#i heard good riddance on the radio a few weeks ago and i got really sad that this chapter of my life is ending

[mothmore]

second to last ep of s2 today ,,,

[dameronsgalaxygal]

I’ve Been Waiting For You - Chapter 5: Honey, Honey

series masterlist

Pairing: modern!poe x reader

Warnings: mentions of past abusive relationship, mentions of cancer. FLUFF. 

Word Count: 3386

Song Link: Honey, Honey

A/N: I may lag a bit in posting this week, I am getting my wisdom teeth pulled tomorrow and will most likely be spending the week recovering! I’ll try my best to work on the next chapter though in hopes that it'll distract me from the pain. Don’t forget to listen to the song, per usual! Feedback and comments greatly appreciated, and tag list is open!

Summary: You and Poe go to the beach and Poe talks to you about how he feels. 

I’ll pick you up at 11.

That’s so early for just a walk on the beach...

Maybe I have more planned.

You bit your lip to bite back a smile. You thought you would be meeting Poe later in the evening for dinner on the shore and then a walk down the beach, and although you wouldn’t admit it, you were hoping he had planned more. Knowing he had a whole day planned made your stomach flutter.

Is that so?

Maybe

Okay, Dameron. I’ll see you at 11.

You put your phone back in your pocket as you continued to work, organizing books. A group of middle schoolers had come by and basically made a mess of the entire store, leaving books all over the place and putting them on the incorrect shelves. It was your turn to reorganize since Tallie was at the register.

“What are you smiling at?” Leia peeked around the aisle to find you smiling as you dusted off another book, placing it on its appropriate shelf.

You just shook your head, a smile still lingering on your face. “Just thinking”

“About Poe?” She smiled, handing you another book to put away.

Leia could see right through you. She knew how much you liked being around Poe. She would notice your entire face light up every time Poe would visit the store, and she also noticed how much Poe could be himself around you, which was actually quite different from him. He always put on a mask around other girls, but not you. She wouldn’t tell you that, though.

You laughed softly. “Yeah. We have a date tomorrow.”

Leia grinned, “See? I told you that you know what you want.”

With that she walked away, leaving you to continue working with the same smile plastered on your face.

--

The day of your date, you woke up around 9am to shower and get ready. It was pretty warm outside and hardly a cloud in the sky. You wore a similar outfit to the one you wore to the club a couple weeks ago along with your swimsuit underneath. You weren’t sure if you would go in the water, but you wore it just in case.

Poe texted you around 10:30 as you were still getting ready.

Mornin sunshine. Going to starbucks then i'll head to your place. Whatcha want?

Your date hadn’t even started yet and you were already blushing. The fact that Poe had called you sunshine and was going to pick you up breakfast continued to prove the gentleman he really was. You had no doubt he was so kind, it just took you a few weeks and Leia to knock some sense into you that he was nothing like Kyle.

You don’t have to get me anything!

I know I don’t. But i'm gonna anyway. Quick, i'm next in line.

You chuckled to yourself before responding.

I’ll have a java chip frappe with peppermint :)

Got it. Pick you up soon.

You swore your smile hadn’t left your face since work yesterday.

You finished gathering up your things while you waited for Poe to pick you up. You threw a towel, some sunscreen, a change of clothes, a water bottle and some chapstick in your bag. You looked in your desk drawers for your sunglasses when you came across that matte blue notebook.

Hesitantly, you picked it up. You knew you shouldn’t open it right before going on your date. Your memories of Kyle had already messed up one interaction with Poe, you didn’t want them to mess up another.

The notebook had hundreds of pages full of your emotions towards Kyle. Emotions, feelings and thoughts you had never told anyone before. Thoughts that were holding you back. That kept you holding on to New York.

You heard a honk which let you know that Poe was outside. You grabbed your beach bag and the blue notebook, calling out to Rey and Rose to tell them you were leaving.

As you left, you tossed your notebook into the trash bin that sat right by your front door. You let out a sigh of relief as you got into Poe's car. Good riddance.

“Well hello there.” He chuckled, taking a sip of his coffee before handing your frappuccino. He had beautiful eyes, but boy did he look good wearing sunglasses.

“Hi” You laughed, taking it from him. ��Thank you. How much do I owe you?”

“Seriously?” You glanced at him in confusion. “We’re on a date. You don’t owe me anything.” He set his cup in the cupholder and pulled out of the apartment complex.

The fact that you felt nervous was silly. You had been spending a lot of time with Poe since you arrived in Florida. He allowed you to be yourself and he was starting to feel like a best friend. Sure, you would go to lunch or hang out, but it was never labeled as a date like today. Poe was giving you butterflies.

The drive to the beach was comfortable. Poe had put the windows down and turned the radio on, turning it up just enough so that you two could sing karaoke with the music. Your hair flew in front of your face as you looked out the window and you pushed it out of the way, even though it continued the entire ride. Poe frequently glanced over at you as he drove, the corner of his lips turning up to a soft smile.

Thirty minutes later and Poe was pulling into a parking garage right across from Fort Lauderdale beach. “Why didn’t we just go to miami beach?” You asked as you sipped the last of your frappuccino.

He shrugged as he turned off the ignition, smiling at you. “I wanted to try something different.”

You both got out of the car, Poe going to open the trunk to grab what looked like a picnic basket along with a beach umbrella. He handed you another bag that had a blanket, towels, and a change of clothes.

“Making me carry your things, are we?” You teased as he closed the trunk, locking the car.

He smirked and headed out of the parking garage without saying a word. This was going to be a long day, and boy were you excited.

You had eventually found a nice spot on the beach far enough away from the crowds of people, but still close enough so it wasn’t like you had the beach to yourself. You wouldn’t mind if you did, though.

You set down the bags and put up the umbrella while Poe laid out the red and white checkered blanket. You took off your shoes, placing them in your beach bag so they wouldn’t get sand in them.

You sat down beside Poe, his tanned skin gleaming perfectly from the sun directly above the two of you.

“So. What do we have planned today?” You watched him place the picnic basket in his lap and he opened it to reveal a display of foods and drinks.

He began to take out small sandwiches, bags of chips, cups of fruit and cookies. You bit your lip to hold back a smile, the thought that he had put this together by himself made your cheeks heat up.

“Well, I figured we would eat first. Then we could go into the water or tan a bit. Walk the shore. If you aren’t too tired maybe we could watch the sunset.” He handed you a can of soda that you cracked open right away.

You took a sip of your soda before placing it in your lap. “I’m cool with staying to watch the sunset.”

He grinned widely. “Cool.”

You smiled back as he handed you a sandwich.

“Did you make these?” You unwrapped the foil it was covered with before taking a bite.

“Sure did.” He paused as though he felt guilty.  “Well, Finn helped me. By helped me I mean that he made them and I wrapped them with foil.”

You covered your mouth as you let out a laugh, trying not to spit out your food.

“Look,” He chuckled, swallowing his bite of the sandwich, “I don’t know how to make sandwiches look...presentable. I wanted them to look nice. Finn has a gift-.”

“In sandwich making?” You took another bite of your sandwich, a smile plastered on your lips.

He rolled his eyes and continued to eat. You admired how Poe was trying so hard. You could care less about how a sandwich looked, especially when you were just having a picnic. But Poe was different. He was going to do everything he could to capture your heart. He was doing a damn good job.

You two talked for what seemed like hours, typical between the two of you. You had only known Poe for about a month and a half, but you felt as though you had known him forever. Even after that incident at the bar and the encounter at the bookstore the next day, you still felt relaxed and comfortable with him. Things weren’t awkward between you two.

About an hour and a half into your conversations, you noticed Poe’s arms starting to redden.

“Did you put sunscreen on?” You asked him concerned. You glared at his bicep, which was only half covered by his t-shirt. You really didn’t know if you were staring at it because it was sunburnt or because it was massive.

He looked at his arms before he swore under his breath, grabbing the sunscreen bottle from his bag.

You let out a small laugh. “That’s gonna leave a wonderful tanline.”

He smirked at you before he pulled off his shirt, tossing it into his bag. You licked your lips unconsciously as you took in the view before you. His chest was toned perfectly and the sun reflected off of it, he looked like a movie star. A silver chain hung from his neck, a ring attached to the end of it.

He ran his hands along his chest and arms to cover himself in sunscreen and you noticed a small tattoo located right above his heart.

“S.B.D?” You asked.

He looked down at the initials carved into his skin before looking back at you. “My mom's initials,” he said, “Shara Bey Dameron”.

Poe had told you about his mom when you went to lunch after you had gotten the job at Solo Reads. You had asked him about his childhood, which brought up the conversation about his parents. His dad had moved away from South Miami after Shara passed. He felt stuck and heartbroken, in need of an escape before it consumed him, a situation similar to yours. Poe decided to stay in Miami to go to flight school and eventually become a commercial airline pilot.

Shara passed away when Poe was eighteen due to breast cancer. From what he had told you, he had been extremely close to her. They nearly seemed inseparable. You weren’t surprised that he had a tattoo in her honor.

“That’s a beautiful name,” you said softly.

“She was a beautiful woman.” He smiled gently at you.

Your eyes shifted from his down to his necklace. He reached up to hold the silver ring between his thumb and index finger, “It was her wedding band. My dad gave it to me after she passed. I didn’t feel like it was doing her justice, so I got the tattoo as well.”

You nodded sadly, looking into your lap. “I’m sorry.”

He shook his head, “Let’s not turn this into a pity party. Let’s have some fun. We’re on a date.” He stood up, reaching his hand out for you to take.

You took it and he pulled you up.

“Let’s go in the water.” He smirked.

You pulled your shirt over your head and pulled down your shorts to leave you in your bikini. If you had been with anyone else, you would have been extremely self-conscious. But being around Poe made you feel like yourself. You weren’t as nervous as you had been a week ago. He was making it clear how much he respected you.

He smiled at you in which your cheeks flushed.

“You’re beautiful.”

Your eyes shot up to meet his, your small smile dropping slightly.

“What?” He noticed your demeanor change.

You gulped, “No one has ever called me beautiful before.”

It was true. Kyle was your first boyfriend and he never called you beautiful. He never called you anything, for that matter. Except sexy, and that’s only when he would try to get you in bed. But he would never call you any terms of endearment, nor would he ever make you feel beautiful.

His smile turned to a frown. “Didn’t you have a boyfriend?”

No, no, no. Don’t bring him up. You were able to shrug it off.

He walked toward you, tilting your chin up to look at him. “Well I’ll tell you a million times. You are beautiful.”

You softly smiled. “Thank you.”

You were falling faster than you would have liked to.

Poe smiled back at you before scooping you up and throwing you over his shoulder, a small scream leaving your lips.

“Poe Dameron, put me down!” You laughed. He was careful. If you really wanted to be put down, he would put you down. He didn’t want to mess up again. But he could tell in your tone that you were being playful.

“No, thanks.” He ran down the sand into the water before setting you down.

You yelped at the change in temperature, the cold waves crashing on your legs.

Poe splashed you, causing you to gasp. You shot him a glare, your jaw hanging open slightly, before you splashed him back. “It’s on”.

You and Poe continued to splash each other as if you were a couple of kids until Poe pulled you to him, wrapping his arms around your waist. You were unsure where to place your hands, but you eventually sat them on his biceps, which he purposefully flexed.

He sighed, his goofy smile turning more serious. “I know you said you just got out of a relationship, and that you couldn’t do this right now, but I like you a lot. I feel like I have known you my entire life. You’re so easy to talk to. You laugh at my jokes, which by the way are terrible, so thank you for that.”

You laughed slightly, looking up at him. You knew where he was going with this, but you already knew your answer. He was making you feel again, something you didn’t think that was possible. At least not this fast. You had thrown away your notebook right before you left this morning. You were ready to completely start fresh. That wasn’t to say that you weren’t still hurt, and some things would be extremely sensitive, but you wanted to try this with Poe. Just like Leia said, you know what you want.

“You’re beautiful, funny, sassy,” You blushed and smiled, running your hands up and down his arms. “I know this is only our first date but, I’d like to make you my girlfriend. It doesn’t have to be today, or even tomorrow. But I want you to know that I’ll give you all the time you need.”

He was willing to wait for you.

“Poe.”

“And I don’t know what you went through in New York, but I would never, ever, hurt you.”

“Poe I-” You tried cutting him off.

“Yes, I know. Since I’m a pilot I am gone a lot, but I would never-” You cut him off by placing your lips on top of his. The kiss was soft, different from the kisses you had shared at the club.

He kissed you back and you felt as though you were floating. His lips were soft and warm, heat shooting through your body even though you were still standing in the cold water.

He cupped your cheek, tilting your head slightly to kiss you deeper. Even though it wasn’t the first kiss you two had shared, it had felt like it.

You pulled away, looking up at him. “I came here to start over. I’m tired of holding myself back. You’ve pulled me out of my shell and I admire you so much for it. I’m not perfect, and I might be a lot to handle sometimes, but if you are up for the challenge, then yes. I’ll be your girlfriend.”

You didn’t think Poes smile could get any wider, but it did. He picked you up and spun you around, and you giggled hysterically.

He sat you down, placing his forehead on top of yours before pecking your lips. “You’re my girlfriend”

You rolled your eyes playfully, walking out of the water.

He chased you, reaching down to grab your hand as you walked back to the blanket. Not even two minutes into being official and the boy was already smitten.

The rest of the date you spent laughing and exchanging occasional kisses. It had seemed as though Poe had so many he was waiting to give you, and he was giving them to you all at once.

Poe had pulled you into his lap, giving soft kisses to your shoulder and cheek and you would giggle and scrunch your face at the tickling sensation.

“Do you have any more food? I’m kind of hungry.” You asked, looking into the picnic basket.

He removed his lips from your shoulder to glance inside. He reached in to pull out a small bag of grapes, handing them to you.

You opened them and popped a few into your mouth before offering some to Poe. He grabbed one, throwing it at a seagull that was a few feet away from where you two had sat.

“Poe!”

“What? It looked hungry.” He raised his shoulders and pointed at the seagull.

“Yeah well now it’s going to alert its fellow seagull buddies and our date is going to have an audience!” You crawled out of his lap as more seagulls landed near your towel.

“Nope, no, I am walking away” You laughed and stood up, trying to walk away from the birds that were now hovering over Poe.

“They just want some food! Here.” Poe threw some more grapes.

You watched as the seagulls got closer to Poe, who was now standing with slight panic on his face. He started to run away from them in hopes that they would eat the grapes and leave, but they only flew after him. You couldn’t help but laugh so hard you nearly cried, Poe running in circles yelling for you to save him.

The birds eventually gave up and flew away, and Poe ran to you, pulling you into him and burying his head in your neck. “They almost killed me”

“You are so overdramatic,” You laughed, pushing him off you gently. “You ready for that walk now?”

He nodded, brushing his hair out of his face. “It’s getting a little chilly, I’m going to change and then we can take our walk down the shore and watch the sunset. It will be very romantic.” He winked.

You giggled again, walking to your bag to grab your clothes. You changed into some sweats and a hoodie, and Poe did the same.

“Ready?” Poe asked, reaching his hand out for you.

You nodded, taking it and intertwining your fingers as you walked along the shore. The water barely caressed your feet as you walked and talked, sharing pecks on the lips every now and then until Poe stopped walking, pulling you to his chest and placing a small kiss on the crown of your head. You rested your head on his chest and let out a tiny sigh.

