You wouldn't think an evening of doing pretty much nothing – other than sprawling in front of the television, digesting our Christmas dinner – would tire us out so much that we;d barely make it to eleven before taking ourselves off to bed. But it did, so.

Slept, as well, straight off.

I'm not asleep now, though. He's woken me, sitting up in bed, taking off the T-shirt he had on. It's pitch dark, or it would be if it wasn't for that string of lights hung over the picture, sending blurry blue dots to skim his bare skin.

"Sorry," he whispers when he realises I'm awake; he lies down, facing me. "Felt too hot."

There's no one but us in the house, but I whisper too when I ask, "What time is it?"

He cranes to see past me to the clock on my bedside chest.

"Two-oh-nine."

"Not Christmas any more, then."

"Happy Boxing Day, though," he says, and he brushes my lips with a kiss.

:::::::

We've nothing to hurry for, so it's a lazy morning, with a lie-in and a cup of coffee in bed.

"Anything you feel like doing today?" Steven asks.

"Not really. Go out for breakfast if you like, or..." I look at the clock: "Lunch, more like."

He shakes his head. "I thought I'd do us, like, a Spanish omelette for brunch – use some of the leftovers and that. I got a little soda bread loaf out the freezer when I went and made the coffee."

"Sounds good."

"You gonna go for a run?"

"Don't think so. Give myself a coupl'a days off – unless you want rid of me, is it?"

He laughs, "No. I was just asking, that's all. But we'll go out after, though, yeah? Brunch first, and then have a walk, maybe have a – "

"Look at the Boxing Day sales? No. Do that on your own, if that's what you wanna do."

"I was gonna say, maybe have a pint."

"Oh."

"Cos we can't have a coffee, cos they're closed today. Our one is, I mean. The other ones are probably open."

"A pint, in that case."

"A walk and a pint. Brunch first, though." He swigs down his coffee, then gets out of his side of the bed and gets out some clothes – trackies and a long-sleeved T-shirt; red underwear; a pair of running socks – which he scoops up in a bundle to take with him to the bathroom. "You can stay there if you want – I'll give you a shout when it's nearly ready."

:::::::

I guess I must have drifted off, but only for as long as he spent showering and what ever, because I hear the bathroom door when he comes out of there; and then I get up, showered, dressed.

He hasn't switched the Christmas tree lights on yet, so I do that, and then I go find him. He's in the kitchen, spatula in hand, lifting the edge of the omelette to see if it's cooked underneath.

"I think we've got mice," he says, with a glance thrown in my direction.

"Mice? What?"

"Yep. Mice that can open the fridge. Cos half them leftover roasties were gone this morning, and I was gonna fry them up to go in here."

"Oh. Yeah." I go up behind him, lock my arms round his belly; say in to the crook of his neck, "Fucking mice."

He laughs, and also he squirms, because where my lips are is where he's most ticklish. Then he says, "Mind out, I'm putting this under the grill now."

I let go so he can do his thing, and then he comes to me, hangs his arms round my neck, and we kiss.

"Good morning to you, too," I say.

"You smell nice. Is that the one I gave you?"

"The cologne, yeah."

"Smells even nicer on you than it does in the bottle. Well sexy, that is."

"Could say the same for you."

"Ta very much. Oh, god, the bread." He darts to the oven with a cloth, and takes the soda bread out. "It only wanted warming up. That's your fault, that is, for distracting me."

"Thought it might be."

"It's okay, though, it's not burnt." Then he slides the omelette pan out from under the grill to check it.

"Anything I can do?"

"Yeah. We'll want another coffee, won't we."

I can do that.

"Might not be a bad idea, by the way."

"Eh?"

"Looking in the sales. Not today, but, y'know, see if you want a new shirt to go with your new suit..."

A big smile. "I might do, yeah." He carries on cutting the bread. "What about you an' all, Bren? I mean, you said you were after a new suit, didn't you."

"Did I? Oh, yeah, no, I just said that when you caught me coming out of the menswear shop, buying that suit for you."

"Well, you should do, anyway. Treat yourself. Plus I don't want you looking a scruff, do I, when I've got mine on."

"Says the council rat in a tracksuit."

I say it without thinking, only knowing it's a phrase we've used before. It takes a few short seconds for the memories to catch up, of when it was first said, and what had happened and what happened after.

Steven too. The past – good and bad – surrounds us like mist, until we catch eyes, and it clears.

