you, and you’d deal with your grief yourself?

You engrossed yourself in the fragments of songs written in the notebook. You knew some, such as Cocoon - which Van had played to you before - were about ex-girlfriends. However, it was the ones you hadn’t heard before which intrigued you the most - a couple of songs called ASA and Collide. You only twigged his romantic feelings for you after you turned the page to see your name written with love hearts around it, paired with doodles of what looked like you. Stood next to doodles of him. Your name and his, written in a heart, then crossed out, then rewritten another ten times.

Your heart plummeted, and then did somersaults. Did Van feel the same way as you did? You traced his handwriting of your name with your index finger, engrossed in the way his pen must’ve danced across the page, broadcasting his thoughts to the outside world. Well, not the outside world, as this notebook was Van’s. Private. You sighed, feeling guilty, and snapped the book shut.

As you turned around to gently place the notebook back where you found it, you noticed a figure out of the corner of your eye. Oh, shit. It was Van.

“Oh my God, Van,” you stuttered, “I’m so sorry, I knew it was private, I shouldn’t have looked, I-“

“Y/N,” Van replied, calmly, “It’s okay. I don’t mind. I promise.”

“Is it true?” you asked, quietly, “The things you write in here, are they true?”

“Depends what things you’re talking about.”

“Love her from the get-go? Pick her up from Heathrow?” you questioned, “Are they about me?”

Van blushed bright red, and took a step towards you.

“It’s true.” he confirmed.

You wasted no time in wrapping your arms around his waist, and he pulled your head into his chest. You inhaled deeply - Van always smelled nice.

“I love you too.” you mumbled into his jumper.

He responded simply by stroking the top of your head.

The next few weeks were spent exchanging stolen glances, and secret kisses when nobody was looking. Cuddling him a little closer in bed. A cheeky hand up your top when you lay together. Your hand on his thigh when driving around to gigs.

It wasn’t long before people started noticing, however. Larry was one of the first to twig, when he caught you and Van sharing the same cigarette on the balcony, snuggled under Van’s jacket together as the typically Welsh rain bounced off the pavements. Obviously, he told Benji, Bob, and Billy, and the news then spread like wildfire around the town, despite Van’s quiet threats of “chucking you in that fucking pond again, you little prick”. Van’s parents claimed to have known since you moved in, however you suspected it was old Mrs Perry next door who told them.

You liked being Van’s girl. He would get oddly protective of you, not letting you walk alone at night, making sure you had a jacket if it was raining. He would look you in the eye every once in a while at gigs, and wink at you. Whenever you were feeling down about your mum, he’d hold you in his arms and the world would seem to be a less cold and cruel place. He loved when you wore certain outfits, and he would let you wear his favourite jeans and hoodies that he didn’t even let Larry borrow. He’d learn the guitar chords of your favourite songs, just so he could play them to you.

He was the perfect boyfriend, and you dreaded having to go back to uni and leave him.

-

“So where even is Oxford Uni?” Van asked, getting into the passenger side of your car, “Somewhere down south?”

“Yes, Van, it’s in Oxfordshire. Above London, but below Birmingham.” you repeated for what seemed like the thousandth time.

He reached over to kiss the tear which raced down your cheek as you pulled out of his parents’ driveway. You glanced in your rear-view mirror to see Mary and Bernie waving enthusiastically, looking as proud as your own mother did when you drove off to Oxford for the first time.

“They’re just happy because they can say I went to Oxford.” he chuckled, in an attempt to cheer you up. You didn’t respond.

“I’m sorry, baby.” he said, tenderly, “We’ll be okay. I love you.”

“I know, I just feel, I don’t know-“ you sniffed, trying to suppress the lump in your throat, “I feel guilty for taking you away from everything like this.”

“C’mon, Y/N, we talked about this,” Van sighed, “I’m only staying until after your speech thingy, and if I don’t like it, I can go back, and I’ll visit you every weekend and all that jazz. Stop stressing, please, babe.”

You simply nodded your head as you pulled out onto the main road. Van fiddled with the stereo.

“This is a lot newer than the one in my van,” he said, his tongue poking out in concentration, “How do you get the radio?”

You pressed a few buttons on the steering wheel, shaking your head. “You won’t get a signal. Here, try a CD.”

Van put in your Arctic Monkeys Whatever People Say I Am That's What I’m Not CD.

“Still think our demos are better.” he quipped, as The View from the Afternoon began to play.