You were feeling excited, but a part of you was upset with yourself for allowing you to get attached to someone so quickly, let alone hop into another relationship after just getting out of an abusive long-term relationship. You couldn’t help but worry you would end up hurt again, but for now you stood in the arms of Poe, his head on top of yours as you watched a mixture of reds and oranges paint the sky as the sun faded behind the sea.

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[the-observant-frisbeetarian]

Chapter 5

We’ll Meet Again by George deValier

Sunday 30 January, 1944

Dear Arthur,

I hope this letter reaches you all right. Just a quick note to let you know that all is well. I can't say much… the censors monitor everything we write, and they might cut it out.

We arrived here the other day. Pretty messed up landing but we are getting on our feet. Hope you are well!

From Alfred.

.

Sunday 6 February, 1944

Dear Arthur,

Things getting better. This place is amazing, but I miss… England. Yeah. I think about England all the time. I can't wait to get back to… England.

Still can't say a lot, but… let's just say the Krauts have good reason to be pretty darn scared now that the Americans are here! Oh, and the Canadian too. Matthew sends his greetings!

From Alfred.

.

Tuesday 15 February, 1944

Dear Arthur,

Sorry these letters are so short - we're not supposed to say much.

The weather is good. Food terrible. Still miss England.

Yesterday was Saint Valentine's Day. Next year I will send a real Valentine. Until then…

Lo... From Alfred.

.

Thursday 17 February, 1944

Dear Arthur,

Getting this sent with the officer's mail so hopefully it gets past the censors.

These Krauts fight pretty damn hard. I've taken down four of em already - that's the most in the whole squad! Their Messerschmitts ain't no match for our Mustangs!

Our song came on the radio this morning. I was singing along until the guys in the squad started throwing empty cans at me for no reason. I guess they're just jealous that I've bagged more Krauts than any of em.

I still miss England. Oh, and in case you're confused, when I say England I mean you.

Love, Alfred.

.

Monday 28 February, 1944

Dear Arthur,

I found out today that the Krauts have a name for me. They call me - you're gonna love this one - the Magician. Because I appear and disappear like magic. Great, isn't it! Lady Beth and I are the terror of the skies! Matt is really jealous, even though he says he isn't. I always said I was the hero of the squad!

I keep your handkerchief close to my heart every day. But I can't say too much. Even though this is sent with the officer's mail there is still a chance it'll be seen by the censors.

Love, Alfred.

P.S. Just to prove I really am a Magician, I'm going to do something AMAZING - add an extra day to the month! That's right! Just you wait, I'm gonna make February twenty-nine days long this year!

.

Tuesday 29 February, 1944

Dear Arthur,

Abracadabra! 29th of February, told you I'd do it!

Love, Alfred.

.

Thursday 9 March, 1944

Dear Arthur,

Things aren't going as well as planned, but we've been told to expect that. Matt and I are fine but some of the squad… well…

I have to be careful of the censors.

The higher ups tell us that things will get better once reinforcements arrive. Guess we just have to hold out 'til then.

On a brighter note, bagged me another Kraut today, which makes me officially a fighter ace. They say I might get a medal. Funny… I thought I would be happier about that.

But if I fight and defeat them here, that means they won't get to England. That's what I think about every time I go up.

Love, Alfred.

.

Wednesday 15 March, 1944

Dear Arthur,

Two of my squad were captured yesterday. No sign of those reinforcements we were promised. We've been told we might be moving out soon but no word on when.

Knowing that you are safe and waiting for me gets me through each mission. Right now it's the only thing that does.

Love, Alfred.

.

Sunday 19 March, 1944

Dear Arthur,

Well, we were told we'd be heading to France but no sign of that… just stuck here day after day going nowhere. The countryside would be pretty if it weren't for the burnt out tanks and flattened barns everywhere. And the villagers are friendly enough but they seem so damn scared... and I don't blame em. And the assaults keep coming, and we go up and do our job, but it don't seem to do nothing.

Getting sick and tired of this place. God knows how long we'll be here.

Lost three more of my squad this morning. Three in one morning… Damn sick and tired.

There's nothing I wouldn't do right now to hold you for just one minute. I want it so much it hurts. Damn the censors, I don't give a damn anymore. If you're getting these letters it means they got through. I pray you're getting these letters.

All my love, Alfred.

.

Thursday 23 March 1944

Dear Arthur,

It's funny. I've shot down more of the enemy than anyone out here and yet… it doesn't feel like I thought it would.

We bagged this German pilot today. Flew like an eagle, all power and strength and grace, you know. Took a pack of us to bring him down and he still survived. He told us his name - Ludwig something or other - his rank and his number, and that was it. We bring him into the base and one of the guys takes the German's wallet. He pulls out this photograph and starts laughing, showing it to all the guys… and the German just stares at them with this look that is both the most terrifying and the saddest thing I ever saw. I didn't think it was right, so I take it off the guy, thinking it's a picture of Ludwig's wife or something. It's not. It's this young guy, smiling this bright laughing smile, this young guy with dark eyes and dark hair that sticks up in this one wild curl. And he don't look like no relation to this blond haired blue eyed German. It's strange. I didn't think that I would have anything in common with the Krauts. Seems I was wrong.

The special forces arrived soon after and took the German away. Before they left I put the photograph in his pocket when no one was looking. He didn't say nothing, but I ain't never seen someone look so grateful. And I thought how strange it was… that it was people like this that I'm shooting down. Just ordinary people with dreams and hopes and photographs.

There were two words written on the back of the picture… "Bella Ciao." It means "Goodbye, Beautiful."

Love always, Alfred.

.

Arthur held the latest letter to his chest and let out a deep, yearning sigh. He had already read it eight times. He was not sure whether the letters helped or made things worse. Of course he devoured every word, but being left with no way to respond was almost unbearable. Each sentence stabbed at his heart. With every letter Alfred seemed to lose a little more of that naivety and wide eyed optimism that had made him so endearing and so exasperating at the same time. But it seemed the reality that had been thrust upon Alfred had also made him more open, more understanding. While sometimes painful, each letter also left Arthur a little more in love than he had been before.

It had been hard to get back to normal life after Alfred had gone. Arthur was completely unprepared for how much he would miss the bloody Yank. After the life and joy and, well, sheer bloody frustration that Alfred had brought into his life, the days without him now felt flat and empty.

Arthur waited anxiously every day to see if a letter would be delivered. The postman was slowly getting used to being practically accosted when he came to the door. And Arthur was almost obsessed with reading every newspaper he could get his hands on, talking to every returning soldier, listening to radio broadcasts day and night, desperate for any news he could possibly get on the war in Europe. Gathering information on the war had become his life, to the extent that he wondered what he ever had to do with himself before Alfred had appeared and turned everything upside down.

Arthur took one last look at the letter, folded it, and placed it carefully in a locked drawer behind the counter. He looked around to see if he was needed, but the evening was fairly slow. The evenings generally were these days, now that the Americans had disappeared. Only a few regulars remained in the pub, clustering around the far end of the bar and making small talk about the war. A few months earlier Arthur would have been bored stiff with the conversation. Now, he hung on every word.

"They say the landings in Italy went appallingly," said one of the men, a gentleman in a suit who tapped his pipe against the bar and sent ash flying everywhere. Arthur barely noticed, too focused on the man's words.

"Of course the Americans would make an awful great mess of it," agreed an elderly regular, who looked disapprovingly at the pipe ash settling on the bar.

"I heard the Germans were tipped off somehow," added another patron, tapping his glass to be heard. "Seems someone was in on it."

"Well I hear the Germans are about ready to pull out of there. Just about had enough," said Arthur. Well, an English soldier had mentioned something to him along those lines earlier in the week. Arthur wasn't sure how reliable the information was, but he wanted to believe it.

"Smartest thing they've done in the whole bloody war, I say," said the regular. "Although certain sources of information would have us believe otherwise."

"Oh! That reminds me." Arthur reached for the wireless and fiddled with the dial. He smiled wryly to himself, remembering how only several weeks ago he had told Alfred that he couldn't stand the radio. Now he was practically glued to the thing. He scrolled through the endless static until he found what he was looking for.

"Germany calling, Germany calling…"

The grating voice was met by a chorus of groans. "Why are you listening to that traitor, Arthur?" asked the pipe smoking gentleman.

"At least we get some information from him," said the elderly patron.

"Bah! All lies, you all know that. He'll be hanged, that Lord Haw Haw, you wait and see."

"And good riddance to him! Doesn't mean we can't hear what he has to say right now."

Arthur ignored the men. He listened to Lord Haw Haw's every radio broadcast. As difficult as it was to listen to the traitor's posh, smarmy voice night after night telling the English nation they were fighting a losing battle, talking about the superiority of the German nation and spinning obvious lies about the war, occasional truths got through and Lord Haw Haw's broadcast was one of the only places to get information on the fate of Allied troops.

A heated debate quickly sprung up among the pub patrons, but Arthur was too busy trying to hear the radio to get involved. Most of the time the broadcast held nothing of interest, but over the din Arthur managed to hear a few words which caught his attention. Italy… American… pilot… "Ssh," said Arthur, holding up his hand. "What's that he's saying?" He turned up the radio and the men fell quiet as Haw Haw's jarring voice filled the room.

"The New York Times reported today that an American fighter ace over Italy has shot down nine German planes single-handedly in the midst of an ambush. This is, of course, an absurdity. The pilot, whose name was not released but who is referred to as 'The Magician,' was unable to take down a single Messerschmitt before his plane, a P-51 Mustang named the 'Lady Beth,' was shot down over the Italo-Austrian border…"

Arthur ceased to hear anything. The radio faded to a distant hum as black waves pounded through his head. The phrase repeated in his head over and over… a P-51 Mustang named the 'Lady Beth' was shot down… Arthur looked around for a chair but, not finding one, sank to the ground. Alfred's plane shot down over enemy territory… Alfred's plane… Alfred…

Arthur couldn't breathe. This wasn't real. He had imagined it… surely he had imagined it… The distant hum snapped back into focus and that awful voice droned on above him, cutting into him, slicing his heart and his sanity into pieces. The cruel words refused to stop.

"The pilot was captured barely alive by German forces soon after being shot down. He is believed to be a valuable officer in the American Army Air Force and thus in possession of a vast amount of important information. He has been taken into official custody by the SS and will be questioned extensively before he…"

The radio faded into pounding black waves once again. SS… questioned extensively… before he... oh God before he what… "I can't breathe…"

Unrecognisable voices thrummed through the thick air around him.

"Get some water."

"Someone call a doctor!"

The room tilted dangerously. Arthur didn't even notice he was screaming until someone appeared before him, taking his hands and trying to calm him. Arthur couldn't hear anything clearly but those terrible words. Lady Beth… shot down… barely alive... questioned extensively… SS…

Arthur tried to nod. He tried to say he was all right. But he wasn't. Of course he wasn't. Alfred was captured and soon to be interrogated. And after that… the SS weren't exactly known for letting prisoners go free. Arthur swallowed a wave of nausea and fought to stay conscious. He barely noticed the people around him.

Of course Arthur wasn't all right. How could anything ever be all right now?

.

Next Chapter

Disclaimer: This story belongs to George deValier. Hetalia belongs to Hidekaz Himaruya. I own nothing.

[caroline18mars]

A Man On Fire - Chapter 2

'Beep' Harper sat up straight in bed, what? What? Owww headache, aw aw aw, she grabbed her head and slowly lowered herself into the cushions again, this hangover was gonna be brutal if the hammering in her head was any indication. Think of nothing, in fact let yourself slide into this refreshing and revitalizing little nap, you deserve it! You haven't got a massive amount of work to be done, oh no, little leprechauns are real, believe in their existence and they will do the painting for you, believeeeee! Her eyes shot open again, as a ringtone burst through her attempt at self-hypnosis, ignore it, ignore..it, it'll go away, she mumbled and quite content with her self-fulfilling prophecy, she leaned back as the phone stopped ringing, only to start up again 5 seconds later. “Why did I let him talk me into this?” she groaned as she got up to find the intruder buzzing and twirling around on her table, “Hello” she moaned in agony from her splitting headache. “Hey babe, it's me..Sean!” his quirky voice irritated her already, “Sean, hey, first of all, never call me babe, second, why are you even calling me?“. On the other side of the line there were a few seconds of silence, swallowing his dissapointment he stammered “well, I thought you would like to know that me and the boys just landed at LAX..” hearing him this way, made her cringe, she really didn't mean to rain on his parade, “anyway..how are you?” he barely dared to ask. “I'm ok, just a little hung over..” she said as she looked at her paintings “oh, I wanted to thank you for the webpage, I've got my first e-mail from a possible buyer last night” she quickly added, not wanting to sound like a total bitch. “That's fantastic news” she heard Sean get barely excited on the other side of the country, “It is, I just can't put a price tag on them though, so I was thinking..could you send me a list?” she bit her lip, she hated him having to help her with all this commercial and digital stuff. “Sure..yeah I'll send you the list by e-mail” he answered without too much enthusiasm, this was such a weird conversation “listen, I've gotta go now..guess you'll hear me when you'll hear me” by the end of that sentence, all kindness in his voice had gone, “yeah, ok..well..you have a great time, which I know you all will, just..take good care of yourself, you hear?” she quickly added, she wasn't good at goodbyes, not even when they were done by phone, they just made her feel awkward. “I will..bye” he sighed and disconnected the call, why did he even let himself think that she was actually gonna miss him? Or that she was even remotely interested in this big adventure that was about to start for him? All she could talk about was that damn work of her, nothing or no-one else mattered to her.

Jared opened his eyes, last night's conquest still next to him, what? Oh no no, this wasn't the deal, all those kind of women needed to leave before their scent could penetrate his sheets, he hated having to wake them up and tell them to leave, and with this one he didn't even remember a name, that's how uneventful last night had been. He pushed himself up from the bed and pulled the sheet away, the coolness of morning touching her naked skin woke her up “hey..” she mumbled as she squinted her eyes, “hey yourself, it's time to leave, I've got things to do, so I'm gonna go and have a cup of coffee and you'll be gone when I come back” he threw the sheet on the floor and grabbed his phone from the nightstand. He didn't turn around when he walked out of his bedroom, why would he? He had seen more than enough of her already, his phone vibrated back to life while he hopped down the stairs and into his kitchen, switching on the kettle he scrolled through his e-mails, until his thumb rested on the one of the painter he contacted yesterday, ah, maybe there was a price list that he added. No prices..goddammit, was he trying to stall things? He read the last e-mail again: 'what drew you to my paintings?', well that was easy!

From: BJLCubbins

To: HCDeRobiano

Subject: Re:re Paintings

That's easy, they're refreshing and original, ultraclean lines, depth and a little surreal! So, how about some prices, say I would start with the smallest of the whole collection? Surely you can give me an indication of the price range?

If you're not on social media, are you at least registered with any galleries? Are you based in LA? The reason I'm asking all these questions, is because I can't find you anywhere on the internet, what does HC stand for? Henry? Horatio?

Impatient Regards

BJL

Just when she was about to get back to work, that damn phone bleeped again, oh..another e-mail..her fingers nervously clicked and scrolled.