:::::::

It's cold on the tow path, but it's dry, a decent winter's day. Plenty of people have got the same idea as us, walking off the sloth of yesterday; not so many that we can't speed up or hang back as we encounter them, though, to keep ourselves to ourselves.

"Reckon the kids are out on their bikes?" Steven says, when a cyclist rides by.

"Weather's okay, so yeah, reckon they would be. You okay with that, Steven?"

"How d'you mean?" he says, then he gets what I'm driving at: that it's meant to be a father's job to teach his children how to ride a bike. "They already know how. They did it at school – so it weren't me that showed them, but it weren't Simon either."

"Okay. School, yeah? We never had bicycle lessons when I was at school."

He nods. "When they started at their school in Manchester, after they'd gone to live with Amy, like, permanently. They had this bike club after school, that anyone could join, even the ones that didn't have a bike – I s'pose people gave bikes to the school if their kids had grown out of them, or they got them somehow, anyway, so everyone could learn." He stops walking, picks up a stray stone at the side of the path, and examines it in his hand. "I remember it, cos one time I was over at Amy's, visiting, and our Lucas showed me the little badge he'd got for belonging to the bike club, and it was... actually it was called Cycle Club, because the badge had CC on it, and it made me think of Chez Chez. So yeah, they'll just have to practise a bit, just to get used to it, but they won't need teaching."

He steps close to the canal's edge, and sends the stone skimming along the still surface. It bounces twice before it slices the water and sinks.

"Skills you got there, Steven."

"It's all in the wrist action," he says, with an arch of an eyebrow.

"That explains it..."

We start walking again.

"You could take them out on their bikes, Brendan, if they bring them over, eh?" he says.

"Ain't got a bike, though, have I."

"No, I mean, they'd be on their bikes, and you'd be running."

"Right. Yeah, I could do that."

Then he smiles at me, and says, "I can't imagine you on a bike. A motorbike, maybe, in, like, all leathers... but not a bicycle-bike. Can you even ride one?"

"A bicycle? Yeah. Bunch of us, when we were kids, used to get around on bikes."

"Was that your mates in Dublin, the ones when you jumped off that pier thing in to the sea?"

I told him that, did I?

I did tell him: I remember. Damp air, grey light, and the water below us, when we sat and talked that day four Decembers ago. Talked all that day, and still left too much unsaid; but it was more than I had ever talked to anyone before.

"Those mates, yeah," I say. "Always seemed to be less bikes than there were lads, though, so we'd double up, go two on one if we had to." Those pinched-faced Dublin boys come in to my mind like characters from a film I half remember; only it was me, not them, that was playing a part: one of the lads, with barely a care.

"Riding away from trouble, I bet," Steven says.

"Naturally."

"What about Declan and Paddy, Brendan? Did you teach them, or weren't you – ?" He stops himself, but I shrug, It's okay.

"I was around for that, funnily enough. That was me, wasn't it – walk in with a coupl'a shiny new bikes, so they'd be pleased to see their daddy come home from wherever the fuck I'd been. And then Deccy couldn't get the hang of it, could he, because of the condition he had, which we didn't know about at the time."

"That thing with his balance?"

"Yeah. And I got frustrated, cos I'd wanted it to be this... y'know, the thing we were talking about, this father-son rite of passage, what ever. And Padraig, he was only wee, but he was quietly getting on with it, so I gave up trying with Declan and taught Padraig instead."

"Declan probably doesn't remember that bit."

"I dunno. Course, by the time he'd had his ear surgery, he'd outgrown that bike, so I sent him the money to get another one, and I guess he taught himself on that, or Michael did."

"Taught himself, I reckon, and Paddy would've helped show him, wouldn't he," Steven says, and I nod to acknowledge the comfort he's offered; then he says, "I had a bike once, but it got nicked."

"When you were a kid?"

"Yeah, I must've been, like, eleven or twelve. The lad who took it off me was older, and he gave me a right going-over, an' all."

"Why'd he do that? Tried to stop him taking it, did you?"

"No. He just wanted to teach me a lesson, I s'pose."

"Teach you a lesson? He's the fucker having away with your bike."

"I know, yeah. But he was the lad I robbed it off's brother, though, so..."

I stop, so he stops.

"Run that past me again?"

"The one that nicked the bike off me, right, he was the brother of the one I nicked the bike off."

"So it wasn't yours in the first place?"