“You’re gonna struggle being away from the band for all this time.” you sighed, sadly.

“I’ve got me guitar and notebook!” he replied, cheerily enough, “What more could I need?”

“Uh, your bassist, lead guitar and drummer?” you joked back to him.

As you drove back through North Powys, Van fell asleep, and you felt a warm sensation in your heart. Although your world as you knew it had crumbled in the past few months, you had Van. He was all you needed.

-

You were right about Oxford - Van hated it. He hated being away from the band, he hated the lack of underage drinking and antisocial behaviour, he hated the accent. But he loved you, and that was what made him stay. He slept in your bed in halls, much to the disgust of your flatmates, who made it clear that they didn’t consider him good enough for you.

“I mean, him?” Natalie said, her nose wrinkling, “What does he do?”

“What’s his haircut all about?” Molly jeered.

You tried your best to persuade them to be on Van’s side. “I told you, he’s in a band! They’re really good as well! And I love his hair!”

Although they never said anything to his face, Van knew your roommates didn’t like him. He had unspeakable nicknames for them as well, and he’d loudly use them on the phone to Larry every evening. Despite him claiming he was happy here, as long as you were together, you knew he missed being on the road with the band. University life was too structured for Van, too organised. The only part he liked was the student parties which would happen every Friday night, but he even wasn’t the same when drunk, without his buddies. There was no hilarious banter, no casual arson, no recreational drug use. Well, there was weed, but you knew Van and the boys liked something a bit stronger on some of those heavier nights.

However, partying aside, the most important part was the fact that you were prepared for your speech, which took place two weeks after you and Van moved back to Oxford. He sat right at the front of the theatre, looking somewhat out of place next to the clean-cut parents, professors, and other downright nerds that had come along to support the speakers. Despite his clear misplacement amongst the scholars, Van was the best supporter in the whole theatre, and he cheered the loudest for you after your speech, which went perfectly, due to all the hard work and preparation you’d put in. You didn’t bother telling him that it wasn’t a football match or a concert, and it really didn’t matter how loudly you clapped, as you were so grateful for his support.

Van also made an effort with your friends, telling them how good their speeches were. Sophie and Julian quickly made friends with Van after he tried his best to express an interest in their joint speech on Advanced Quantum Mechanics. They seemed slightly surprised that he was in a band.

“So, what do you do?” asked Julian, politely.

“Me? I’m the lead singer of a class band,” he replied, happy someone was finally striking up a conversation with him, “We’re right on the cusp of getting signed, me and me mates can’t believe it, we’ve grafted so long for it.”

“You’re in a band! That’s so cool!” Sophie smiled, “So is that like, your uni hobby? What degree are you doing?”

“Degree?” Van laughed, “I got kicked out of school at 15! I’m in the band, like, that’s me job!”

“Oh, wow!” Julian smiled, “Like Noel Gallagher?”

“Nah, I’m like a shit version of Mike Skinner,” he chuckled, “We’re called Catfish and the Bottlemen. You should check us out, we’re more popular up North than down here though.”

Your friends nodded enthusiastically, and you and Van turned around to head back to halls.

He sighed. “Y/N, I do really miss the band.”

Your heart sunk. You knew Van wouldn’t last long in Oxford, but you didn’t quite want to believe he wasn’t happy here. You loved being with him all the time, but also being at uni. Part of you wanted to ignore the fact he wasn’t happy, and keep him here until your degree was finished, however, you knew that would be like keeping an eagle inside a cage. Van was the type of person to get cabin fever; he liked to be on the road all the time, waking up in a different place every day. He needed to spread his wings and fly - he hated the normality and routine of uni.

“Stay till the holidays?” you pleaded, as you walked back to the flat.

“When’s that?” Van replied, deep in thought.

“Middle of June, just another month? Please, Van?” you almost begged.

“I’ll try my best, it’s just, the band need me and I miss Larry and I hate this tiny flat and doing the same thing every day and the people and-“

“Van, just stop.” you sighed, exasperated, “Before you say something you regret.”

You entered the flat with an atmosphere between you that could be cut with a knife. You headed to bed, and you heard Van going into the kitchen to make a cup of tea. You tried to snuggle under the duvet, but you could never sleep without him by your side, so you lay awake, staring at the ceiling. You knew when you came back that Van would have to go home, but you desperately didn’t want him to.