From: HCDeRobiano

To: BJLCubbins

Subject: Re:re:re Paintings

Thanks for the compliments! Am I based in LA? No painter or artists that respects him- or herself is based in LA, that city puts people to sleep, because it has no edge, no challenges, no electricity! That's why I'm living and working in New York, and no I'm not registered yet at any gallery, like I said my assistant is out of town, but if you want a price for N°1 (the smallest 'Baroque') you're looking at 500$.

Funny you should mention Horatio, because that is my Dad's name, and even funnier that you immediately think I'm a man, which I'm not by the way, but I'm guessing you are?

Regards,

Coco

Harper Coco was her real name, but she didn't really like Harper, she used to get bullied because of it at school, Sean somehow always called her Harper..and her Dad, even though she didn't know if he even remembered having a daughter, how long had she not spoken to him? 4 years? Ever since she decided that his aristocratic world was not exactly the one she wanted to live in and so she fled the nest as soon as she graduated from art school. Needing to push those bad memories away, she cranked up the music and crawled up her scaffolding, no external distractions allowed from now on, just the smell of paint in her nose, and some loud rock music in her ears was all she needed to forget about that ugly world outside.

From: BJLCubbins

To: HCDeRobiano

Subject: What?

Hi Coco,

Great name! I totally get your obvious connection to the fine city of New York, I used to live there a long, long time ago, but your prejudice with LA is a bit unsettling, yes it's the capital of fake on the outside, but it's got a vivid art scene as well, it's a lot more laidback in many ways, yes, but that doesn't mean it's got no soul, because it does! For example, the film industry where a new star is born everyday and then there's the music industry, did you know that a lot of the best songs in history were written in LA? this city pushes people to live their dreams, and I think I'm living proof of what this city can do to and for someone!

500$ for that small painting? Deal! I would like to see what you're working on right now, so if you could send me some pics, that'd be great, oh and tell that assistant of yours to get his shit together, artists shouldn't have to sell their own work on top of everything else. Just give me his number and I'll have a word with him if you want!

Gotta run, so send me your financial details and I'll get the money transferred.

Horatio? Really? Now, that's weird because I googled Horatio De Robiano (I take it that is your last name, right?), just to check what kind of people I'm dealing with here, but guess what? Couldn't find anyone by that name either, do you even exist or is all your work done by some bot? Wouldn't surprise me, given how perfect those lines of yours are and how sweet your colours, it's almost too good to be true!

Oh, and since we're on a first name basis already, I'm Joe!

Real life regards

Joe

Ok, so he wasn't completely honest, Joseph, Joe, who cared if it was his middle name? At least it was closer to the truth than Bart Cubbins, and besides it gave him a sense of freedom, like he could write whatever he felt, he could be himself in these e-mails, not the actor or the singer everyone expected him to be 24/7. All content with himself he sat down with his cup of coffee while in the corner of his eye last night's failure came walking down the stairs, “I'll go then..bye Jay..” she slowed her step as she walked past the kitchen, hoping for..hoping for what exactly? That he would've changed his mind? That he would offer her coffee or breakfast? Duh! As if! “yeah bye” he mumbled as he kept his eyes on his screen, goodbye and good riddance, note to self: check with Shayla about the non disclosure agreement!

The rumbling of her stomach broke her focus, usually she ignored it and just carried on but this time it wasn't just her stomach but her mind too that just wouldn't calm down, ever since that last e-mail where 'stranger' mentioned her father, her mind just kept rehashing those last few weeks and days that led up to her leaving with slamming doors. She leaned back a bit to turn down the blaring radio before she almost jumped down from the scaffolding to have a look, oh yes, yes, yes, yes, YES! Sharp lines, great colours, she grabbed a cigarette and lit it. The more she looked at it, the prouder she was of herself, don't get too euphoric yet though..oh what the hell, this called for a little celebration, besides she could do with some fresh air and with some distance from her work for an hour or two so she grabbed her jacket and her bag and hopped on out the door. The cold New York air hit her as she walked to that cute diner a few blocks down, half of New York was rushing to get out of the cold, while she only enjoyed it as it blew the tiny remains of her hang over away. Suddenly she felt a weird vibration coming from the bag on her arm, oh this was going to be perfect, hot soup, her favorite sandwich and hopefully a new e-mail to read from that mistery buyer, life just couldn't get any sweeter right now and her feet shared the same opinion as they picked up the pace so she could sit down and finally read what 'stranger' had written.

[loversandantiheroes]

Like Blood Running Warm - Part 1

Author’s Note: Happy Spooktober.  A couple weeks ago I mentioned how this song made me want to write a Vamp!Clara AU.  This is the result of that.  Part 1 of probably 2 or 3 if they remain this sort of length.  Big thanks to @longjackets, @nikkidee, @kingandcrook, and @infiniteregress17 for the beta help.

Summary: A snowstorm strands a group of bus passengers at a near-derelict station overnight near the Colorado border.   One of them just can't seem to get warm.

Rating: T (currently, AO3 link is pre-tagged for the later stuff)

Warnings: Angst by the bucket, Terminal Illness, Simm!Master being...Simm!Master and thus a walking dumpster fire, Implied Past Drug Use, Implied Harassment.

Word Count: 5799

AO3 Link: here

Did you call for the night porter? You smell the blood running warm I stay close to this frozen border, so close I can hit it with a stone Now something crawls right up my spine That I always got to follow Turn out the lights Don't see me drawn and hollow Just blood running warm

      - Mark Lanegan, "When Your Number Isn't Up"

- 11:07pm

John Smith, the night porter, sat in the break room of the bus terminal. He should, by all rights, be keeping post behind the counter in the booth, even at this late of an hour, and he knew that. Pointless, though, wasn’t it? An old portable telly spouted crackling spurts of weather reports at him. Worst snow in a decade, record lows, blah blah. He could’ve guessed that himself looking at the drifts forming outside the sliding doors, which he would have to keep shovelled out unless he wanted to end up buried in here. Buried alive with shitty instant coffee, a vending machine that half-worked, and a telly he couldn’t even get a decent signal on. His employers, stingy bastards that they were, were too cheap to provide anything new or at least decent on the premises. In the lounge, where most stations would have the new plasma or LED or god-knows-what-the-fuck-ever craning down from the ceiling or mounted on the walls, there were instead tiny coin-op televisions. Bloody ancient things with built-in radio dials bolted to the arms of the benches and chairs, popping and crackling to life at the generous price of 30 minutes for a quarter.

John had no bloody idea why the hell the relics were still installed. Honestly, he didn’t know such things even existed until he took this post, but the real shocker was that somehow they still worked. By all rights, they shouldn’t be able to pick up a signal anymore, save for the radio dial, not after the big push from analog to digital broadcasting. Converter box wired up to some kind of main switch maybe, that was the best he could figure. Mystery of the fucking universe, or might as well be; tech was not his area. But it made him feel something. Kinship maybe, he thought, cradling the battered porcelain mug of coffee and trying to work some warmth into the joints of his fingers. Old and busted, but still working. Last legs, maybe, but some life still crackling inside.

He’d moved to the States for the sake of his health, that was the joke of it. Christ on a bike, that was the fucking joke. The belching exhaust of a passing lorry in Glasgow last spring had left him doubled over and hacking against a lamp post. Not that a cough was that unusual, he’d been a smoker from the age of fourteen. He was used to the hack-and-rattle first thing in the morning, or when the seasons changed from Damp and Warm to Damp and Cold (Scotland only had the two seasons, really). But this time had been different. Not quite worse, but deeper, like the first signal of the flu.

He’d gone home to his flat that day, made tea, and emptied his tobacco tin into the garbage. Good fucking riddance. Something welled up in him then. A change of scenery would be good. He was nearly fifty-six years old, and he’d never even left the country. Wanderlust, he’d called it at the time. Not entirely untrue, but a little too grand. All he’d wanted in that second was to run away. It wasn’t as if he had any real ties to Glasgow anymore. No friends to speak of, all those were gone. Family either dead or distant. He spun his wedding ring unconsciously. No children. That was almost a relief, considering.

Once he decided to go, he’d sold everything but his clothes and his guitar. Sentiment was only the half of that. He’d never admit it, but he’d simply found the idea of travelling halfway across the world with nothing but the guitar too foolishly romantic to give up. Then on the emptied floor of his flat he’d laid out a massive map of the continental US, closed his eyes, and flipped a coin at it.

He’d spent six good months in Colorado, taking odd jobs and occasionally even sitting in on open mic nights at a local bar, plucking out something of The Velvet Underground or Bowie, and chalking up the slow but steady weight loss as stress and an aversion to American food. Then the cough had come back.

Small cell lung cancer. The fast moving shit. The sort that dug its nails in and decided it lived in you now. Gentrification of the lungs. Radiation or chemo might have bought him some time, but that was the best it could offer. But the pricetag on a few more months was entirely too steep. One look in the clinic window at the thinning husks hooked up to IV drips with pallid eyes and piebald pates, and he’d been out like a shot. On his way to work that night he’d bought a pack of cigarettes. If he was gonna die, he’d at least do it with a full head of hair.

John leaned over the break room table, rubbing at his temples. Too busy feeling sorry for himself to think fucking properly, he inhaled just a bit too sharply. The heating in the bus station was rubbish, the glass windows and sliding doors too thin to keep the cold out, and the electric heater he’d dragged in himself, in a feeble attempt to keep his toes from freezing during the long winter, barely managed to take the chill out of the break room.

Cold air needled into his lungs, and he choked, sputtering and coughing so hard it made his bones ache. Hot coffee sloshed over his hands, and he swore, or at least tried. He needed air to curse, and his lungs weren’t having any of that nonsense. He pounded on the table, sloshing more coffee and overturning a plastic tumbler full of spoons. As the fit subsided, John fumbled in his pockets for his handkerchief and spat, folding it away and trying to pretend he hadn’t seen it come away from this lips bloody.

John sat with his head between his knees until he could breathe evenly again, the sound of the telly all but drowned out by the rush of blood in his ears. At last, he stood, sopped up the mess of coffee, and stumbled out to check the departures and arrivals. Departures from Shotton had been cancelled even before John had limped to work in his jeep. The last two drivers had waved him off as he pulled in, climbing into their own cars to get the hell out of Dodge and back home before the snow settled in with any real intent. Now the roads were closing, and that meant he might be stuck here alone, hacking his lungs up over bad coffee and worse telly until the snow plows went out.

“Fuck,” he muttered. The arrivals list, which had been a string of delays when he’d come in, was now almost completely cancelled. All but one. 11:20 from Cheyenne. Delayed, but still inbound. Wonderful. Snowed in overnight with a busload of pissy tourists on their way to Denver. Wouldn’t that just be a time. “Of-fucking-course. You couldn’t even give me one miserable night off, could you?” he growled at the ceiling.

He kept swearing as he pulled his winter gear on. He’d read once that swearing helped with pain relief; maybe the blue streak would keep him warm. He struggled this balaclava over his head, wondering if it wasn’t time for a haircut. He was a little too proud to still have a full head of hair, grey or no, and had let it go a little wild after the move. Insulation, he told himself. Too fucking cold to trim the hair back, be liable to freeze to death before the cancer gets a chance to finish the fucking job.

Laughing, John wound his scarf around his head.

- 11:34pm

John had most of the entry cleared and shook down with rock salt and sand, when he saw headlights. The bus lurched up through the drive, crunching and shuddering its way up through the snow to the sheltered entrance.

John leaned on his shovel and flapped a thickly-gloved hand as the bus ground to a stop in front of him. The door hissed open, blowing a gorgeously welcome gust of heated air at him. The driver was a new guy, a round-faced man with close cropped hair and a frankly terrible goatee. “Fuck me ragged,” the driver called down, grinning, “I’m gonna get held up by the Michelin Man.”

John made a gun out of his right hand and popped his thumb. Ka-chow. “You’ll want to get inside,” he shouted through too many layers of damp wool.

The driver frowned, motioning at his ear. “Can’t hear you, pal.”

He waved again, palm in, fingers curling. Come the fuck in.

- 11:40pm

There weren’t many passengers, thank God. John counted heads as they shambled in, jamming his gloves into his pockets and fiddling with his scarf which had gone stiff with frost. Seventeen or eighteen, including the driver, who’d pulled off to try and park the bus proper while he still stood a chance to get it moving. An old couple cooed and laughed over the coin-op televisions. A young black woman in a pea-colored coat almost as heavily padded as his own gave him a nervous smile as he struggled out of his balaclava. She asked hopefully about coffee with a London accent that made him do a double take.

“Or tea or hot chocolate?” she went on in the sort of bright tone only the incredibly anxious and incredibly exhausted can achieve. “Anything hot, honestly, I’m not fussy.”

John grunted, both in effort and assent. He’d worked up a fair sweat out there, and the wool was stuck fastidiously to his head. He bent, trying to pull it up from the back, and heard a second voice with an unmistakable Blackpool twinge.

“Easy, mate, you’ll pull your whole head off by mistake.”

Cold fingers brushed at the nape of his neck, curling into the wool, helping him pull. And then he was free, spitting lint and rifling a hand through the haphazard sprawl of his hair.

London giggled behind her hand. Beside her now was a second, significantly smaller woman who was holding his snow-crusted balaclava out to him. For a second, all he saw were her eyes, wide and brown and faintly crinkled at the corners as she smiled up at him. She was lovely, far too lovely, and he was far too old, and oh Jesus Christ he was staring.

“Thanks,” he mumbled, trying to flatten the beast his hair had become. “Uhm, the coffee machine’s on the fritz,” he said, gesturing at the line of vending machines and utterly missing the excited upshoot both women’s eyebrows did when they heard his accent. With a touch of annoyance, he noticed the out of order sign had dropped once again and was slowly soaking into a puddle of slush. “I’ve got a kettle in the break room, but the coffee’s instant. But there’s quite a lot of it, at least, so.” He shrugged, grinning awkwardly and trying not to look at the short one with the big eyes.

“That’d be amazing, I’m frozen,” London said, bouncing on her toes.

“Right, well, have a seat, I’ll go and get that on.”

“I’ll give you a hand,” Blackpool said.

London scoffed, rolling her eyes. “No accounting for taste,” she muttered.

Blackpool stuck out her tongue.

John glanced at her sidelong as he opened the door to the break room. She noted his hesitation and gave him a quizzical look. “You on your own tonight?”

John frowned. “Yeah, why?”

“Then I will definitely give you a hand. You look fit to keel over.”

The frown deepened into a scowl.

She laughed. “Oh, go on, your eyebrows look like they could shoot laser beams when you scrunch up like that.”

He pushed through the door after her, shrugging his parka off and pretending that he wasn’t trying to hide a smile, unsure why he should be hiding it other than that recurring little prickle that said she’s too pretty and you’re too old and have you forgotten you’re dying?

“I like the accent. Where in Scotland?” she asked, already filling the kettle as he stripped off his overalls.

“Glasgow.” He spared her a glance over his shoulder, cocking an eyebrow. “You’re from Blackpool?”

“Ooh, jackpot, well done.”

“Not the sort of accent I expected to hear coming in with the snow in the arse-end of America. I had friends there. The other girl, London, is she with you?”

“No, not really. Met her at the station, actually, we’ve just been headed the same way. Fell in together a bit. It was just nice, y’know. Familiar sort of accent. America’s so bloody big, makes you feel a little less alone.” Her gaze shifted outward and for a moment she was gone, the over the hills and far away sort of gone, hands still trying to seat the kettle without the help of her eyes. On the third try, she finally managed to set the it down on the base properly and click it on.