"Well, if he didn't want it nicked, he should've put a lock on it."

We look at each other.

It's me that cracks first, and then he's laughing too.

"Don't think that would convince a jury, Steven, but, y'know..."

"Lucky I didn't get caught, then, eh?"

"Except by the brother."

"Let's get to the pub, yeah?"

"Getting thirsty?"

He shakes his head. "Getting a bit cold though."

So we head off again, at a quicker pace than before.

"He still around, the brother?"

"I don't know, Brendan, it was, like, fifteen years ago. And even if he was stood here right now, you're not gonna punch someone for having a pop at me when we was just kids. That's all it was, alright?"

"Alright. Okay."

We continue in silence for a minute, and then he says, "I used to make out I had a big brother after that. Like, tell people I had one. Does that sound stupid? I mean, not like a whatsitsname... an imaginary friend – it weren't one of them, because I knew it was a lie. I just, I liked people thinking I had someone like that, y'know, someone who'd be on my side and, sort of, sort things for me."

"Doesn't sound stupid."

"I mean, I didn't go on about him. Just said things sometimes, like, oh, me brother's let me drive his car or something. I forgot about it once I had Amy and our Leah, anyway."

"Doesn't sound stupid at all."

"It's lucky I never invented a sister instead, innit, or I would've been well freaked out when me real ones showed up."

He makes a comical shocked face when he says that, which turns in to a grin. Steven Hay doesn't wallow.

"What d'you want to drink? I'm buying."

:::::::

The sun is already on its way down, its light thinning, by the time we get home from the pub in the afternoon.

"We could put that picture up," Steven says, when we're in the kitchen making a cup of tea. "The one from Mitzeee. Then we can tell her it's up, can't we."

"Can do, yeah. I'll look in the toolbox, see if we've got some hooks for it."

"Here." He hands me my mug. "I think we have, cos there were some left in the packet from before."

So we go and get the toolbox out from the cupboard in the hallway, and find the hooks and a hammer and the stub of a pencil we last used when we put the bookshelves up.

It's trial and error, deciding where in the bedroom we want the picture hung: me holding it against the wall, him saying left and right and up and down till he decides it looks right. Then he comes and marks the wall.

I hammer the first hook in.

"Will I do the second one as well, or do you want a go with the big boys' tools?" I say.

"Shut up. You do it."

So I do the other hook, and we hang the picture.

"Is it straight?"

Steven stands back. "That side down a bit... Yeah, that's it. Looks nice."

"Good."

"You gonna phone Mitzeee and tell her?"

"No. We only spoke to her yesterday. Anyways she'll be doing things, won't she, Boxing Day. Send her a text if you like."

"I'll send her a photo an' all." He takes a snap of the picture in situ, and then he sits on the bed to type a message to go with it. "Here, this is what I've said."

|I sit beside him to read his text: Bums up on our wall haha we love it thank u. Happy boxing day xx

"Make it from both of us?"

He adds at the end, from me and Brendan, then sends it.

"What's she doing today, then?" he asks.

"I dunno – I just assume she's doing something. Doing what ever people do on Boxing Day, I guess."

"Like us, eh? Down the pub, and then a bit of DIY?" He smiles.

I put my arm round his shoulders and kiss his cheek.

"She'll be doing family stuff, Anne, with her sister and her fella, no doubt."

"And little Nicky."

"That's what Cheryl's doing, anyways – family stuff. Going to see her mum, she said."

A long pause – I think he's waiting to see if I've more to say – then he asks, "What's she like, your stepmum?"

"She's... yeah, she's... She always seemed like a nice woman. Ain't seen her for seven, eight years, must be. Jesus, could be longer."

"Before you came to England, then."

"Y'know, Chez asked me, on the phone yesterday, if I wanted her to say hello to her mum from me, give her a message..."

"And what did you say?"

"I said no." I turn my head and look at Steven, to see if he thinks I'm being weird or obstructive or what ever; but all he's doing is looking at me steadily. "It's... I don't know what she thinks about me, is all. I don't know what she knows."

"You think she knew what Seamus was doing?"

"No. No, I don't. I really don't think she did."

"So, what..?"

"I don't know what Chez has told her about how Seamus got shot – why he got shot – so it's..."

"Well, if Cheryl's saying she'll give her a message, that must mean she thinks her mum would be okay hearing from you, if you did ever want to get back in touch with her. But it's not up to Cheryl, or her mum, Bren, it's up to you." Then his phone goes off startling us both. "That'll be Mitzeee replying... Yeah, it is."

