Soulmates Read Free

Everyone else must’ve heard about the fit guitarist too.”
    True enough, there was a queue stretching out around the club’s corner. Groups of girls gathered in shivering clumps, silently grading each other. The four of us shuffled to the end, watching other girls scowl at us and at Ruth’s blatant cleavage as we passed. Ruth smirked and stuck her chest out more.
    “I think we should have queue-jumped,” she said.
    “There’s no point,” Amanda said. “It’s moving quick enough.”
    Ruth stamped her foot in a mock tantrum. “But all these girls in front are getting to know fit-guitarist-man before I am.”
    I smiled. “Come on. He’s probably not even that fit. I’m sure he’s perfectly ordinary, but girls just think he’s fit because he plays the guitar onstage.”
    Lizzie let out a deep sigh. “Can you just imagine,” she asked, “how beautiful it would be to date a musician?”
    The other two sighed with her.
    “Imagine standing in a huge crowd, watching your boyfriend being worshipped by everyone around you, knowing you are the one to take him home,” Ruth said.
    “Or imagine him getting out his acoustic guitar to sing a love song and you know it’s written about you,” Lizzie added.
    “Or imagine getting to read his interviews in glossy mags about how much he adores you,” Amanda said.
    I raised an eyebrow as we moved forward in the queue.
    “Or…imagine feeling sick with paranoia whenever he’s on tour because it’s certain he’s cheating on you. Imagine only being known as so-and-so’s girlfriend and not for your own merits. Or imagine being stuck at home with his kids while he’s still off pretending to be a ‘rock star’ despite having a flabby old-man belly and a receding hairline. Or—” I broke off my rant when I realized they were all glaring at me.
    Lizzie let out a low whistle. “Bloody hell, Poppy, why do we bother bringing you?”
    “Yeah, killjoy,” Ruth said. “There’s nothing wrong with a bit of fantasy.”
    We stepped forward again. We were getting near the front.
    “There’s nothing wrong with fantasies,” I said, defending myself. “But dating a musician? Come on, guys. It’s such a cliché.”
    They all groaned simultaneously.
    “You’re obsessed, woman!”
    “I’m not obsessed. I just don’t know why you’re all excited about potentially pulling some melancholic prick who writes songs about his ‘growing pains’.”
    Lizzie smirked. “Who knows? He might be amazingly talented but self-aware and fall madly in love with one of us.”
    “Lizzie. We don’t live in a romantic comedy.”
    “And by being friends with you, don’t I bloody well know it?” She linked arms with me as we entered the club.
    The influx of wannabe groupies made the place more crowded than normal. The usually half-empty wooden dance floor was jammed full of mascaraed girls with their elbows out. I checked my watch – it had just gone nine thirty. The band wouldn’t start for another half-hour but females were already fighting for prime front-row spots. Their desperation was so pungent you could almost bottle it and sell it as perfume.
    Despite myself, I quite liked this place. The walls were bright purple and decorated with old black-and-white photos of famous musicians. The once-white ceiling was now off-yellow, stained by years of spent cigarettes. But what I loved most was the bar. The owner, in true rock-and-roll spirit, insisted everything that could be sold in optics must be sold in optics – even wine. He had even had optics specially made that delivered rosé in 250 ml quantities. It was a bit gross but the club had character – which was rarer than blue steak in this cookie-cutter town.
    The girls and I picked our way through the throngs of people to get to the bar. I elbowed my way to the front and leaned forward to attract the barman’s attention.
    “What do you want?” he yelled over the loud heavy metal pumping out of the speakers.
    I held up my