“Oh. I know that look,” he muttered, sitting down to try and struggle his overalls past his boots. “Someone’s homesick.”

“Something like that.”

He opened his mouth, but the well-meaning platitude he’d meant to give was lost in a deep, lung-rattling cough. He bent double, hugging his knees, eyes squeezed shut, and told himself over and over again it will pass, it will pass, it will pass. Spots burst and swam behind his eyelids as his body protested the idea. The muscles in his body froze up, lungs refusing any command except get out get out get out. All at once the darkness seemed to deepen, wrapping around him, swallowing him up. There was a bizarre sensation of detachment. Like he was falling into himself, as if his body was some hollow thing he was floating around inside like a sensory deprivation tank.

An arm curled around his shoulders, holding his body up, a cold hand rubbing circles on his back. Blackpool’s voice came floating through the black from miles off like sweet woodsmoke.

“Hey, c’mon breathe, breathe, you’re alright.”

At last, his muscles unlocked, and he sucked in a great whooping gulp of air and coughed again, half-retching as Blackpool shoved a crumpled wad of tissues into his hands. John sat shaking as his breathing leveled, swimming back up into the peaked fluorescent light. The coughing was old, but the blackout, that was new. New and decidedly not good. Blackpool’s hand still rubbed at his back. She was still there. He swiped at his mouth with the back of his hand, and as he blinked the tears out of his eyes he saw a smear of red across his knuckles. Fuck.

Blackpool looked down at the blood on his hand, eyes wide with concern and something else he couldn’t quite place. Something that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. Her pupils were dangerously wide, irises a thin sliver of copper that seemed to pulse and flash. A fresh shudder rippled up his spine.  Lack of oxygen, he told himself.  Surely.

“You need a doctor,” she whispered, searching her coat pockets and finally producing a phone in a chipped blue case.

He grasped her hand, shaking his head. “I don’t.”

“The hell you don’t,” she hissed. “You’re ill.”

“I know,” he said, and that stopped her. He sighed. “Just, please, trust me. An ambulance couldn’t make it through this mess anyway. No point. I’ll be fine in a minute, I just need to catch my breath.”

She stared him down, mouth set and grim. For a long, horrible moment he felt close to talking. To actually saying it. He hadn’t actually told anyone about the diagnosis. There was nobody to tell, and somehow that was the worst of it. He was going to die here alone in a shithole of a town thousands of miles from home, and nobody would know. Loneliness hit him in a crushing wave. He saw himself reflected in the dark of her eyes, drawn and pale and hopelessly lost.

And then she sighed, and his shoulders dropped, and the moment passed.

“What’s your name, Glasgow?” she asked finally.

“John. But mostly people call me the Doctor.” She gave him a funny look and he shrugged. “Old nickname. Long story.”

“No doctor for the Doctor, though?”

He shook his head, resolute.

“Well, then fuck that,” she said flatly. “Glasgow it is.”

He rasped a laugh that set him dangerously close to coughing again. “Suppose I’m supposed to just call you Blackpool, then?”

“It’s only fair.” She smiled tentatively. “But it’s Clara, for the record.”

- 12:03am

Blackpool - Clara - handed out hot water in little styrofoam cups. John followed behind with sachets of coffee and tea bags and tiny packets of sugar. London, who Blackpool said was named Bill, squealed happily when he produced a pyramid-shaped teabag out of his pocket.

“Oh that is gorgeous, you’re a lifesaver, mate.”

Blackpool had moved onto the driver, whose name tag was emblazoned with “MASTERS” in off-kilter lettering. His cheshire grin slipped sideways into a leer as she handed him the cup, his fingers lingering on hers a little too long.

“Cheers, love,” he said with an overblown wink and an equally overblown mockery of an English accent.

Blackpool’s face went stony, and she jerked back, moving on quickly to the elderly couple. The grin on Masters’ face spread even broader.

Bill fidgeted, her own smile fading fast. Her eyes flitted around like nervous hummingbirds, lighting on Blackpool, him, the ceiling, the floor. Anywhere but the driver. John clenched his jaw, hands making a decision for him before his brain stood a chance to intervene, accidentally fumbling the handful of coffee and sugar and knocking the cup of still-steaming water out of Masters’ hands and into his lap. The room was entirely too cold (and his kettle frankly a bit too crap) for the piddly amount of liquid to be hot enough to actually hurt him, but the man yowled like it was boiling.

“Ach, so sorry mate,” John crowed, playing up the Glasgow in his voice to the most ridiculous degree he could that still stopped short of Rab C. Nesbitt territory. “The cauld goes fae my joints, sorry, like, I’ll get ye some towels an’ a fresh cuppa, dinnae worry about it.”

He trotted back to the office, more than a little delighted at the sour look on the driver’s face. How’d that saying go? Like a rottweiler licking piss off a dandelion. That was the one. Beautiful.

- 12:15am

John ran out an extension cable and a power strip for the ones needing a charge for their phones, which unsurprisingly was all of them. Reception was shit, and the storm was only half of it. No wifi, either. He made apologies, gesturing at the desperately out of date equipment. “Give them another ten years, and they might actually catch onto the indoor plumbing fad.”

Blackpool gave him a wink and a thumbs up over the top of her phone. London rolled her eyes and lamented the absence of Netflix, rather loudly at that. Blackpool shook her head and set to poking half-heartedly at Candy Crush.

London wandered over, leaning back against the desk where John sat. She had apparently memorized the names of the other passengers and ticked them off to John as she sipped at her tea. She pointed out the elderly couple. “Melvin and Tilly. Their granddaughter just had her first baby, they’re going down to visit. Spiky hair over there is named Dan or Dave or maybe Doug, he talks a bit too fast for me to really catch it. The cougar with the long blonde hair is Susan; loves badminton, very straight though, shame. Oh, that over there, that’s Dee. Or D, like the letter, not sure which.”

“And of course, you’ve met Clara,” she gestured at Blackpool, who was still flicking through her phone. “Late twenties, maybe early thirties at a push. Used to be an English teacher back home, I think she said. Didn’t like talking about home though. Breakup or something, I dunno. There’s a sore spot there, I didn’t want to poke. I did learn, however, that she likes Jane Austen, souffles, and apparently, older men.” London tilted her head at him pointedly, amused by the way John’s gaunt cheeks colored as he stared fastidiously at his shoelaces. She tutted. “Oh you poor bugger. Five minutes in and you’ve already got it bad. Don’t worry, mate, same here.”

“I really d-”

“Oh like hell. You absolutely have, of course you have. I’m not stupid. And I mean it’s not like I can blame you. Look at ‘er.” She lifted her hands again at the other woman as if her existence was the only proof needed. In fairness, it probably was.

John nodded solemnly. “Alright. So what next, fisticuffs? Rifles at dawn? You can get in an early dig at my honor if you want, I’ll let you go first.”

She laughed. “Naw mate, she is way out of my league. Out of your league too, now that I think about it.” London put a playful elbow in his ribs. “She still likes you though. I can tell. Haven’t seen her smile at a single bloke until she saw you.”

He cleared his throat. “And uh, what about the driver? Masters. What’s the deal there?”

London’s smile evaporated. “He’s a prick,” she said flatly.

- 12:40am

“Alright, the suspense is killing me,” Blackpool said at last. She’d taken to pacing around the lounge with her phone in her hands and had veered out of her path to the front desk suddenly.

“I’m sorry?” he said, blinking.

“You said people called you the Doctor. Why?”

John waved a dismissive hand. “It’s really not that interesting, honestly.”

“C’mon.”

“Why do you want to know?”

She rolled her eyes, laughing. “Because I am dying of boredom. And because, quite frankly, I like listening to you talk.” John fumbled his pen. Blackpool didn’t seem to notice. She tilted her head. “How’s your cough, by the way? I suppose I shouldn’t bother you. Talking might actually be a bad idea….oh god, I am rambling aren’t I?”

“I hadn’t noticed,” he said dryly.

“Right. Well. I’ll just, uhm.” She motioned away.

“I had something of a reputation when I was younger,” he said suddenly, not really wanting to tell but wanting her to leave even less. “Drugs. College,” he shrugged. “Nothing terribly shocking, but also not very legal. Used to get folk turning up at all hours on my doorstep, worn out or strung out or heartbroken. I’d find the right remedy in my bag of tricks to calm them down, get them talking.”

“A stoner psychologist?”

“Basically.” He leaned back and spread his hands. “The Doctor is in.”

- 1:17am

Boredom took over rather quickly. D-or-Dee, a youth with a partially shaved head and a pocket full of quarters went around feeding coins into the slots of the tiny mounted TVs, looking for one that still worked. For awhile, several of them crowded around to catch the weather reports - snow, lots of; we now return you to your regularly scheduled programming - but it quickly became apparent that the only thing on this late was going to be infomercials and horrible sitcom reruns. The tiny knot of people dispersed, and the youth settled for twiddling the radio dials, trying to find a signal in the squelch and static.

“How do you manage alone here at night?” Blackpool said, leaning over the front desk and swirling the last dregs of her instant coffee as he scratched at a newspaper with a pen. “This place is practically prehistoric. I keep waiting for a dinosaur to jump out of the ladies’ and come charging out to eat us.”

“Alas, it’s never been quite that interesting. But I manage, mostly.” John wiggled his pen at the desktop, heavily populated with familiar nightshift detritus: thin paperbacks (Vonnegut and Iain M. Banks stuff mostly), crosswords, at least three newspapers, and an mp3 player half-hidden under a pack of L&M cigarettes. A stack of monitors to his right showed crackly footage from security cameras in the station; two from the lounge, one in the hall by the lavs, and two outside at the front and back entrances. He gave them a cursory glance and saw nothing amiss. Then looked again, brows knitting together. That wasn’t entirely true. Something wasn’t quite right, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. He checked the doors again and did a head count, lost count, tried again, distracted by the way Masters was leaning over three chairs to talk to London, who was resolutely ignoring him. John felt the first twinge of a headache at his temples. What the hell was he missing?

And then Blackpool’s arm darted in front of him and grabbed the mp3 player and the cigarettes in one quick swoop that left him blinking.

“Oi, Quick Draw McGraw, give over!”

Blackpool shook the cigarette pack and gave him a disapproving glare. “Seriously?”

He scowled. She seemed to bring that out in him. “I’m old enough, miss, honest. I’ve got ID, I can prove it, even.”

“These can’t be doing your lungs any favors.”

“When did you turn into my mother?”

“Well, if you’re going to be like that I guess I’ll just have to take your toys away,” she said coolly, slipping them into her pocket.

John scoffed. “You really want to be stuck in here with a crotchety old bugger going off nicotine? Trust me, it won’t be pretty.”

“You ought to take better care of yourself, y’know.” The playfulness hadn’t gone, not entirely, but there was a genuine edge of concern.

John felt heat creep up his face and grumbled, fiddling with his hair. That inexplicable urge to tell her hit him again. Christ, he was pathetic. Was this all it took? A pretty face and a kind word, and he was ready to fall on his knees and confess. It was a sin anyway, wasn’t it? Suicide by inaction. Jesus. Get ahold of yourself for fuck’s sake.

Blackpool held up the mp3 player. “Got anything good in here?”

“Depends on your definition of good.”

Music warbled faintly from the earbuds as she shuffled through his playlist. “Bowie. Lots of Bowie.  Miles Davis.  Screaming Trees. And...Peter Andre?” She gave him a look that was just a hair’s breadth away from mocking.

“It got stuck in my head, ok? It was either download it or put a plastic spork in my ear.”

She laughed, properly laughed, round face all crinkled up, rocking on her elbows. Any indignance he might’ve felt fled immediately. He watched her laugh and felt a little of the malaise drain from his limbs.

Blackpool shook her head at him, eyes sparkling. “Well, that’s good to see.”

“What?”

“You. Smilin’.”

The corner of his mouth twitched. He hadn’t even realized.

She patted his hand. A fleeting touch, but enough to make his heart catch almost painfully. “It looks good on you,” she said.

“Oh, flattering an old man,” he said. “If you’re here for my many many riches, as clearly evidenced by my glamorous, high-paying position, I’m afraid I have bad news.”

“Shut up,” she smacked his shoulder lightly.

“I just thought you should be aware!” he carried on, blustering his way through the blush that wanted to creep up his cheeks again.

A sudden burst of static made the both of them jump. D-or-Dee cheered happily, having finally found a radio signal that wasn’t just weather reports or bad country music. Violin strings cut through the crackle and pop in a lilting swell. A guitar crawled in in response, sweet and slow as molasses. John recognized it, an old Fleetwood Mac tune from the Peter Green days.

Melvin, the old guy, was on his feet suddenly, tugging at his wife’s arm. Tilly cackled, called him a sentimental old goat. And then she went to him, smiling sweetly, hands clasped together, one arm on his shoulder. They revolved slowly, beaming at one another.

A few others joined them, Dave/Dan/Doug, the youngish fellow with spiky hair, offered his hand to Susan, a woman about John’s age who laughed musically and joked about breaking her hip, but went anyway. D-or-Dee snatched up London even as Masters was moving closer and twirled her away while the driver was left sneering. A cold little prickle crawled up the back of John’s neck as he locked eyes with the driver. He was going to be trouble. Before sun up, John was certain, he would be trouble.

Blackpool’s hand was on his again, her eyes locked mistily on the elderly couple. “Dance with me?” she asked suddenly.

He sputtered, half-laughing, an immediate refusal on his lips, but then she turned her head and he saw the tears in her eyes. He knew that look. It wasn’t wistfulness but hurt, like an old wound had suddenly reopened. John felt his heart perched on the edge of something he didn’t want to name, teetering, ready to fall. He could let it, knowing at once he’d give anything to take away whatever pain had filled her, and chastised himself for the foolishness.

As if he could. The plows would go out in the morning and she would be on another bus and that would be it. And anyway, he was old enough to be her father and not likely to see the last snows of the season melt. Nothing lasted, not ever. The kid turned the music up, and John felt it working in his chest. A little miracle, a little spark crackling away inside. Old and battered and still playing something sweet and strong enough to make him feel. Maybe that wasn’t all the music. Maybe.

Nothing lasted, but maybe it didn’t have to last to be worth it.

John squeezed her hand once and made for the door. The security monitors dragged his attention for a split second, but he kept moving. Whatever it was, it could wait another five minutes. Blackpool held her arms out as he rounded the desk. He hesitated, swallowing hard. People were watching. London looked at once hopelessly amused and somehow proud. She grinned at him and popped a double thumbs-up, giggling. The driver looked significantly less pleased. The man’s face had gone rat-like and sour, staring at them both with such utter contempt John could almost feel it on his skin, slippery and unpleasant like motor oil.

But Blackpool’s eyes were turned up to him, wide and dark and too full. You wave and you wave with your wide lovely eyes ran through his head with a kind of sick-sweet flush. He went to her. London pumped her fist discretely in triumph.

“You’re cold,” he said as she curled around his shoulder.

“I’m alright.” She took his left hand with her right. Should’ve felt odd. Probably. It didn’t. She led and he followed, trying to pretend he was more than a gangly wreck of limbs and mad silver hair.

She settled against him, fingers worrying over the ring on his hand. “I hope I’m not,” she paused, pressed her face to his jacket, tried to start again. “I dunno, overstepping or something. I don’t want you to think I’m trying to put the mack on a married man.”