We both read her text. You're not the only bottom in your bedroom any more, Ste, she says, then a couple of those emoji things, and then, Glad you likeee. Speak soon, sweetie pies xox

"Ha. You gonna say something back?"

"Yeah," he says, and while he does that, I pick up the hammer from the bed and go and put it away.

"What did you say to her?" I ask when I come back.

"Nothing. Just sent her a peach and an aubergine."

"I'm not even gonna ask..."

He laughs. "Listen, shall we put the new duvet cover on, that Cheryl and Nate gave us? Seeing as we're poshing-up our bedroom with art on the wall, we might as well."

"I guess we could. Or, maybe later." I hold out my hand, pull him to his feet. "Don't wanna put clean sheets on if we're gonna mess them up straight away, do we."

He shakes his head, says, "No," except barely a sound comes out, just a whisper of warm air through dry lips.

I kiss him, lightly. He kisses me back. I bring him closer, my hands on his rear, and then I remember the red underwear he put on this morning, and I feel my way down the back of his tracksuit bottoms, and it's like I can feel the colour against my palm, heating my blood and sending it speeding through my veins.

There's stubble along his jawline. Not enough to see, but it prickles my tongue.

"Feel like doing something?" I look in his eyes when I start the question, but by the third word I'm looking at his mouth.

"Can't you tell?" He pulls my hand off his arse and presses it to his crotch.

I want to look. I want to pull down his trackies and look at his dick trying and failing to escape the tightening restraint of those briefs.

All in good time.

"D'you need to go and..?"

"I better."

"Go on, then. Don't be long, okay?"

Makes me smile watching him go, his walk made awkward by the erection in his pants.

While he's in the bathroom, I bring us a glass of water, then fold back the bed cover. Sit on the edge and take off my jumper, and my socks. Leave on my T-shirt and jeans, but unbuckle my belt. Think about putting a light on, but the twilight through the blind is probably as much light as he'll want for now.

He comes in, comes to me and stands in front of me where I'm sitting. Puts his hands on my shoulders, and bows to kiss me, then straightens up. I unzip his hoodie; he takes it off. I hook my thumbs under his skinny T-shirt and slide it up, and lean forward and kiss his belly at the place where it hollows into a triangle below his ribcage when he's breathing hard.

"Take it off, yeah?"

He stretches the shirt off over his head. I kiss his stomach again, lower this time, just above his waistband. His hand goes to the back of my head, pressing my face to him. I open my mouth. There's precious little flesh to get my teeth in to, but I seal my lips to his skin and suck a love bite there, and he reaches over my shoulders while I'm doing it, and inches my T-shirt up, and criss-crosses my back at first with the tips of his fingers, and then, gradually, with his nails so, by the time I've made my mark on him, he's made his marks on me.

I'm done. I sit back, take my T-shirt the rest of the way off.

He looks down and touches the bruise my mouth has made, as if he wonders how it got there: as if these past – how many? – minutes were spent in a trance.

"Didn't hurt," he says.

"Didn't ask."

We meet eyes, and laugh.

He strokes my hair.

I pull down his trackies, and let them drop to his ankles.

Looks cute, he does, in this underwear. In all his underwear, obviously, but right now he's got my full attention in this pair. Cute, the cut of them, the way they hold him just so, showing off what he's got.

"Can I get in bed?"

"Yeah. Yeah." I stand up, out of his way, and he gets in, and I watch him scrabble his trackies off from round his feet as I get undressed. "You can take those off now, as well."

"I know I can." He slithers his underwear down, and sends them flying somewhere with a kick, and laughs again.

I kneel on the bed, with his legs splayed either side of me, and lubricate him liberally. He looks for the can of lube, so I give it to him, and he squirts some in to his hand: too much, by the look of it, so he rubs his hands together and gets his dick in one hand and mine in the other, and gets us both going.

The light is fading fast now, and by the time I'm inside his body I can see only shapes and shadows and the shine of his eyes. For some reason the dark makes us go gentle. His hands don't grip or scratch, but stroke, the lubricant left on his palms making them glide over my skin. His fingers run like a shiver up and down my spine, again and again, and one time they go down and down, and a fingertip circles and presses, and he whispers, "Shall I?" and I nod and kiss him, and he slips it in to me, and plays there while I fuck him, till he makes me come.