About 5 minutes later, you saw Van coming into the bedroom, and quickly closed your eyes, pretending to be asleep. You sensed him taking off his jeans and shirt, and the bed moved under his weight as he got in beside you. Usually, when he wrapped his arms around your waist, you would wriggle closer to him, but, tonight you rolled over and faced the other way. You heard him sigh, and although your heart was breaking and you longed to be held, your anger and sadness at the fact he was leaving meant that you couldn’t bring yourself to be close to him.

You slept fitfully that night, tossing and turning, having nightmares about Van breaking up with you because you didn’t allow him to go home and do what he loved. The guilt ate you up inside, and you found yourself snuggled into his chest by 3am. He stroked your back and kissed the top of your head, whispering to you that he’d stay if you needed him to. However, you told him he needed to go back - he needed to be happy. You remember falling asleep with tears running down your cheeks and into Van’s chest.

-

The next morning, you woke up to Van sat at the end of your bed, strumming a few chords on the guitar.

“What’re you playing?” you croaked, pulling yourself up.

“Just sorting out the rhythm for one of the new songs.” he replied softy, not looking up from the guitar.

“Van, I was thinking-“

“Yeah?”

“I’m thinking you should go back today.” you said, seriously, “I’ll help you pack your things, and I’ll drive you home this afternoon.”

Van set the guitar down on the carpet, and paused for a moment. “I don’t want you driving me home, love, you’ve got your finals in a few weeks and I don’t want you missing out on study time.”

“I don’t mind, Van, I really don’t-“

“Y/N,” he took your hand, “I love you so much, but, please, I can get the fucking train, okay?”

You nodded, as he disappeared into the kitchen and came back with a cup of tea in your favourite mug. You smiled as he kissed your forehead.

“I’m gonna miss you so much, okay, but I’ll phone you every night, I promise.” he told you.

“Every night, even when you’re playing gigs and touring, like a rockstar?” You meant for this to sound jokey, but it came out as bitter and resentful.

“Y/N, I said I promised, okay?” Van snapped.

You placed the tea down on your bedside table and started taking Van’s clothes out of your wardrobe and putting them in his suitcase.

“Y/N, it doesn’t have to be like this-“

“Like what? We always said you would leave after my speech, it’s the next day, so it’s time for you to go back.”

“I meant, you know, between us,” he continued, his voice getting louder, “I’m not breaking up with you! I’m just going back home, where I belong. I don’t fit in here, not one bit!”

“I know, I know.” you said, softly, “I’m sorry, I know you have to go, I’m being selfish. It’s like when you find a mouse as a kid and you keep it in a box under your bed and your mum tries to tell you to put it back outside, because it’s an animal and it needs to be free, but you don’t want to because you quite liked its company and-“

“Shh,” Van stroked your back as you choked back the tears, “After finals, you can come up and live with us for the summer, you’ll graduate, you can get a job, we’ll get a flat, it’ll be fine.”

“A little cottage by the sea?” you sniffed.

“If that’s what you want,” he replied, “I’ll always be on the end of the phone, whenever you need me.”

-

Van left, and, after you waved until the whole train had disappeared from your sight, you got in your car, turned up The National, and sobbed as hard as you did when your mum passed away. A month passed, during which you called Van every morning and evening, and texted him throughout the day, whenever you weren’t studying. You did manage to get through finals, after having worked your socks off.

Van had informed you on the phone that he’d been touring with Catfish, and they were getting so close to being signed. They had been called a few times by various record labels and were starting to get big, playing proper gigs of their own. You were ecstatic for him, albeit jealous that you were stuck studying while he was on the road. Your mind cast back to fond memories of being 16, driving around with no real destination, although Van assured you that touring at age 21 was very different.

Finally, the 18th of June arrived, and you packed your bags into your car and followed many of the cars, mostly driven by parents, out of Oxford and began your journey back up to Llandudno. You had been stopped at traffic lights for about thirty seconds when you noticed something shiny on your dashboard. It was a CD, and you instantly recognised Van’s scrawled handwriting on the front of the disc.

Listen to this and think of me, Van xxx

You smiled as you put the disc into your car’s stereo, and ASA - a song Van would play to you on many evenings when you were studying - started playing through the speakers. What made it extra special was the fact that he’d written it about you.

The four hours and eighteen minutes it took to get to Abbey House B&B were the longest of your life. You cursed every red light and traffic jam, and drove at the speed limit wherever you could. You just wanted to be in Van’s arms.