His eyebrows flew up. “You’re putting the mack on me now, are you?”

“Shut up,” she said, but there was a chuckle in it.

“I’m not married anymore. It’s sentiment, I suppose. Maybe just habit by now. Just never taken it off.”

She looked up at him, searching his face as if looking for the answer to something she didn’t quite want to ask. She seemed to find it. He could guess; a ghost of that same hurt he’d seen in her face. “I’m sorry,” she said.

John’s mouth went painfully dry. “You too, eh?” he asked.

She nodded. “We weren’t married,” she said, so quiet he could just barely hear her over the music. “But he was going to propose.”

“I’m so sorry.”

Her breath hitched, and she swayed a little in his arms, head down low on his shoulder. John turned them slowly, putting his back to the room, giving her what little privacy he could. He stared out the window. The snow was coming down harder, big fat snowballs of the stuff forming new drifts in the track he had cleared. The sky outside was a dull, muddied pink, the snow drifts colored orange in the streetlights. Blackpool wept discreetly, not making a sound, but he felt tears soak through his hoodie to his t-shirt, and wondered that even those felt cold. He pressed his hand into the small of her back, thumb rubbing absently against her spine, and he tucked the top of her head under his chin. She smelled faintly of lilac soap and deep, bitter chocolate.

“Thank you,” she said as the song ended.

“What for?”

“For being kind.” She looked up at him again, and he watched the last of her tears spill down her cheeks. “That’s rarer than it ought to be.”

A commercial for Thompson’s Water Seal replaced Peter Green, and the other pairs drifted apart. John barely noticed. Her eyes skimmed down over his face, pausing long enough at his lips to make his heart beat faster. She couldn’t possibly...

A cracking from outside made his head snap up, and John watched as a heavy branch bowed over the power lines, cracking and popping. He swore, dropping his hand to his belt where his maglite hung, just as the branch gave way and fell.

In the split second before the darkness descended, John finally registered what had been wrong with the cctv feed. As light as it was outside, even at this hour, the inside of the station was brighter, and he saw himself reflected in the plate glass of the sliding doors. Six feet of wiry thin Scot. Face a little too long, a little too drawn now, but eyes as bright and cold as the night outside. His hands hovered in midair, clasping nothingness.

Of the woman in his arms, there was no sign. Blackpool had no reflection.

[peterkayscarshare]

Yesterday, Today & Tomorrow  By OverTheRainbow Chpt 5

Chapter 5: One Month Later....

She'd spent every weekend for the past four weeks travelling back and forth to Preston. Mandy had gone house hunting with her. Originally it had been flat hunting with the intention of one bedroom and possibly a balcony, or at least enough space for a window box but Mandy insisted she get two bedrooms to allow for regular visits and so when they widened their search and found a little terraced house in a quiet part of town with a small garden, the deal was done. The landlord was happy for her to modernise the decor, provided it stayed fairly "neutral" and having been introduced to Misty, he had no objections to Kayleigh's canine housemate. She would be earning more in her new job and with the prospect of bonuses for hitting her targets; the little house was well within her budget. She had annual leave still left to take, so she would finish up on the Wednesday and start moving in the day after. She'd bought a new bed and sofa that were due on Thursday. BT and Sky were due on the Friday. All being well, she'd have her bits and pieces in place before she started her new job on Monday. All that was left was to say goodbye. The process had already begun. Customers and reps that she'd come to know and chat to over the years, who knew she was leaving, stopped by to wish her well. Her leaving do was on Friday. It would coincide with the departure of Ted 2, or Ethan, as Kayleigh now knew him. He'd made a point of saying hello when he realised they'd both be leaving at the same time. She'd initially been flustered like a schoolgirl when he spoke to her but she soon realised the inherent stupidity of her embarrassment. Ethan was great kid but he was just that, a kid. A "Manbo" as Elsie might say. In fairness he had beautiful manners and displayed more emotional maturity than some she could mention, who had a good couple of decades on him. Still, the least said about that the better.

She'd been stunned when John announced her name for the Christmas Team. She'd just assumed she'd be replaced, after Cath Hilton told him she would be leaving soon. Instead, he'd insisted she should be a part of it. In some ways it had been cathartic. They'd been forced to be in each other's company on a regular basis over the past few weeks and slowly but surely Kayleigh was finding herself becoming more comfortable around him. The happy intimacy they'd once shared had been replaced with something else. She wasn't sure how to define it exactly, but they were talking....at least to the extent that it allowed them to function and that was the main thing. She couldn't simply turn off her feelings. God knows she wished she could. She'd concluded that it really wasn't his "fault" that he didn't love her. It wasn't exactly something you could force. She couldn't will him into it. In some ways it might even be a blessing. There could be nothing worse than being with someone who was there only through a sense of obligation. She didn't want to be another Charlotte. She'd occasionally catch him staring at her when she wasn't looking and her ideas always seemed to attract additional attention from him but she just assumed that it was simply his way of showing he wanted to make amends. She was growing tired of being sad, hurt and angry. She couldn't keep on analysing his every action. Tormenting herself with a past she couldn't change and a future that would never be. She was physically moving on. Maybe it was time she began the emotional stage of the process.

After much debate, the team had come up with a "theme" for Christmas. "Peace & Goodwill to All". It seemed appropriate given the year that had been. It would have traditional and modern elements. An indoor mini Christmas Market that would celebrate the best of British, with a nod to cultural diversity. Kayleigh had loved the idea and pointed out that it would be a great way to up sell products, by demonstrating how traditional ingredients could be given a modern twist. John had nodded enthusiastically and noted it was a "Great point that, Kayleigh." It earned him a slightly pained smile but he seemed happy to take what he could get. The part of her that still loved him couldn't help but want him to succeed. She knew there was a promotion in it for him if he did. She found that despite her very best efforts, she couldn't bring herself to begrudge him that. Maybe it would make him happy. Or at least provide one of those fleeting moments of happiness that he was content to "settle" for.

They'd gone for a traditional Twelve Days of Christmas lighting display. "I'd be chuffed if my "true love" gave me five gold rings…to be fair, I'd settle for the Lords a' leapin...but if he turned up on my doorstep with a bloody partridge in a pear tree, I'd shove it up his arse!" Elsie cackled long and loud. "There wouldn't be a second day of Christmas, I can tell ya! Bloody bird shit everywhere!" It made Kayleigh chuckle too. John simply squeezed his eyes shut tight in disgust and shook his head. "Sure I'm only havin a laugh. What would we do without laughter eh Kayleigh love!? Hey, Mr Redmond! What are you gettin your "true love"?" Elsie regretted the words almost as soon as they left her mouth. She wasn't usually one for regrets but she did like Kayleigh and she had a soft spot for John. She wouldn't seek to deliberately hurt either of them. It didn't exactly take a sensitivity she didn't possess, to know that something had gone very badly wrong between these two. As an agonisingly awkward silence ensued, Elsie did what only she could do...she filled it. "Sure don't be tellin us. I don't want my surprise ruined...I know you're lookin forward to fillin my stockin…aren't ya!?" "It'll be a bloody P45 with a big red bow on it if you don't get back to work". Elsie lent conspiratorially towards Kayleigh, "So sensitive that one...but he loves me really." With a final hearty laugh she was gone. Leaving John and Kayleigh standing there, trying to avoid eye contact. Finally, as John moved to leave, Kayleigh suddenly said, "John." He turned around so fast he almost gave himself whiplash, with an eager expression, bordering on desperation, he said, "Yeah". "I wanted to give you this." He looked down at an oil stained brown padded envelope. "What's this?" "It's the 140 quid I owe you." "I wasn't expecting to get it in used notes in a brown envelope. You gonna give me my instructions and a code word next." He smiled. Kayleigh didn't find it funny. Steve and Mandy had insisted on scrapping together most of the money from their "holiday jar". Mandy felt bad about inadvertently locking her sister in and Steve felt bad about the whole phone situation, or rather, had been made to feel bad about it, by Mandy. Despite Kayleigh's pleas that it wasn't a big deal and that she would pay, they'd accept no argument. Hence the cash in hand and the oil stained envelope which Steve had forced on her as she'd left for work that morning. "I'm sorry it's not a BACS transfer. Maybe you'd have liked it deposited in your Swiss Bank Account." Oh Christ, he'd done it again. "No! I was just jokin...I, I didn't mean..." "Yeah. I'd forgotten that words aren't really your thing, are they?" With that she stormed off.

How the Hell did that happen?! He couldn't even open his bloody mouth! Aw stick this! He'd had it. He was sick of it. They're all the friggin same! The sooner she was gone the better. He got in his car at 5pm, put on his seatbelt and didn't look back. He brooded to the point of simmering fury. He hated the world and everything in it. He sat at the traffic lights and looked at the other poor sods around him, all stuck in their metal cages. Living their mundane lives....It had been raining today but the early evening sun was making an effort and suddenly, there it was, he could see it in the distance...a perfect rainbow. Radio 5 Live was analysing Prime Ministers Questions but John was miles away in another time and another place......"I have always fancied someone reading out the lyrics to S Club 7 "Reach"". "That's a bit chipper for a funeral innit?!" "Well they won't be singing it. Just reading the words out....When the world leaves you feeling blue, you can count on me, I will be there for you." "How? You're dead." "I'll be speaking to everyone from Heaven....When it seems all your hopes and dreams are a million miles away, I will reassure you." "What you on about?" "Reach for the stars, climb every mountain higher, reach for the stars, follow your heart’s desire, reach for the stars and when that rainbow's shining over you...that's when all your dreams will come true...and I'm the rainbow...so whenever anyone sees a rainbow they'll be thinkin of me." God...if only he could stop. He heard a car horn sounding somewhere behind him and realised he was still stopped, on a green light. He was shaken out of his revere, waved an apology, hit the accelerator and kept driving. He wanted to be angry, to hate her, to see her as "just another woman". To write her off as another neurotic. To say goodbye and good riddance...but he couldn't. He loved her. He'd fallen for her from the day she threw her piss in his face and he'd kept on falling. It didn't matter how hard the landing had been, he still loved her and he always would. When he got home the contents of the parcel he'd been so anxious to receive all those weeks ago, sat on his mantelpiece. He couldn't return it and yet keeping it was impossible. It merely added to his misery. There was nothing else for it. It was time to deal with it, once and for all.

The remainder of the week had crawled by at a snail’s pace but was largely without incident. For Kayleigh her days were filled with goodbyes and good wishes, her evenings with packing and planning and her nights with sadness, regret and dreams of what might have been. For John, his days were an endless slog of trying at all costs to focus on his work, his evenings, of thinking about how he'd keep focused tomorrow and his nights, with trying to focus on anything other than Kayleigh Kitson. Friday eventually arrived. It was her leaving do and Kayleigh was miserable. It was also Ethan's...and he was anything but. Jenna had come down from Scotland and he was a delighted and attentive boyfriend. Together they looked like they'd stepped off the cover of a magazine. Kayleigh mused that they were two people unlikely to ever grace the pages of HeartSearchers.com. They didn't need to search for love. Love found them. Love always found people like them. It couldn't find her if she wore a high vis jacket and stood under a flashing neon sign. John hadn't shown up. As she stood amongst the crowd in the Poachers Arms, holding her glass of Prosecco with a fake smile on her face, she'd never felt more alone. She heard Jenna's soft lilting Scottish accent next to her, "Excuse me. Kayleigh?" "Yes." "I'm Jenna, Ethan's girlfriend." "It's lovely to meet you Jenna." "Likewise. I hear you're leaving too". "Yep. Off to Preston." "Is your partner going too?" "I'm sorry, my what?" "Eh...your partner? Ethan mentioned that he worked here too...John isn't it?" "I'm sorry you must have..." "It's just that I wanted to say thank you. I'm just sorry he isn't here to say it in person." Kayleigh's curiosity was peaked, "Thank you for what?" "Didn't he tell you? Modesty. That speaks volumes about the man. You probably know that Rob, Ethan's Dad and Barbara's husband, hasn't been well lately. It's been a nightmare for them. It turns out that Rob will need further tests in London but the cost of travelling down there and overnight accommodation was going to be so difficult to manage. Rob's self-employed and without his wage and trying to make ends meet on Barbara's salary, it's just been so hard. Ethan does what he can but he's in Edinburgh during term time and his brother's still at school. It's been such a struggle. To cut a long story short, John put in a request for financial assistance to the company's benevolent scheme. We just heard that Barbara will get a grant to help with travel and accommodation costs. John also gave Ethan a bonus for his "Outstanding Customer Care". It's a couple of hundred quid. He's over the moon!" Kayleigh was stunned. "Anyway, I just wanted to ask if you would pass on our thanks.....by the way, Ethan says you're such a lovely couple." With that, Jenna wandered off, to rescue Ethan from a throng of female admirers which included Joyce Chung and Diane off Non Foods and leaving Kayleigh to pick her jaw up off the floor.

The area Manager Alan Campbell presented her with a bouquet of flowers and a cheque for £350. He called her Kylie twice, to barely suppressed laughter. She wanted nothing more than for this night to end. As the music got slower and the crowd got ever more drunk, she ordered a taxi, said her goodnights and left. She'd see them on Monday for her final three days. As she headed off into the night she couldn't help but feel hurt that he couldn't even be bothered to show up. He hadn't even tried to say goodbye. No one knew why he didn't show. Many suspected. Cath Hilton told her he was on a residential course next week. That was it then. She wouldn't see him again. It really was over. It was two days later that she decided to put pen to paper and write him a letter. There were a few things she needed to say and some things he needed to hear.

Dear John,

I'm not really one for letters as a rule. I may be a woman of many words but few of them are ever on a page. I know that probably surprises you, in absolutely no way! Joking aside, I suppose I just felt that there were some things I needed to say and in your absence, I had no one to say them to. I want you to know that I don't hate you. Genuinely, I don't. You were right. I always assume. That's my problem, well one of them at least. I let myself believe that you felt for me, the way I felt for you. It's not your fault that you didn't and that you don't. I can't blame you for that, or at least I shouldn't.

I need you to know that our friendship, for the precious time we had it, meant the world to me. You were one of the very best friends I've ever had. I can't remember a happier time in my life than sharing your car every day. Laughing and singing and putting the world to rights. I'm glad you seem to have overcome your aversion to people singing in your face. Maybe I've shown you it can be fun. If so, then my work here is done. I suppose it is anyway. I'll always cherish those times. I want you to know that I wish you everything you wish for yourself. I hope you find contentment, wherever your journey takes you. I hope you keep gigging with Compendium (you've got to be impressed that I got the name right for a change). You should never give up on your dream. Reach for the stars. Sometimes you'll miss but it doesn't mean it wasn't worth the effort. I'm sorry we never got to say goodbye. Please take good care of yourself John Redmond. I'll never forget you.

Your buddy,

Kayleigh xx

She wiped the tears from her eyes as she finished and placed the letter in an envelope. She'd leave it in his pigeonhole at work. He'd get it when he returned on Thursday. By then she'd be in Preston and starting a new life.