Before him, I've come, so I move down and take him in my mouth till he's finished too.

I get out of bed as soon as we've got our breath back.

"Where you going?"

"I'm starving. You're lucky I didn't bite your dick off."

"You saying I'm a snack?"

I laugh. "Gonna grab a shower. You coming?"

:::::::

We're each making our own sandwich, assembling them from cold cuts of yesterday's beef, along with what ever else we fancy from what we've got in the fridge.

"I can't believe it's only just gone six," he says. "I feel like it should be the middle of the night by now."

"Gets dark so early, is all. Should be used to that by now."

"Yeah, but we let it get dark, didn't we, instead of putting the lights on, because we were doing other things. So it's made the day weird."

"Other things..?"

He laughs, carries on making his sandwich, and starts singing along to the song that's playing on his new radio. "Just a touch of your love is enough to knock me off'a my feet all week, just a touch of your love... Pass us the mayo... Ta. But yeah, it's been a good day, an't it. Like, the talking."

"The talking?"

"Not just the talking, obviously."

"Glad to hear it..."

"But I like talking, don't I."

"I know you do."

"I mean, I like us talking. Together. I've always liked it, ever since the beginning."

I know he's always liked it. I knew it back then, too: knew that it made him vulnerable, how taking him in to my confidence made his heart open to me. Knew it, and used it, even as I was falling for that same open heart.

"Come here. Well, maybe put the knife down first. Then come here."

"Why?" he says, but he comes to me anyhow.

"Cos I love you. That's all."

"Good. I love you too." He pauses. "Makes you appreciate things even more, dun't it."

"Mm?" I don't know what he's talking about, till I focus on the singer whose song they're playing now. "George Michael? Yeah, it does, yeah."

"I still can't believe it. I remembered when I woke up this morning, but I felt like I must've dreamed it, till they said about it again on the radio."

I kiss his forehead. "Out of the blue, something like that."

We let go.

"D'you want a cuppa with your sarnie?" he asks, "Or d'you want a beer?"

"I'll have a beer if you're having one. Quicker, ain't it, so."

We take our plates and drinks, and go and sit down, and find something to watch on TV.

:::::::

Tuesday morning, I go out for some exercise.

When I get home, Steven is at the table, with a pad of paper in front of him and a pen in his hand.

"Nice run?" he asks.

"Yep. Gym as well. Killed it."

He reaches out, and I unzip my sweat top and shrug one sleeve off so he can have a feel of my biceps, as he seems to like doing that; then I sit on the arm of the sofa, and drink from my water bottle while I cool down.

"I'm making notes," he says.

"About..?"

"It's just about things for when the lads come. Right, so they're coming on Friday – do we know if we're fetching them from the airport, or are they coming by themselves?"

"Don't know yet."

"Okay, well, it doesn't matter. Either way, they're getting here in the afternoon, in't they. So I thought I'd do a big pot of chilli for that day, cos I can make it in advance, probably on Thursday, and they can have it when they want it. And that night – Friday – we're both working, so I wondered, what about bringing them to work with us? I mean, just in the kitchen with me, obviously, cos Paddy's too young to be out clubbing, but I think they'd like it, cos they'd still hear the music, and all the staff'll most likely drop in like they usually do for their breaks, so they can have a chat and that. And they can help me clear up, the lads can, so I'll have them home by midnight, easily."

"It says all that on your notes?"

"No, it says, Thurs. Shopping, chilli. Friday. Work. Then, right, Saturday, I think you're gonna have to go and get the kids from Amy's on your own, cos we can't all go, and I better stay with the lads as it's their first morning here. And Saturday night – that's New Year's Eve – you'll be working, won't you, but I'll be home, so maybe I'll take them all out to the pictures or something, if there's a film they all want to see, but in any case I'll want to get them home before all the drunks are out. Then Sunday is when I'm doing our big Christmas dinner. Or New Year's dinner, I s'pose. So they'd better have a run around in the morning, all of them. Plus I'll have to get some more shopping in on Saturday as well." He makes a note of that.

"The kids don't go back till Monday, is that right?"

"Yes, and I think Amy's going to come over and get them, so that'll save us a journey. I don't know what time that'll be, but anything else we want to do, we can just fit in after they've gone, cos we've not got work."

"That's the lads' last night. Go out for dinner, maybe?"

He writes that down. "And then, Tuesday, they're off back to Dublin, and that's it."