You didn’t even bother to park your car straight in the B&B’s carpark, just dumping it between two spaces. You grabbed the flowers you’d brought for Mary and the beers for Bernie, and inhaled sharply, bracing yourself for seeing Van. Your heart both fluttered and pounded at the same time as you marched towards the front door, your black Vans (you hadn’t put them on because they were Van’s namesake - they were your favourite shoes to drive in) pounding the tarmac. No sooner had you rung the bell than you were enveloped in Van’s arms - he lifted you up and held you close into his chest. The second he put you down, he kissed your lips passionately.

“Van, stop, you’re crushing the stuff-“ you giggled, between kisses.

“Where’s my present?” he complained, childishly.

You pointed to your handbag.

“Later.” you whispered, and he grinned. That would shut him up for a while.

“Y/N, love, it’s so good to see you!” Mary greeted you enthusiastically from behind Van in the doorway.

You handed her the flowers and her face lit up, as she handed them to Bernie to put in a vase. She hugged you almost as tightly as Van, and you breathed in the soft scent of her washing powder. Bernie greeted you with a firm handshake and a smile, and you handed him the beers, much to his approval. Van and his family felt like home.

Many hugs were exchanged that evening - between you and Van, you and Mary, you and Bernie, or Van and his parents. You initially sat having a beer with Van while his parents attended to the guests, however they later joined you for a glass of wine and a catch-up.

Mary and Bernie went up to bed at about half ten, so you and Van made the kitchen your zone, where you set up some music from your phone. You put your favourite Spotify playlist on shuffle as Van backed you up against a cabinet and kissed you with an undying passion. His hand up your top, your hand around his waist, lost in the moment. That was until Lemonworld by The National began to play. You went to hit skip, as this song reminded you of coming home from visiting your mum, and then all the feelings hit at once. What were you doing back in Llandudno, the town in which your mother died, drinking, snogging your childhood best friend, having fun? You shouldn’t be here.

You pulled away from the kiss.

“What’s up, baby?” Van whispered huskily.

“I can’t, this song-“

“Shhh.” he put a finger to your lips, and pulled you up so you were stood upright. He tipped your head up with his index finger, so you were looking him in the eye.

“Can I have this dance?” he asked, sincerely.

You nodded, as you followed his step around the large kitchen, being careful not to knock over any utensils or ornaments, in order not to wake the guests. The dance ended with sloppy kisses down your neck, and a heart full of love rather than sadness.

At around midnight, the lads joined you, Larry, of course, bringing the weed. He was accompanied by Benji and Bob.

“Where’s Billy?” you asked, concerned.

“Oh, he left the band for ‘personal reasons’ a few weeks back,” Van said between taking drags of the joint, “I didn’t tell you because I thought he was talking shite, but he’s gone.”

“Oh.” you replied, quite shocked.

“But we’re getting a new guitarist!” Benji announced.

“His name’s John and he’s a Geordie,” Bob told you, “A class guitarist, and a great lad, according to me cousin that is.”

You nodded in approval, as you settled into Van’s lap. As you smoked and drank, you felt yourself and Van rising higher and higher within your own, untouchable bubble. This was what you’d been waiting for all these months.

You don’t quite remember the boys going home, but they must have, as you and Van woke up in his bed in a quiet house. You went downstairs to read a note left by Mary.

Gone to IKEA with Dad for some new furniture for room 3, back at about 4pm xxx

“Looks like we’ve got the house to ourselves for a couple of hours, McCann.” you called, seductively.

“Sounds good,” Van appeared behind you wearing nothing but his jeans, “But there’s something I have to show you first.”

You followed him back into the bedroom, and climbed back into the warm bed. Van sat on the end of the bed, and picked up the acoustic guitar which often laid strewn on his bedroom floor.

“This song’s called Heathrow.”

He strummed the guitar gently a few times before singing the first lyric.

Love her from the get-go

Pick her up from Heathrow

Whenever she needs me

Watch her on the West End

Pepper up her best friends

Whenever she needs me

She was a different league

When I was nothing much

Meet her when the tour's up

Hug her like her Mother would

Whenever she needs me

Snog her in the kitchen

Dance with her to Lemonworld

Whenever she needs me

She was a different league

When I was nothing much

You found yourself in tears by the end of the song. You threw your arms around Van’s shoulders, and kissed his bare neck.

“You like it?” he asked.

“I love it. And you.”