He'd worn his snazziest shirt, a pair of dark jeans he liked and a splash of Calvin Klein. It may be completely futile but it was worth the effort. She was worth the effort. He was going to be a grown up. Tonight was her leaving do and he was going to talk to her. Properly. He was going to tell her the truth. All of it...and then he was going to finally deliver the contents of that parcel. He picked it up, turned it around in his hand, grabbed his car keys and his jacket and set off. Tonight was the night. Tonight would change everything, one way or another. He'd been driving for ten minutes when the phone rang. It was Paul. He'd just had a call; Sophie had fallen at Beavers on Ice. It sounded like she'd broken her arm. She wanted her Uncle John. John pulled over to the side of the road and ran his hand across his forehead. He adored the kids. Sophie was his little Princess. The thought of her in pain and wanting to see him was too much to bear. "Where is she?" he asked. "They've taken her to A&E at the Infirmary. Thing is we're at a Rotary Club dinner. We're half way through a four course meal. The bloody Mayor's on our table and you know I mentioned that tender we're working on...." John put his head back and let out a long breath. "I'm on me way". "Thanks John. You're the best. Listen, tell her Mummy and Daddy love her loads and we'll see her soon. Let us know how you get on. Make sure you phone if they discharge her. We don't want to go there if we don't have to. Parking at the Infirmary's a nightmare and Angela has a thing about hospitals since that in-growing toenail thing. I'll call Nana and tell her she'll have to keep Ben for a bit." "Yeah. Fine." "Thanks again John. Try and get there as quick as you can eh." With that he hung up. No, "Did you have plans tonight"? "Am I inconveniencing you"? "Where you planning on telling someone you loved them and wanted to spend the rest of your days with them"? "Aww, sorry about f'in up your life". He looked at it. Sitting there on the passenger seat, taunting him. There was nothing he could do....he was sure she wouldn't take his calls anyway and this was something he needed to do face to face. He headed to A&E. It was nearly midnight before they finally left. Sophie, in her Elsa costume, her little arm in plaster, weary and tearful in her Uncle John's arms as he sang "Let it go" softly to her and she tried to duet. She was more upset about messing up her routine than breaking her arm, it seemed. After he'd got her booster seat out of the boot and strapped on her seat belt, he'd taken the contents of the parcel from the front passenger seat and placed it in the glove compartment. Best not to think about it now. By the time they got back to Paul's she was asleep. He handed her gently to Angela who took her upstairs to bed. Paul thanked him, asked him how things were with him and before he'd had a chance to answer, told him all about the tender and what it would mean for the company and had John ever thought of joining the Rotary? He hadn't. John said he'd call tomorrow to check on Sophie and left. The leaving do would be over now. There was no point trying to go to the Poachers Arms at this point. It was done. Over. He'd never see her again. "If it's meant to be, it'll be". It clearly never was.

She'd left her note in his pigeonhole on Monday. He'd gone to the residential in Leeds. She spent her final two days doing a handover to her replacement, a 22 year old pretty blonde called Kim. Rachel already hated her. She was attracting the attention and approval of many of the staff and customers, admittedly most of them male. She'd have no problem flogging her Dairylee Dunkers. That she was also a lovely, fun young woman would also help. Kayleigh liked her and smiled when Kim said how sad she was that she was leaving, as she thought they would have become good friends. She'd finally left on Wednesday to cards, balloons and tears. Promises were made to "keep in touch" amid pleas not to "be a stranger". She'd finished packing up Mandy's Citroen that evening and headed off to Preston for her first night in her new home, sleeping on an air mattress.

The residential had been a write off. Litchy had spent most of it trying to pick up the hotel receptionist and calling him a "boring bastard" for not playing along. His mind was literally miles away. Counting down the hours until she would be gone. He drove to work on Thursday like a zombie. He collected his mail from his pigeonhole and went to his office. He received an email from Alan Campbell. Head office liked his ideas for Christmas. He wanted to meet him at 2pm. He had some great news. He started to open his mail but was distracted by the arrival of Joyce Chung in a right flap. From what he could gather the words Elsie, Rachel and a right hook sounded ominous. It proved to be just that. They'd had an altercation when Rachel remarked on Elsie "tasting" the new smoked salmon quiche. Rachel was now wearing several quiches and an ice pack over her right eye. Elsie was missing several hair extensions and had scratches on her face that looked like she'd been tackled by a feral cat. There was some debate about who struck who first. Although that Elsie had called Rachel a "Two bit, arse kissing whore", was not in dispute. Both women were sent home pending an investigation. By the time he'd calmed everyone down, written an incident report and re-staffed the deli counter, it was lunch time. He'd also become one of the very few male members of staff to be disappointed by the sight of Kim. He was now on the list with Nick in electricals. Nick had been hoping for another Ethan. John had been hoping for a change of mind that never came. Alan Campbell gave him the news that he was in line for promotion. It would most likely mean a change of store but it was a great opportunity for him. It all felt strangely flat. A promotion in a career he never really wanted and the one person he wanted to celebrate it with was gone. It was almost 5pm by the time he got round to opening his mail. That's when he noticed the handwritten envelope. He opened it, unfolded the letter and read its contents. By the end the tears had rolled off his cheeks and splashed on the paper. He sat for a moment, trying to order his thoughts into some kind of coherent action. Finally, it all came together in his mind and a truce was called in the seemingly never ending war between his heart and his head. He knew what he needed to do and he was damn well going to do it. He dried his eyes, grabbed his car keys and left. He checked the glove compartment of his car and before he knew it, he was en route to Bury and he wasn't going to stop.

Steve was in his usual location, tinkering with his ever uncooperative bike. The sight of the familiar red car pulling up alongside him caused him to do a double take. John was out of the car like a man possessed. Before Steve could ask him what he was doing there, or give him a bollocking for ruining Kayleigh's life....or seek his advice on the compressor...he said, "Where is she Steve?" "I'm not sure she'd want you to know mate". John looked up at the window of the box room. The lamp was gone...he couldn't dwell on that now; he had more important matters on his mind. "I know that…and I understand why you might not want to tell me but listen...I love her Steve. She's every bloody thing in the world to me and I need to see her. I need to tell her that and if she tells me where to go then fair dos. I've tried. I need to try, just once in my soddin life, I need to try...please...help me mate...tell me where she is". Before Steve could reply, Mandy's Citroen pulled up. She jumped out immediately. "Oh, now I don't believe THIS!" Steve tried to calm her down, ""Mandy listen..." "Don't you Mandy me! What the hell is he doing here!?" "I know we've only met in passing and you don't know me but..." "Oh believe me, I know enough sunshine! I know more than enough. I know everything I need to know! You broke my sister's heart. You drove her from her job and from my home and you have the gall to show up here?! You can piss right off....go on, get lost! NOW!" John stood his ground for a few seconds and looked at Steve. "Mandy give us a minute please". "You what!?" "Just go inside. You're making a spectacle for the neighbours" "Stuff the f'in neighbours!" "Go inside Mandy. The kids are home. Don't let them see you shoutin the odds in the street." She considered this for a moment. Looked daggers at John, called him a "Selfish, heartless bastard" then went inside. Steve looked at John who appeared well and truly crushed. After a moment he said, "The Kitson's make tough women.....are you sure you're ready for that?" John looked up and saw the smile growing on Steve's face. "I'm ready", he replied. "Well, if you've the balls to stand there and take Mandy in full flow, I think you've got what it takes." Steve reached into his pocket and took out a small notebook. He reached behind his ear for a pencil. He scribbled down an address and handed it to him. "Good luck mate...you're gonna need it". "Thanks. I won't forget this". As he headed to the car John turned, "Maybe put in a good word for me if you get a chance?" "Listen. You make Kayleigh happy. You won't need me to give you a reference." John smiled, got in the car, set the sat nav for the address in Preston and was off. Steve watched him go with a smile. He momentarily contemplated talking to Mandy, and then said aloud, "Nah. I'll leave it for a bit."

John turned on Forever FM for the first time in weeks as he headed up the motorway to the strains of John Parr's "Man in Motion". He was soon singing along. This wasn't going to be easy but it would be worth it. If nothing else she'd know how he felt. She deserved that. The sat nav took him on a detour as soon as he arrived in Preston. Nothing new there. "I don't think you've got a clue where you're goin love...you and me both eh....this can't be right...I've been down here three times already…you're off your tits...I'm gonna stop and ask someone...bloody piece of shit!" Finally, he arrived. Number 121, Evergreen Road. A little terraced house. He reached into the glove box, took out his precious cargo, held it in his hand for a moment, and then got out of the car. It was two or three steps at most to the front door but it felt like the journey of a lifetime. He rang the doorbell. Beyonce's "Single Ladies" rang out. She must have kept that from the old house he thought. He heard her voice down the hall, "Just a second, I'm on me way!" He loved that voice. When the door opened, she was standing there in a pair of denim dungarees with one strap undone and a long sleeved white t-shirt underneath. She had a paint brush in her hand and the dungarees were splattered in white paint. Some of it was on her cheek. Her hair was tied up haphazardly in a bun with pieces falling out around the side of her face and down her neck. She looked slightly flushed...and she'd never looked more beautiful to him.

For a few seconds she stood there. Her mouth open slightly. Just looking at him. Then she regained her composure. "John!" "Yeah. It's me." "What are you doing here?!" "I was hoping I could talk to you." "Now? You want to talk to me, now? It's not exactly a great time." She looked down at her attire. "You've been painting". "Nah. I was heading out for a date." His face fell. "Really!?...oh I'm sorry...if this is a bad time…" "Don't be daft! I was being sarcastic. What kind of date would I be goin on dressed like this?!" "Paintballing". He smiled. She laughed, despite herself. He always could find a way to make her laugh, like no one else. "Well, I suppose you best come in then. I was about to make a brew. Might as well make two." "Thanks...I thought you'd never ask". "I didn't....So...I'm guessing Steve" "Steve?" "How you got my address" "Yeah. Don't be angry with him." "I'm not. I don't have to be. Our Mandy'll kill him" "Well I'm hoping he won't have died in vain then". Kayleigh went into the kitchen to put the kettle on and lay out the mugs. John looked around the little living room. Small but cute. Like Kayleigh. He liked what she'd done to it already. He looked through to the kitchen; her back was to him, at the sink. There were pretty pink flowers on the windowsill…and then he saw it...the heart lamp…she hadn't thrown it away. She couldn't bring herself to bin it. "I'm hoping the smell of the paint won't kill off me plants. It's already knocking me out and I've got every window open. Then again, maybe that's not such a good idea. The cold probably won't agree with them either. I've always loved flowers but I don't think I'm very green fingered. My Mum is though." This was Kayleigh. She was nervous and desperately trying to fill the silence, so he seized the moment, "I got your letter"....it stopped her cold. "I got your letter Kayleigh" he repeated. She closed her eyes for a moment at the sound of him saying her name once again. She turned to face him and sighed. "I really wanted it to end John. The anger. I wanted it to end. I want it to end. I'm exhausted." "Me too." "I just want us both to move on...ya know?" "What if I don't?" "What?" "What if I don't want to move on? What if I want to go back....Go back to before you left my car. Go back and say what I wanted to say. What I should have said".

Kayleigh reached behind her and grabbed the edge of the sink. She was sure her legs were going to give way. He was on a roll and he wasn't going to stop. "I want you to know that I'm sorry. More than I've ever been in my whole life. I was a coward. The thing is, you terrify me." "I terrify you!?" "Yeah. I'm Kayleigh phobic." "Don't make a joke of this John". "I'm sorry. That's what I do. I avoid things. I play them off. I deflect. Not because they don't matter but because they do. You do. You matter to me more than anything. I was so scared of losing you...and then I did. You've no idea how many times I've replayed that bloody conversation, wishing I hadn't been such a dickhead. Wishing I'd just been honest and said what I meant." "What did you mean?" "I sent a text to Forever FM....but you missed it...Nobody puts Kayleigh in the corner". Her eyes went wide as the significance of those words began to dawn. "Yeah. You got out of the car just before they read it out. They played "Kayleigh"....by Marillion, 1985.... I loved that song....can't listen to it now". "John..." "What I should have said was that I love you Kayleigh Kitson. I did then, I do now and I always will. You make me happier than I ever imagined it was possible to be and being without you, these past few weeks, have been a living hell. I know you've got this new job and this new house and this new life but....do you think you could find a place in it for me?... I can't face being without you. Waking up every day and knowing you're not there." There were tears in both their eyes now. She looked down at his right hand. "What's that?" "It's what was in the parcel me Nana was waiting in for. It was for you...it's for you...it's yours...from me…" Nervously, he passed over to her, a white box. She took it, looked at it and slowly opened it. With a sharp intake of breath, she reached out and touched a simple gold disk on a gold chain. There, etched on the front were the words..."Pure and Simple" in beautiful calligraphy. She looked up at him, "Turn it over" he whispered. On the back it read "I'll be there for you" and beneath it a J and K were entwined with a date below it. "It's the date of our first car share together...do you like it?...if you don't I can..." before he finished speaking she let out a sob, then covered her mouth. "Do you hate it?" She shook her head. "Do you like it?" She nodded. "I love it" she finally managed to say. "I really wanted to hate you, ya know? I did. It would've been so much easier to hate you but I can't and I don't and I never will....I love you John Redmond…God help me but I still do and I will do for the rest of my life." With that she put her necklace down on the kitchen counter, reached over to him, grabbed the lapels of his suit jacket, drew him to her and kissed him. At first he was wide eyed and stunned, then blissful happiness and long simmering passion overwhelmed him. He wrapped his arms around her tightly and returned her kiss. Filling it with all the love and desire he felt for her. Without realising it they were soon so caught up in the moment that his suit jacket and tie were on the floor and they were heading backwards into the living room. As Kayleigh began to make light work of his shirt buttons and he fiddled hopelessly with the catch on her dungarees, there was a sudden thud, which prompted their temporary separation, followed by a curse emitting from John's previously happily occupied lips. "Oh John! Look! You've stood in me emulsion!" He looked down to see his right foot and lower trouser leg, coated in white paint. "Aw BUGGER!" She tried to stifle a giggle....then he looked up at her, smiled his very best cheeky smile and waggled his eyebrows..."You'll just have to help me get out of me trousers then...won't you" she laughed and so did he, then she threw her arms around him and they hugged each other tightly before he lifted her up spun her round then carried her across the room.