"I'm exhausted just thinking about it."

"It's not that much really. I just wanted to – "

"I'm joking. I appreciate it. I also... I should'a said yesterday, only Anne texted you, and I kind'a got waylaid... I should'a said, thank you, for what you said about Chez's ma, about how it's up to me, not them. So that's... Yeah. Gonna take a shower."

:::::::

We take a walk through town, and Steven gets himself a couple of new shirts in the department store, his jaw having dropped at the prices in the menswear shop where his suits came from.

"They've got some decent suits here, Brendan, look. For you, I mean. Try one on – what colour d'you want?"

He doesn't wait for an answer, just starts picking suit jackets off the rails, checking their labels, and either putting them back or holding them up against me.

"What are you, my personal shopper?"

"Yes. Try this one, yeah? You'll have to take your hoodie off as well as your coat. If the jacket fits, I'll find you the waistcoat to try, cos it's a three-piece, this one."

"A black three-piece?"

"What's wrong with that?"

"Nothing. I had one once before, is all. Didn't have much luck in it."

"What d'you mean?"

"Barely had it a week, and I got blown up."

"Right. Shall I put it back, then?"

I look at my husband.

"I reckon my luck's changed."

The jacket fits.

He finds me a waistcoat.

"Hang on... Here. Give us the jacket."

I take off the jacket and put on the waistcoat, which he adjusts at the back, then I put the jacket back on over it.

"Looks okay, does it?"

"Looks amazing. Or it will do, with a proper shirt. He said these suits are made for men who are... y'know... built."

"What? Who said?"

"The bloke on the counter when I paid for me shirts. I asked him, cos of your shoulders. And your arms. Right, let's find the trousers, then you're sorted."

:::::::

We go to the cafe after that.

"It's alright for you," he says, licking lemon curd off his fork, "Cos you wear suits for work. But where am I actually gonna wear mine? Unless you take me out somewhere posh for me birthday..."

"I'll think about it."

:::::::

Wednesday is the reopening of the club after the Christmas break, and Martha Travert's first night singing on the main floor.

I've already been in to check the place over and get some heating on, along with Steven to bring in some kitchen supplies and get his bread started for tonight.

When I arrive again in the evening, Georgiou meets me and shows me the set-up.

"We've done the sound checks, and she's happy," he says. "And when she goes up to Members after her set, we're pretty much ready up there, we've just got to grab a couple of bits of kit from down here and plug it in upstairs, so she can do the couple of tracks she's doing for them up there."

"Where is she now?"

"Gone back to Alicia's to get ready."

I go in to the office, where Maria is on the computer.

"Hi," she says. "Good Christmas?"

"Very. Yourself?"

"Yeah, good, thanks. Ate everything in sight, and I regret nothing. D'you want the desk?"

"No. Just tell me anything I need to know."

"Okay, well, Martha's going to have a decent audience, just from advance sales, never mind tickets on the door. I've kept an eye on the social media accounts over the break, and there's been nothing much to deal with, just people asking for information we've already posted, because they haven't bothered to read it. What else? Oh, New Year's Eve we're full. And Alastair's emailed saying he'll be dropping by at some point, he doesn't say when."

"Helpful."

"I'm guessing it'll be early January, on his way down from his family thing in Scotland."

"Okay. Let's get this show on the road."

:::::::

The place is heaving, and it's almost midnight before I get a chance to escape to the kitchen, where Steven is changing out of his work clothes, in to his jeans and a jumper.

"Hiya," he says. "Sounds like it's a busy night out there."

"Singer went down a storm, yeah. How was it for you?"

"I haven't stopped. I tried nipping out to have a listen, but every time I did, they phoned down from upstairs with another order. Has she finished now? I thought she'd finished before, then I heard her again."

"Yeah, she did a few songs, took a break, then sang a few more. She'll be on in Members in a minute – they're just setting up. Wanna come?"

"I'm not dressed for it, am I. I s'pose I can hide behind the bar... Actually, me coat's smart, I'll put that on."

"You look better than any of those rich pricks up there. Come on."

We go up the back stairs to the members' floor, and both of us go behind the bar, because we've got a good view from there.

Martha is already singing: looks like she's enjoying herself.

ever since we met
You've had a hold on me

"It's Dusty, innit," Steven says. "Like they played in our hotel."

"Is it?"

"You know it is."

No matter what you do
I only want to be with you