I Unlove You Read Free

brings me to more good news. ”
    “ You mean Spotify
wasn ’ t the good news? ”
    “ Do you want to hear it or
not? ”
    More silence. More
coffee.
    “ Good. Okay, so
there ’ s this super hush-hush festival planned for
later this summer, and some of the acts are future superstars.
Well, me being my amazing self has managed to get our band added to
the showcase. I ’ m not saying you
should be on your knees bowing to me right now,
but …”
    “ Sounds good. When is
it? ”
    Coughing and spluttering, more inaudible white noise fills
my ear. “ Good? What do you mean, good? ”
    “ Well, it sounds good. It sounds
like a great opportunity. ”
    “ Exactly! ” he says, coughing
some more. “ Great, not good. ”
    “ Okay, ” I say, laughing and looking at my
watch. “ I ’ m excited, but …”
    “ Then sound like
it, ” he snaps.
    “ I will, but first I have to get
back to work. We don ’ t all get to waste
away our days pretending to own a record label. ”
    “ Who ’ s pretending?
Plus, you can come work with me whenever you
like. ”
    I
finish off my coffee and place it on the bench. “ You don ’ t need a
graphic designer. ”
    “ It ’ s a good thing
you ’ re not a graphic designer then. ”
    I
roll my eyes, continuing to pack my lunch into my ancient leather
satchel. “ Don ’ t start this again. ”
    “ Fine, but only if you meet me
for a drink later. Say, six? ”
    “ One drink. ”
    “ That ’ s all I ask,
brother. ”
    “ Yeah, I ’ ve heard that
before. Anyway, I do have to go. ”
    “ Sure thing. Have
fun. “
    Hanging up, I place the phone back
into my pocket and wrap my satchel around my shoulder. Already the
onrush of people has died down. In another ten minutes this area
will be desolate until the end-of-work chaos begins.
    I hate speaking on the phone, but
especially to Joey whilst at work. I leave the conversation like
this each time: confused, deflated, longing for something, or
feeling like I should cling to something from the past. Growing up,
we rebelled against a structured life like this. We shared dreams
with one another, although they were always his. I nodded along
because he made them seem so achievable and real.
    But
they were never dreams for him, they were promises.
He ’ s free to do as he wishes, and to create and live
life, whereas I catch the same train each day, sit behind the same
desk, and exist instead of live. But I don ’ t think
it ’ s the longing that scares me, rather the fact I
don ’ t hate this existence.
    I
should. I should long for more and stride towards the world
he ’ s built, and the one B has, too. Yet this longing for more
melts as soon as I think about her, and all those lazy Sundays
we ’ ll share, the family holidays, the normal evenings
that seem boring to everyone else but us.
    I
approach the gleaming aluminium door with flawless glass, nudging
it open and sliding into the air-conditioned reception area. I
should hate this. How many buildings like this exist in Leeds? How
many around the country and the world? I don ’ t own new
things, but everything here sparkles.
    Lost in a vast, white, soulless area, this single room
defines everything I fought against. I should hate it, but I
don ’ t think I do. I ’ m not sure how I
feel about that.

MAY 6 TH - THE PUB:
     
    A
few months ago this commute home was different. The cramped and hot
conditions of the train carriage were welcome. Outside: rain, wind,
an icy chill; some evenings I ’ d huddle my arms
together and contemplate missing my final stop, listening to one
song after another with my eyes closed, forgetting the winter
solace existed at all.
    Not
now, surrounded by men in rolled up shirt sleeves and girls
showcasing their legs. As Sowerby Bridge station approaches,
I ’ m already at the door, eager to hop off and eke every
sliver of sunny delight. The rest of the afternoon dragged a tad,
Joey ’ s persistent reminders fading far too slow, but the
end of work