He pulled a sickie on Friday. If she could play him like a banjo fully clothed, then naked, except for her new necklace, she could play him like a Stradivarius. She jokingly thanked him for helping her test the springs out on her new bed, so enjoyably. He whispered, "I try...and if you give me time to catch me breath, I'll happily try again..." Later, he'd told her about Sophie and her broken arm. She said she couldn't wait to meet her and would get her something to cheer her up. She talked to him about what Jenna had said at her leaving do and told him it made her love him even more and she didn't think that was possible. The springs got another stress test....Eventually they ventured down stairs for something to eat. She made him a brew and a bacon butty, and then they decided to head back to his place to grab a change of clothes and some essentials for the rest of the weekend. They'd laughed, sang along to Forever FM and held hands like a couple of teenagers, on the journey back to Manchester. She admired his house, dashing from room to room before bouncing on his bed and offering to return his earlier favours...."Bloody hell woman you're insatiable", he laughed. "You're addictive", she giggled. He stopped at Big Bobs Munch Box and they had a couple of Fat Boys, before going to see his Nana. Armed with a Dairy Box, Kayleigh was an instant hit. Nana loved Corrie and the two women bonded over the latest gossip. It delighted John. As they left, Nana thanked him for the Dairy Box, which left him speechless, told him she was proud of him and his new promotion and kissed both John and Kayleigh on the cheek before whispering to John, "She's a lovely lass". John whispered back "I know". "What was that?!" Kayleigh called from the pathway. "Never you mind!" he replied and winked at his Nana. They set off back to Preston and spent the rest of the weekend together making up for lost time. He had a long commute to the store on Monday morning but he couldn't care less. It was worth every minute. Leaving her that morning had been agony but he knew he'd see her later and that was bliss. She was getting her new company car and she couldn't wait to show it off to him. They'd called each other at least a dozen times and texted almost as much with several being little more than, 😘💏 and ❤. He was happier than he'd ever been when they sat together that night eating a Spag Bol they'd prepared together. She was telling him about her day and what she'd be doing and her training and he was simply delighting in watching her. He was so proud of her. He loved her so very much. He knew in that simple moment exactly what he wanted. When she finished speaking he said, "Will you promise me something?" "Yeah...what?" "Will you promise me we won't have "Runaway" as our first dance?" A slow smile grew on her lips as she realised what he was saying, "Are you asking me to marry you John Redmond?" "You haven't promised me yet" "You haven't answered me yet". He laughed and so did she. Then he got up from his chair, got down on one knee and took her hand..."Kayleigh Kitson, will you make me an even happier man than I am right now and marry me....subject to an agreement on our first dance...?" "Yes. Yes I will." After they'd kissed he said, "I've not got you a ring yet but we'll do it at the weekend. It'll give you a chance to Google and find something you like...within reason...I may be about to become a Store Manager but I'm really not Lord Sugar." "Oh Sugar shumugger...your mine....and I love ya!" As she ran to grab the phone he asked, "Where are you off to!?" "We're engaged John! I've got to tell me Mum and Dad and Kelly and Kieron and Mandy!" With that she disappeared into the hall...only to pop her head round the door again..."Don't worry...I'm not running away". With that she smiled, winked and disappeared again he could hear her giggling as she went....resistance really was futile...

[deadcactuswalking]

REVIEWING THE CHARTS: 10th March 2019

Top 10

We have the same #1 from last week, specifically “Someone You Loved” by Lewis Capaldi, hanging onto the top this week for a second stint at the top.

“Giant” by Calvin Harris and Rag ‘n’ Bone Man is also not moving at number-two.

Mabel is up two spots to number-three with “Don’t Call Me Up”.

Ariana Grande’s “break up with your girlfriend, i’m bored” is currently at number-four, down one position from last week.

There’s another song from Ariana down only one space from last week at number-five, this one being “7 rings”. Both of these tracks aren’t falling fast enough, by the way.

The most interesting story of this week in pop music is the return of the Jonas Brothers and their impact on the charts. In the US, they debuted at #1, which kind of perplexes me to be completely honest, but they’re also at number-six here, so there must be some hole in the public’s consumption of music worldwide that the Jonas bros are filling I suppose. If you’re interested in stats, their last charting song in the top 40 here was in 2008, with “Burnin’ Up”, and this is actually their highest charting song ever in the UK, being their fourth top 40 but first ever top 10. Congratulations... I guess?

“Dancing with a Stranger” by Sam Smith and Normani is down a spot to number-seven.

Tom Walker’s “Just You and I” is up two spaces to number-eight.

P!nk’s “Walk Me Home” surprisingly doesn’t falter off the debut despite lack of a video, only dropping a single space to number-nine.

Oh, and NSG’s “Options” featuring Tion Wayne is down three spots to #10.

Climbers

We have exactly two, both in the top 20. “Please Me” by Cardi B and Bruno Mars moves up seven positions probably thanks to the video, to #13, whilst YNW Melly enjoys his first ever top 20 hit whilst incarcerated and on trial for double murder, as “Murder on My Mind” slips up 11 spaces to #20.

Fallers

We have a lot more of these, although it’s still relatively dry in this area too. “Wow.” by Post Malone continues its gradual fall, down five to #19, “Going Bad” by Meek Mill and Drake is down seven to #23, joining “Advice” by Cadet and Deno Driz down six to #24, “Kitchen Kings” by D-Block Europe is down seven to #26, “Shotgun” by George Ezra is down five to #31, “thank u, next” by Ariana Grande is down six to #36, and that’s it, it seems.

Dropouts

Thanks to streaming cuts, two long-running chart hits have dropped out as they always do because of these arbitrary UK chart rules: “Play” by Jax Jones featuring Years & Years is out from #22 and “Lost Without You” by Freya Ridings is out from #25. Otherwise, we just have a few natural dropouts, with “Promises” by Calvin Harris and Sam Smith dropping out from the return last week at #37, “Undecided” by Chris Brown dropping out from #38 (Good riddance) and the sad loss of “Black” by Dave from #40, although there’s no questioning it’ll rebound at a much higher position once the album impacts – which, by the way, you should check out. It’s called PSYCHODRAMA and it’s fantastic.

Returning Entries

“Leave a Light On” by Tom Walker is back at #37. Please go away.

NEW ARRIVALS

#34 – “Don’t Feel Like Crying” – Sigrid

Produced by Oscar Holter – Currently charting at #15 in Scotland

So, I like Sigrid quite a bit, actually. I had a really negative reaction to “Strangers” more than a year ago when it first debuted on the charts but that opinion has waned with time, although it’s still probably one of the worst she’s released, especially on the album Sucker Punch, which I admit I haven’t finished but contains some pretty great UK synthpop, especially the title track, which is awesome and I’m quite sad that didn’t turn out to be the hit from the record, but instead we’ve got the second top 40 hit from young Norwegian singer and BBC’s “Sound of 2018”, which seems to be the token break-up hit on the record (Although there’s probably more songs on the topic throughout), and honestly, it’s pretty epic. I love the orchestral strings that start the track off, they step the fine line between classical-tinged and more electronic sounds by having that synth harmonising with it and the unnatural sound of the slick, polished pop song. The chorus, despite a somewhat concerning falsetto, is catchy and anthemic, and especially in the second verse, it’s such an effective kiss-off, despite being really clean and inoffensive. Similarly to “Sucker Punch”, it’s just Sigrid doing what she knows best: singing some cool synthpop songs (With a rock edge that I appreciate) that she only co-wrote, with enough indie cred in the interesting vocal mannerisms and 808s to seep through what I would usually see as manufactured and boring. Yeah, this is pretty good, even though I feel it could be improved by being less repetitive and more developed, since it’s two and a half minutes long and I feel it needs a proper bridge instead of an admittedly weak post-chorus. Next.

#32 – “Bally” – Swarmz featuring Tion Wayne

Produced by DABEATFREAKZ

Apparently this is a returning entry according to the BBC, and so is “Don’t Feel Like Crying”, but they also think Swae Lee isn’t on “Sunflower” with Post Malone so you know, it’s not exactly like they’re the most reliable in their top 40 countdowns they have available on their Radio One website. Anyway, this is Swarmz, a UK rapper from the same irk as all the faux-reggae-influenced British hip hop artists that break through nearly every week now, sometimes twice, with a slightly bigger name as a feature, in this case Tion Wayne, who also features on a top 10 hit right now by NSG (Making this his second top 40 hit and obviously Swarmz’s first). It sounds really similar to “Options” actually, with a blunt piano-lead beat, almost reggaeton or dancehall percussion as well as a deep 808 drowning out everything else, except, in this case, the piano is completely or at least partially off-beat for the intro and outro due to how washed out the percussion and claps are. The mix is okay, but Swarmz’s autotune especially is pretty muddy, with the multi-layering making the song especially cluttered but I do love his verse and chorus actually, since he has so much charisma and he’s pretty funny and exciting due to his happy delivery despite dark lyrics about shooting people. Maybe it’s because of the BlocBoy JB level of stuttering in the hook or his elongated syllables, but something about this dude is hilarious. Tion Wayne is okay here too (I especially like his pre-chorus), and the beat is decent enough for both of them once it really gets started, so to be honest, I can’t really complain about this one too much, it has a cool almost afrobeat swing to it and I quite like it. Maybe it’s just because I’ve heard so much of this trash that any slightly better forms of this style of British hip hop amazes me, but at least I’ve started to see the reason for this co-existing with people like Dave and people like Loyle Carner; there is some quality to be found in faux-dancehall-gangsta-rap, sometimes.

#18 – “How it Is” – Roddy Ricch, Yxng Bane and Chip featuring the Plug

Produced by SpeakerBangerz

Okay, let’s name off everyone here, starting with probably the most well-known. Yxng Bane is perhaps the most recognisable here as he’s a rapper from East London who is one of the few of the rappers in this style who know how to have a pop sensibility and still be decent, but honestly when he charts his songs are painfully and pathetically bad. His song “Vroom” is probably even worse than I dubbed it in retrospect. This is his fourth Top 40 hit and second top 20. Chip is definitely the artist with the biggest (And probably best) discography here, and can be seen as more of a legacy act in recent years, being one of the few UK rappers to have connections with the US hip-hop scene that aren’t forced, probably because he used to be on T.I.’s record label. He’s collaborated with people like Emeli Sandé, Chris Brown, Trey Songz, Keri Hilson, Stormzy, Elton John and even Big Shaq (No, the last two are not on the same track, although that would be interesting to say the least), and 16 UK Top 40s under his belt, including 10 Top 20s and a number-one hit, although this is his first hit since 2013. Roddy Ricch is an American rapper heavily affiliated with Meek Mill and somehow Marshmello, who seems to be gaining buzz for his trap-rap mixtapes recently. This is his first ever charting song in the UK. The Plug is seemingly a collective that pulls everything together, we’ve seen another collaboration between UK and US rappers initiated by the Plug end up on the chart before, making this their second hit. The song itself isn’t as interesting as any of these backstories if you’re wondering, its piano melody is nice and I like the ambience it builds until Roddy Ricch comes in with the beat and drowns out whatever was there, sounding like a slightly less watered-down version of Young Thug than, say, Lil Baby, but still a shameless rip-off with not near enough quirkiness to make it work. Chip’s verse is mixed awfully and he sounds pretty bad with that autotune anyway. I may as well add that every single verse goes on for a few too many bars to make this song in any way tolerable, and that it’s nearly five freaking minutes, with only three verses but an incessant repetition of the hook. Yxng Bane doesn’t add anything but for once he doesn’t really subtract anything. I actually kind of like the distorted vocals he pulls off. Otherwise, this is gutter trash. Let’s talk about the Jonas Brothers.

#6 – “Sucker” – Jonas Brothers

Produced by Frank Dukes and Louis Bell – Currently charting at #1 in the US and Canada

I’ve never heard a Jonas Brothers song before this, and I’m frankly not going to bother researching a Disney-grown boy band that probably didn’t even make interesting enough music to commentate on despite most probable lack of quality. I have heard some stuff they’ve done outside of this project, with Nick Jonas having two boring solo hits that aren’t much to speak of, Joe Jonas being the frontman of the band DNCE, who had two excellent hits over here, with “Cake by the Ocean” and the funky Nicki Minaj featuring “Kissing Strangers”, and not going to lie, has probably aged the best out of the brothers, musically and in appearance. Sorry, I’ll try to keep it professional – Kevin Jonas, well, I’m sure he existed too, but he didn’t really make music, he just went into either acting or off the face of the Earth until they made their return. Well, I can’t really discern their voices from each other, but I can tell that the shaky falsetto comes from Nick, and the bland, dime-a-dozen production comes from producers Frank Dukes and Louis Bell, both of which known for their aggressively pointless and emotionless, manufactured instrumentals, especially the guitars here, which are so watery and gross. I like the melodies here and I’d be lying to say it wasn’t catchy, especially the whistling in the post-chorus, but there’s nothing really of interest to speak of here, other than the striking similarity to “Feel it Still” by Portugal. The Man, and in response, I see it, but I don’t care.

Conclusion

Not much here was outright bad except the obvious stinker, so Worst of the Week goes to the Plug, Roddy Ricch, Yxng Bane and Chip for “How it Is”, while Best of the Week probably goes to Sigrid for “Don’t Feel Like Crying”, although I feel like I should mention that I do like “Bally”, so Honourable Mention goes to Swarmz and Tion Wayne for making British faux-dancehall hip hop interesting for a brief three minutes. See you next time!

e

[rathertoofondofbooks]

It has been ages since I was blogging regularly and I can’t even remember the last time I posted a proper update. I have honoured my commitments to blog tours so they are the only things I’ve posted since early in the summer. I do want to say a huge thank you to everyone who has continued to read my blog, and to comment even when I’ve not been around, it really does mean a lot to me.

So some of you will know that a year ago I took the decision to start reducing my pain meds. I’d been on incredibly strong meds since before my diagnosis but my pain levels have remained high despite the meds. So I did a lot of research and the general consensus in the medical profession seemed to be that painkillers don’t really work for people with chronic pain like mine. I discussed things with my doctor and I started a reduction plan. It has been a rough year as every time I reduced I had a period of feeling very unwell with pain throughout my body but it would eventually settle again. A few weeks ago I finally got completely off my long-acting pain medication, which was a big achievement. I was still taking the short-acting morphine though so that was the next thing to tackle. I was meant to wean myself off it but I decided to go cold turkey. It was hell. It was worse than I was expecting, and I’d planned for it to be awful! My husband is a huge support to me and he got me through it. I’m now almost six weeks down the line and while I still don’t feel great, I do feel like my body is very gradually beginning to adjust. I am on a lower level pain medication now but I’m continuing to utilise all the things I’ve learnt in the last two years and hope that in time I can reduce these meds too. I will be in pain for the rest of my life because it’s just the nature of the damage done in my neck and spine but I really want to see if I can find a way to live with the pain rather than taking loads of painkillers.

As you can probably imagine, for a lot of the summer and into autumn my reading has tapered off quite a lot. I haven’t been able to concentrate very well, plus I’ve had a lot of headaches etc. This past week I treated myself to a book I’ve been so keen to read and I devoured it, and that made me happier than I can even put into words. My reading mojo feels like it’s on its way back as I’ve read quite a few books this week so I’m really hoping that this trend continues!

Now I’m reading closer to my normal level again I’ve felt like I want to get back to blogging but it’s been such a long, and unplanned for, break that I haven’t felt like I could just start. So I’m writing this weekly wrap-up and life update as a way of letting you all know what’s been happening with me and a way of just feeling my way back into the blogging world!

    So without further ado, here are the books I’ve finished reading this week:

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Lily Alone by Vivien Brown

I got a review copy of this from NetGalley but also discovered the audio version on my subscription service so I part read and part listened to this. This book wasn’t exactly what I was expecting it to be but I flew through it because it had me engrossed from the very first chapter. I will write a full review of this on my blog soon.

Queer: A Graphic History by Meg-John Barker

I’m sorry to say that I didn’t really get on with this book, which is a shame because I was really keen to read it. I think the cover makes it seem like this is more of a graphic novel than it is, and also it doesn’t make it clear that this is a brief overview of queer theory. I’ve already studied queer theory as part of my degree so there was nothing new for me in here, but I’m not sure I’d even recommend it to someone who wanted to know more as it all felt very dry and it skimmed over lots of things and gave very little detail in my opinion.

Good as You: From Prejudice to Pride – 30 Years of Gay Britain by Paul Flynn

This is a book that I’ve wanted ever since I first heard it of it earlier this year and I finally treated myself to the lovely hardback this week. I’m so happy to say that this book is brilliant, I loved every minute that I spent reading this. This is a great non-fiction book because it’s informative but written in such an easy-to-read style. This is the book that I flew through over a couple of days… I highly recommend this one!

