having a field day teasing me about it. I press the lift button repeatedly and, as one of the building’s two lifts finally begins its descent, Fran appears next to me. ‘Morning,’ she says brightly.
‘Hey, you,’ I reply. ‘What did you get up to at the weekend?’
‘I stayed in for most of it and had a massive row with Linden.’
‘About?’
‘Everything.’
‘Where did it begin?’
She half smiles. ‘I think it might have been when I opened my mouth to say hello when I dropped round at his flat on Friday night.’
‘I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again,’ I tell her, ‘he’s a waste of space.’
‘I know,’ says Fran, as the lift arrives. ‘But I like him. He’s a very sexy waste of space. What’s a girl to do?’
I’m about to reply when I realise we’re no longer alone. A couple of women – all perfect lipstick, perfect hair, perfect dress sense, who obviously work on Stylissimo – have arrived and are standing to the left of us and a young casually dressed guy is next to me. I do a double-take and realise I recognise him just as he realises he recognises me.
‘Dave Harding?’ says the man, as we get into the lift.
I smile politely. It’s all coming back to me. He’d done quite a bit of work experience at Louder about a year ago but we hadn’t been able to give him a job. I feel myself shrink.
‘I thought it was you,’ he continues. ‘How are you, mate?’
‘Okay,’ I reply. ‘How about yourself?’
‘Excellent, actually. You know how it is, a bit of this and a bit of that. I DJ at a couple of bars in Soho, and then I do a bit of stuff for a couple of underground labels and on top of all that I’m working at Metrosoundz on the top floor. Features editor, actually. Just got promoted.’
‘Congratulations,’ I say, in a tone that I hope doesn’t sound churlish or needlessly genuine. ‘You must be really pleased.’
‘Sorry to hear about Louder ,’ he says. ‘It was a great mag in its time .’
‘Cheers,’ I reply, aware of the thinly veiled insult. Out of the corner of my eye I notice that Fran is wearing the look of someone who is desperate to be introduced. ‘This is my mate Fran,’ I say grudgingly. ‘Fran, this is—’
‘Steve Jackson,’ he interrupts, then corrects himself. ‘Stevie J.’
It said it all.
‘Hi,’ says Fran to Stevie J. ‘I’ve seen you about in the building.’
He smiles widely. ‘I’ve seen you too.’
I sigh. I don’t really care that Fran is flirting with him but I don’t understand why she’s doing it in front of complete strangers.
‘Which mag do you work on?’ he asks Fran.
‘ Teen Scene ,’ she replies. ‘I’m a writer there.’
‘I’ve always thought it would be a good laugh to work on a mag like that.’
‘It is,’ she says, grinning like an idiot.
‘And what are you up to at the minute, Dave?’
‘This and that.’
‘Dave’s Teen Scene ’s agony uncle,’ says Fran. ‘Aren’t you, Dave?’
There’s a long uncomfortable silence.
Stevie J looks at me in disbelief. ‘You’ve stopped writing about music?’ he asks.
‘Not stopped,’ I tell him. ‘Just taking a break.’
‘Dave’s really good at it,’ says Fran. ‘If you’ve got any relationship problems you should go and see him.’
Stevie J and Fran laugh and I have to join in. Fortunately I don’t have to endure this torture for long as the lift arrives at the third floor.
‘Nice talking to you,’ says Stevie J, as Fran and I step out.
‘See you around,’ says Fran.
‘Yeah,’ he replies. ‘Definitely.’
As the lift door begins to close behind us Stevie J calls out, ‘If you’re looking for some writing work, Dave, you should give me a call and pitch some ideas to me.’
Before I can muster a reply the door closes.
‘That was nice of him,’ says Fran. ‘I can’t tell you how long I’ve been dying to talk to him. He’s very, very sexy.’
‘That wasn’t nice of him,’ I snap. ‘He was
‘Hey, you,’ I reply. ‘What did you get up to at the weekend?’
‘I stayed in for most of it and had a massive row with Linden.’
‘About?’
‘Everything.’
‘Where did it begin?’
She half smiles. ‘I think it might have been when I opened my mouth to say hello when I dropped round at his flat on Friday night.’
‘I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again,’ I tell her, ‘he’s a waste of space.’
‘I know,’ says Fran, as the lift arrives. ‘But I like him. He’s a very sexy waste of space. What’s a girl to do?’
I’m about to reply when I realise we’re no longer alone. A couple of women – all perfect lipstick, perfect hair, perfect dress sense, who obviously work on Stylissimo – have arrived and are standing to the left of us and a young casually dressed guy is next to me. I do a double-take and realise I recognise him just as he realises he recognises me.
‘Dave Harding?’ says the man, as we get into the lift.
I smile politely. It’s all coming back to me. He’d done quite a bit of work experience at Louder about a year ago but we hadn’t been able to give him a job. I feel myself shrink.
‘I thought it was you,’ he continues. ‘How are you, mate?’
‘Okay,’ I reply. ‘How about yourself?’
‘Excellent, actually. You know how it is, a bit of this and a bit of that. I DJ at a couple of bars in Soho, and then I do a bit of stuff for a couple of underground labels and on top of all that I’m working at Metrosoundz on the top floor. Features editor, actually. Just got promoted.’
‘Congratulations,’ I say, in a tone that I hope doesn’t sound churlish or needlessly genuine. ‘You must be really pleased.’
‘Sorry to hear about Louder ,’ he says. ‘It was a great mag in its time .’
‘Cheers,’ I reply, aware of the thinly veiled insult. Out of the corner of my eye I notice that Fran is wearing the look of someone who is desperate to be introduced. ‘This is my mate Fran,’ I say grudgingly. ‘Fran, this is—’
‘Steve Jackson,’ he interrupts, then corrects himself. ‘Stevie J.’
It said it all.
‘Hi,’ says Fran to Stevie J. ‘I’ve seen you about in the building.’
He smiles widely. ‘I’ve seen you too.’
I sigh. I don’t really care that Fran is flirting with him but I don’t understand why she’s doing it in front of complete strangers.
‘Which mag do you work on?’ he asks Fran.
‘ Teen Scene ,’ she replies. ‘I’m a writer there.’
‘I’ve always thought it would be a good laugh to work on a mag like that.’
‘It is,’ she says, grinning like an idiot.
‘And what are you up to at the minute, Dave?’
‘This and that.’
‘Dave’s Teen Scene ’s agony uncle,’ says Fran. ‘Aren’t you, Dave?’
There’s a long uncomfortable silence.
Stevie J looks at me in disbelief. ‘You’ve stopped writing about music?’ he asks.
‘Not stopped,’ I tell him. ‘Just taking a break.’
‘Dave’s really good at it,’ says Fran. ‘If you’ve got any relationship problems you should go and see him.’
Stevie J and Fran laugh and I have to join in. Fortunately I don’t have to endure this torture for long as the lift arrives at the third floor.
‘Nice talking to you,’ says Stevie J, as Fran and I step out.
‘See you around,’ says Fran.
‘Yeah,’ he replies. ‘Definitely.’
As the lift door begins to close behind us Stevie J calls out, ‘If you’re looking for some writing work, Dave, you should give me a call and pitch some ideas to me.’
Before I can muster a reply the door closes.
‘That was nice of him,’ says Fran. ‘I can’t tell you how long I’ve been dying to talk to him. He’s very, very sexy.’
‘That wasn’t nice of him,’ I snap. ‘He was
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