Rush

I deliver Rin’s pint, and then step back to admire all the people congratulating the man of the hour. He deserves every single one.

A snide, nasal voice lifts over the crowd in a sneer. “What the fuck’s Osman doing here? Posy fucking twat.”

My buoyant mood suddenly implodes and crashes back to earth.

I know who it is before I turn around. Striker Jones, the front man of Palatine, Mick Jagger-thin and dressed in black jeans and a gaudy silk shirt. His eyes are heavy with disdain and eyeliner and he’s standing with the Palatine bass player. All around us, people have switched from talking to Rin to staring between Striker and me.

Saint Cyprian versus Palatine. The biggest rock rivalry in the country with seven years of bad blood. Sometimes literal blood, such as when Striker glassed me when our second album pushed theirs off the charts and we won the Mercury Prize. Okay, I had just kissed his girlfriend in front of him, but I didn’t know who the fuck she was.

If I had, maybe I would have kissed her twice.

My hand tightens on my drink. If he ruins tonight for Rin, I’ll return the fucking favor. I can picture the pint glass smashing over his face and beer going everywhere. Damn, that would feel good.

Then I remember I’m not doing shit like that anymore. I should just go, because if I stay, then the bad blood between Striker and me will overshadow Rin’s celebration.

I put down my pint and nod a goodbye to my friend, who gives me an apologetic grimace. As I head past Striker, I look him in the face and say, “September third.”

Striker makes a tch sound and rolls his eyes.

I hear someone whisper to their friend as I walk out of the pub, “September third? What’s that supposed to mean?”

Striker fucking knows what it means.

The night is warm and clear and there are loads of people about. Some stop in their tracks and stare at me. A few more take not-so-surreptitious photos, but Londoners generally leave famous people alone in the streets, so I get home to my apartment in just ten minutes. After I let myself in, I collapse on the sofa with a growl.

What a waste of a journey up to London. I could be at home in Shropshire, working on the album. I should have known that Striker was going to turn up as he and Rin are signed to the same label.

I’ll order curry, eat, and be in bed by ten. Not very rock ‘n’ roll, but it’ll mean I can set off early and be in my home studio editing tracks by lunchtime.

I’m really fucking excited about our new album. September third. The first single is going to drop in a couple of weeks and I have a sustained buzzing in my belly that tells me it’s one of the best tracks we’ve ever written. Maybe even the best. “Not Only Will This Kill You, It Will Hurt The Whole Time You’re Dying.” “Not Only” for short.

After I place an order through an app for green curry and rice, I start scrolling through Twitter to see what people are saying about Rin. A year ago, when he was still unsigned, I saw him play a pub gig. He was incredible and I got to talking to him afterwards. I arranged a few meetings for him with the right people, and a few weeks later, he was signed. He asked me to produce his album, which we did down at my place in the country. Having my house full of talented people working together is the best experience. Better even than my cocaine-asshole days, which are a blur of top-shelf vodka and girls in skintight jeans.

The internet is loving Rin. I grin at pictures of him in the pub in Camden, posted just minutes ago. He’s worked bloody hard and deserves every moment of his success.

A music video appears in my Twitter feed, but I keep scrolling. It’s pop by the looks of it, though I’m not a snob about pop music just because I’m in a rock band. I love pop, and this video looks choreographed from the few seconds I see, thanks to autoplay. Pop videos rarely show off good choreography because the cameras keep cutting away. It’s like the cameraperson’s life is forfeit if they hold a single shot for longer than one fucking second. That’s not what I want for the music video for “Not Only.” It’s our first foray into something that’s not straight-up rock, and I want it to be incredible. I’m yet to find a choreographer I want to work with, but I’m still looking.

I keep scrolling, and the video appears in my feed again.

Then again.

And again. People I respect are all sharing it. I’ve got nothing better to do while I wait for my curry, so I may as well take a look.