I Heart Forever by Lindsey Kelk

I love the I Heart… books so when I saw a new one was coming out I was super excited to read it. I picked this up at a perfect time when I just needed a light-hearted read and I found I just couldn’t put it down. I read an ARC so I will be reviewing this one on my blog soon.

Blue Nights by Joan Didion

I’ve wanted to read this book for ages and it caught my eye on my bookshelf this week. I read it two sittings and found it to be such an open and honest exploration of her love for her daughter and grief at her loss. This is one of those books that I will re-read, and it’s certainly one that will stay with me.

    This is what I’m currently reading:

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Anything You Do Say by Gillian McAllister

This book is so good! I love the way it’s a take on the sliding doors idea and takes the reader through two alternate realities of happened next in the aftermath of a terrible incident after a night out. I’ve been racing through this book because I just don’t want to put it down, and I’m so keen to find out how it will all turn out in the end.

Trust Me by Zosia Wand

I was thrilled to be sent a copy of this novel to review as it’s one I was aware of and was looking forward to reading. I’m really enjoying it so far and can’t wait to read more.

Where Love Begins by Judith Hermann

This is one of those books that I don’t really know what to say about it. When I’m reading it it has me engaged and wanting to know more but when I put it down the plot drifts away from me. I am enjoying it though and am keen to see where it’s going.

Good Night and Good Riddance: How Thirty-Five Years of John Peel Helped to Shape Modern Life by David Cavanagh

I’ve had this on my TBR for a little while now but I was keen to pick it up after listening to some of the highlights of John Peel’s radio shows during Radio 1’s recent 50th birthday weekend. I loved listening to John Peel over the years and still miss discovering new music via his recommendations. This book is a look at some of his shows and his relationship to the music and the artists. It’s easy to dip in and out of, but it’s also easy to lose and hour or two of time as you read and reminisce. I definitely recommend this one!

Aches and Gains: A Comprehensive Guide to Overcoming Your Pain by Paul L. Christo

This is a non-fiction book about the different types of pain, and various conditions that cause pain; plus a look at the range of treatment options available. I’m finding it interesting, in particular where it relates to my own conditions. I’m reading an ARC so I will be reviewing this once I’ve finished reading it.

    As you may remember I decided to track my TBR on my blog this year and have been showing the sums of how my TBR has increased or decreased over the course of this year. I’ve recently got rid of a stack of books and am in the process of sorting through my kindle books so my TBR numbers are a bit all over the place just now and I’ve lost track of it a bit. I do want to continue with following the state of my TBR but I’ve decided to put this to one side for the rest of this year and will start it again in 2018.

  How has your week (or even the last few months) been for you? Have you read any good books recently? I’d love to catch up so please feel free to leave a link to your latest wrap-up in the comments below.

  Life Update and a Weekly Wrap-Up! It has been ages since I was blogging regularly and I can't even remember the last time I posted a proper update.

[deadcactuswalking]

REVIEWING THE CHARTS: 15th April 2018 -- Extended Super Deluxe Version 3 & Knuckles

Holy busy week on the charts-ioli! There are nine new arrivals this week – two of which sample the exact same Lauryn Hill song - so let’s just get on with it, shall we?

Top 10

Drake... Thank you. Thank you for being such a streaming Cookie Monster that your new track, “Nice for What”, debuted at the top. Please stay. I don’t want the dreck one space below it to even see another week in the top ten, let alone at the top of the charts.

What is that dreck, you ask? Well, unfortunately to you and fortunately to me, I shall refuse to repeat its name until it exits the top 40. Google it! I won’t waste any more space in my show to talk about this trash.

At number-three, we have our second new arrival in the top five, “One Kiss” by infuriatingly hit-and-miss producer Calvin Harris and the latest of many of his pop girls that he can just grab out of a bucket for a quick smash (hit, for all you people with minds in the gutter), Dua Lipa.

Sadly, that means that “These Days” by Rudimental featuring Jess Glynne, Dan Caplen and the return of the Macklemore, has dipped down two spaces to number-four.

“Paradise” by George Ezra also took a small one-position hit to number-five, but if you care about that song’s existence, you’re a terrible liar.

“Friends” by Marshmello and Anne-Marie won’t budge at number-six. Good for them, I suppose.

“This is Me” by Keala Settle and The Greatest Showman Ensemble streams down (no pun intended) four spaces to number-seven.

“Feel it Still” by Portugal. The Man, the most unlikely sleeper hit of this year – and that’s only because it was a hit LAST year in the US – has been taken down a notch or two... or three, to number-eight at its thirty-seventh week in the chart.

“Lullaby” by Sigala featuring Paloma Faith at number-nine won’t go away!

Although the saddest drop here is Post Malone’s “Psycho” featuring Ty Dolla $ign, dropping two spaces to number-ten. Am I the only one who wanted this to hit the top, especially after it got a video and noticeably an increase in radio play? No? Well, let’s just get on with the climbers.

Climbers

“Love Lies” by Khalid and Normani grows on both me and the charts, where it took a five-space jump to #18... but that’s it in terms of anything notable. I could talk about Bebe Rexha and B Young possibly getting a top ten hit as they creep up into the top 15, but they’re not really having immense leaps so I’ll decline.

Fallers

She says, “do you love me?” I tell her, “only partly. This forced meme couldn’t give my song boosts while it’s charting.”

Talking about forced memes, I apologise for possibly the cringiest passage I’ve written on this show thus far, but the content still rings true, as Drake’s “God’s Plan” just kind of cannonballs from its

number-one spot it had just two weeks ago, dropping five spaces to #16. The Weeknd sees some falls too, as “Call Out My Name” drops ten spaces to #17, and “Wasted Times” takes a 12-space drop to #30. The biggest story here, however, is Mabel’s “Fine Line” featuring Not3s, just nosediving 20 spots to #35. Damn, these new arrivals really shook the charts, huh? Talking about losing songs too soon...

Dropouts and Returning Entries

We have a whole lot to mourn here, with some damn good songs like “Havana” by Camila Cabello featuring Young Thug, “Tip Toe” by Jason Derulo featuring French Montana, “Blinded by Your Grace, Pt. 2” by Stormzy featuring MNEK as well as “Mine” by Bazzi (which still might rebound next week due to the album) all dropping out from #34, #40, #39 and #27 respectively. We also have the not-as-sad losses of “Never be the Same” by Camila Cabello from #20, “New Rules” by Dua Lipa from #37, “Let Me Go” by Hailee Steinfeld and Alesso featuring Florida Georgia Line and Watt from #38, and “Strangers” by Sigrid from #35. We also have some absolute collapses for “Try Me” by The Weeknd from #17 and “Check” by Kojo Funds and RAYE from #32, both of which are not even in the top 75 anymore. Rest in peace to all of you, but good riddance to some.

“Pray for Me” by The Weeknd and Kendrick Lamar also returned to #32. I don’t know why but I really don’t care – this song doesn’t really deserve the attention.

NEW ARRIVALS

#40 – “I Like It” – Cardi B featuring Bad Bunny and J Balvin

People who follow me on Twitter know that I listened to Cardi B’s album, Invasion of Privacy, and wasn’t too big of a fan. This track, however, was definitely one of my favourites out of the bunch. Some part of me just absolutely loves that delicious Pete Rodriguez sample, providing Cardi with a Latin-infused trap beat that matches her bombast and simple yet effective flow. Those horns are just beautiful, and I love how the vocal samples play into Cardi’s hook and her “woo!” ad-libs that are just injected with fun. Bad Bunny’s deeper growl is entirely different from his sadboi moaning on his last single, “Amorfoda”, but damn, if it doesn’t still impress, with a melodic flow and Daddy Yankee inflections. Oh, yeah, J Balvin is here with some Lady Gaga references, but his autotuned bounce is completely drowned out by this crazy instrumental. Cardi, don’t do anything else. I like it like this.

#39 – “Mad Love” – Sean Paul featuring Becky G and David Guetta

Why does David Guetta get a featuring credit? Sure, he produced the track but I’m pretty sure that doesn’t give you free range to a feature, especially when producers usually (should) get credited for their work anyway. Well, is the song any good? No. I can tell you that. The watery synths that introduce the track are just kind of... pathetic? As are Becky’s attempts at Jamaican inflections, and Sean Paul’s as-always infuriatingly mediocre bars, coupled with his hilariously careless “singing” on the pre-chorus. Don’t give me “Fake Love” flashbacks. All that, however, can’t really distract me from the fact that maybe Guetta deserves his featuring credit, as his dancehall-influenced beat has some buzzing synths and clattering drums on the chorus that just make everything so much more exciting and... “mad”. Despite by enjoyment of Guetta’s instrumental, I can’t dig Becky or Paul here, so I think I’ll give it a skip if you can’t look past the vocals.

#38 – “Dancing” – Kylie Minogue

Man, it’s hard to believe that Kylie Minogue of all people has a song that takes ages to get to the top 40 after bubbling under for weeks on end, but yeah, I can understand why, because this track has an identity crisis. Is it country? Is it just some of what Minogue does best, bubblegum dance-pop? Who knows? Who cares? Well, Minogue does, obviously, as she tries to pull off a country twang and a melody that I don’t think she can really handle anymore on the chorus. The instrumental is the least notable thing here, especially with that weak drop – well, that is, if you ignore the pop-by-the-numbers writing. That one line as the hook – “when I go out, I want to go out dancing”. Yeah, maybe, you should stay home tonight, Minogue, as if you’ve lost your touch on making damn good pop jams, you’re probably not too great on the floor, either. Sorry.

#37 – “I See You Shining” – Nines

I feel like Patrick Star when I see these nobodies creep into the top 40 on this show sometimes. Who are you people? This one bothers me especially, mostly because of how terrible the name of this act is. Nines? What, are there bands called Sevens and Eights that just couldn’t blow up? Are you going all Timberlake on us and being dressed up the nines? Actually, looking at this dude, I don’t exactly think he is – no shade and he doesn’t look bad, particularly, but the dude’s not wearing a suit and tie or anything. Apparently, he also goes by Nina with the Nina. I see... Well, since I’m supposed to be talking about the song here, I suppose I should mention how it sucks. It’s just some more generic braggadocios faux-reggae faux-grime nonsense with a nice vocal sample, if anything. Nines has very little of a presence. It reminds me of the trap-rap you poor Yankees get oversaturated with, but with a bit more energy and more cluttered instrumentals. I’m just getting sick of this new brand of bore-hop, with the stale reggaeton drum patterns and the uninterested MCs.

#27 – “Be Careful” – Cardi B

Yo, Cardi, why’d you have to be so brutal on Offset? What did he do except be somewhat homophobic, possibly a cheating jerk and a terrible liar...? Yeah, maybe, I get why she had to go in on this dude, and I can buy her aggression with the Wii Shopping Channel synths and the occasional reverb-soaked shrieks of some person saying “yeah”, which I assume is a twisted sample of the classic “yeah! Woo!” break, but I’m not entirely sure. Cardi’s singing doesn’t totally impress, but it does its job at making elevator music somehow threatening (despite her insisting that it’s NOT a threat) and pretty awesome, which it really shouldn’t be. Sure, it does feel monotonous, but it’s a pretty nice love-on-the-rocks track, with a catchy hook to boot. However, it’s not the best song to sample Lauryn Hill’s “X-Factor” that debuted this week.

Fun fact: Lauryn Hill’s song also samples a Wu-Tang Clan song which samples a Barbra Streisand song, so I imagine Marvin Hamlisch and his team, writers of “The Way We Were”, is getting royalties upon royalties for the decades of use his song had. That also means that “Be Careful” has like seventeen credited writers, but that’s besides the point. The song’s decent.

#25 – “Answerphone” – Banx & Ranx and Ella Eyre featuring Yxng Bane

I’ve heard of these artists before several times in passing, mostly because Ella Eyre is one of UK’s favourite feature-pop girls, Yxng Bane has charted last week and Banx & Ranx did a few Gorillaz remixes last year. I didn’t really know how they’d mesh, but I did know what to expect – a boring dancehall track with some autotuned rapping from Bane and serviceable vocals from Ella Eyre.

Yep, I was right. Eyre has a slightly smoky voice here, which can sound croaky and unfitting against the bouncy dancehall production and looping melodies on the keys, along with an ugly synth tone and a stale but notably somewhat garage-influenced drum pattern that speeds the song up enough for it to not become boring. Yxng Bane has like 20 seconds of the song, and I’m glad, because he’s not very interesting here at all, and I wouldn’t want this song to be longer than the three minutes and eleven seconds that it is, otherwise it’d be pretty gratingly snooze-worthy. If you have insomnia, I recommend this instead of ASMR or whatever you find on the Internet, because this will definitely send you to sleep.

Well, now we have our three big ‘uns, starting with...

#14 – “Dreams” – Ruti

Who? What? Where? When? How? Let me repeat that first one, who? That’s the problem with these reality shows – they have much more of an effect on the UK charts and honestly, I couldn’t care less for who wins; I just watch the auditions. Ruti here is the winner of The Voice UK this year, and on her debut single, she covers a Cranberries song that I hadn’t heard prior, “Dreams”. Hence, after listening to this decent enough albeit bland piano-lead rendition with a shaky vocal performance from Ruti, I listened to the original version and realised that I really could have gone without knowing Syco put their turn-songs-to-snoozefests hands on it.

#3 – “One Kiss” – Calvin Harris and Dua Lipa

Calvin and Hobbes bring us some by-the-numbers slightly tropically-tinged EDM-infused electropop, with a decent synth melody and some interesting vocal samples, as well as experimentation on the drop that is just kind of all over the place and balls to the wall, with its deep samples of Dua singing “one”, brief blips of a horn riff, a reversed percussion pattern and a whole lot of pointless synth noise.

That’s really all I can say about this. For the first time from Dua Lipa and the seventy-eighth time from Calvin Harris, all I can say is that it exists and I’m entirely indifferent on it. Sorry.

#1 – “Nice For What” – Drake

So, this is the biggest debut, because of course, it’s Drake, and, yeah, guys, as much as I hate this dude’s lack of charisma and overall just boring flow, writing and even beat choice, he’s won me over on this one. Big Freedia starts the track with a few drum fills and distorted shouting, before the pitched-up Lauryn Hill sample (I told you it’d come back) enters like a Kanye track from 2004, and the percussion hits heavy as with nearly all of Drake’s singles. Then Drake starts spitting with delivery I’ve never heard from him before – a Kanye-like melodic hook as well as a repetitive but effective flow in the verses as he talks about this girl that “hits them motherf***ing angles”. Big Freedia then comes back to break it down into the chopped sample hook as Drake chops his own verse up, creating a weirdly jerky experience. If she hits them angles, you’re hitting the gym because this is the strongest single I’ve heard from Drake in years. Congratulations, my man, you deserve this number-one! It’s probably the best I’ve heard for a long time.

Conclusion

Damn, Drake really takes the cake with “Nice for What” running with Best of the Week, with tied Honourable Mentions for both of Cardi B’s debuts. Worst of the Week... I can’t really say anything here is outright bad, but I suppose Kylie Minogue takes it with “Dancing” while Dishonourable Mention goes to “Dreams” by Ruti for taking all of the excitement out of an excellent song. See ya next week!