Cue the Billy Bragg Song* – Wayne 43

 

[For back story go here: Story so far at 30 Nov 2020 and this one.]

[Other back story through in-links.]

It hadn't gone well but at least Dave was still talking to him. Well, sort of.

The day before was meant to have been perfect. We'll, maybe not perfect perfect – that could be difficult, but it was meant to have been enjoyable. Full of surprises, mischief, warmth and fun. Some of that had delivered. Well, sort of.

The day started with a lazy lie-in, although most days started this way now. There was little reason to get up and at the weekend even less so. At least during the week they would ensure they were up and eating breakfast at a sort of respectable time, the need to keep some structure running over-powering Dave more than Wayne. 

On this morning, St Valentine's Day of course, they lay in bed, letting the sun break through the curtains and play across the top section of the bedroom. The light swung further down towards them, and eventually Dave broke covers and got up to make some coffee. This he brought back to bed together with home made croissants and petit pain au chocolates. Wayne smiled. There was something decadent in all this which he loved almost as much as the decadence of a rider backstage at a gig. Coffee and pastries were a strange comparison to chugging a neat bottle of vodka but they both seemed to scratch the same itch.

They discussed the world as it stood that morning. There was a calmness to their immediate surroundings, they were snug in their own envelope, safeguarded away from the rest of the world. They weren't in denial, of course, it's just that on any other Valentine's Day they'd want to be this remote and peaceful, it was just unfortunate that the state of the world meant they had no choice but to be remote. Either way, for a while it was just them and that felt perfect.

'Stay there," said Wayne suddenly and got up.

Dave sipped some more coffee and made a mental note to himself to play around with the pastry ingredients a little more.

Wayne returned with his laptop.

"Ah," said Dave.

"No, not ah," said Wayne. "It's not what you think. Or at least I hope it's not what you think."

And it wasn't. It was a traditional love song, for want of a better description. Neat images colliding with each other, a low strumming guitar, unobtrusive sampling playing across the backing track in a gentle rhythmic way. Building nicely to a crescendo of heartfelt emotion that would even leave the Guardian music reviewer grappling for words. It wasn't just the surprise that Wayne had done this, it was the surprise that this was still recognisably ManzDown and that Jezzy's vocals were actually pretty touching.

The doorbell rang and Wayne got up out of bed, leaving Dave to play the track back again. Wayne checked the intercom and buzzed in the deliver person. Minutes later he was cutting and arranging a bunch of red roses, placing them in a couple of vases, leaving one outside in the kitchen and carrying the other into the bedroom.

The bedroom, where as soon as he entered he felt the complete absence of the warmth and love generated by his track only minutes before.

"Look what I got," he said, holding up the flowers. "For you."

"Look what I got," replied Dave, turning the computer screen around to face Wayne. 

On which was what Wayne assumed were the running messages which had passed between him and Cassie. 

"You, shouldn't have erm..." started Wayne.

"Yes?" asked Dave. "What shouldn't I have ermed?"

"Looked."

"She messaged you just now," said Dave. "Message popped up. She's asking after me. Sort of. 'Are you still with that food bloke?’ Should I be flattered?”

"I can explain," smiled Wayne.

"Sure you can," said Dave, getting up. "But I don't want you to. You'll end up sounding like Jezzy."

He left the room. "Nice flowers," he called over his shoulder. "Whoever they're for."

So for the rest of yesterday and for this morning Dave had spoken to him. Occasionally. Sort of. A conversation limited to the basics of what they wanted and how they were and what they were doing. Purely functional and refusing to go anywhere near the touch paper.

This had been a Valentine's Day like no other. The run up had been stressful and the day itself made no concessions – you couldn't go out, couldn't enjoy each other's company and even Dave's special meal didn't feel special anymore. They were still stuck in, which would have been fine if they'd been able to choose to stay stuck in.

So a Valentine's Day like no other, and Wayne was fast realising that unless he did something soon there may well be no other Valentine's Day for him.

* Valentine's Day is Over (sentiment only, obvs.)