Before You Say Goodbye

Chapter 2

Eight weeks into their glorious friendship, Autumn answered the door to find Bluebell on her knees, her hands clasped dramatically before her.

“My mum is in New York and she’s making me go to a concert tonight to watch my brother because nobody else from the family can go. I know you have that big meeting with your publisher tomorrow and you said we can’t hang out, but please come. There’ll be boys. And booze. Please come. Please. They’re really good, but it’s no fun when I’m alone there. Nobody wants to play with me because I’m Marley’s sister.”

Autumn had once promised herself she would stop doing things she didn’t want to do for the benefit of other people, but she couldn’t say no to Bluebell. Her new friend knew it, too. She sighed. She was bored anyway, she reasoned. A little break from writing might do her good. And she’d yet to meet any of Bluebell’s family, a group of people she knew more about than she did her own relatives. So she agreed to go, but with stark warning.

“No boys. And no drinking. And no after-parties. And no drugs.”

“Yes, yes, I get it, no fun. Please come.”

In less than five minutes, she’d thrown on a flowery tea dress and a pair of matte black heels, a smidge of lipstick and some smoky eye make-up. All the while, Bluebell chatted about her brother.

“You’ll like Marley — he’s really confident and funny. He and Bowie are total opposites. Bowie’s so sensible and quiet. He’s really contemplative and careful. Marley is a party animal. He’s even worse than I am. I can’t believe we’ve been friends all this time and you haven’t met him yet.”

“We’ve only been friends for two months.”

“Fuck me, is that all it’s been. I feel like I’ve known you for ever.”

Autumn felt the same. Hardly a day had gone by since they’d met when they hadn’t seen each other or spoken in some capacity, either over the telephone or via text message. Autumn had quickly come to rely on Bluebell for comfort and entertainment. She was undoubtedly her very best friend. Autumn felt like nobody knew her better. She’d told Bluebell all about her university days, and how disappointed she’d felt when she’d realised higher education was not bursting with people who wanted to discuss politics and human rights, but largely kids who’d just wanted to escape home. At least, that was the case for the peers she had met. She’d elaborated further on how disconnected she felt from her family and the way they wanted to live. She’d told this woman all about her insecurities and how they sometimes made her feel strange. In return, Bluebell entertained Autumn with tales from her childhood, of everyday life with her quirky, loving parents, sister, and three brothers, throwing in the odd story about her time at college, where she’d studied musical theatre, not because she’d had any desire to act, but because her circumstances had meant there was no immediate pressure to work. Drama had been her favourite subject at school and she’d thought it would be fun.

She’d told Autumn all about the interesting friendships she’d forged and then lost through the years, not because she was a bad mate, but because she was quick to lose interest. Bluebell loved to talk and she was good at it. She could start a conversation about absolutely anything at all, which meant being in public with her was often an adventure. Wherever they went, Bluebell would find someone to talk to about something, effortlessly charming the object of her attention until they were as shamelessly hooked on her as Autumn was. That was always as far as it went, though. Bluebell was choosy about who she let in her life and Autumn felt incredibly lucky their initial conversation had progressed into full-blown friendship.

Despite not being able to relate, Autumn didn’t even mind Bluebell talking obsessively about her family, whom she obviously adored. Their proper home was in England, but two of her siblings, Marley and Bowie, lived with her in New York, in an apartment that belonged to a friend of their parents. When she wasn’t with Autumn, Bluebell was usually with one or both of her brothers. Still, since Bluebell didn’t work, there was plenty of time for shared frivolity. When they met during the day, they drank hot drinks and talked. When they met up at night, they drank cocktails and danced. When Autumn had work to do, they spent time at her apartment, where Bluebell would watch television while Autumn wrote drafts of her second book. Autumn had worried at first that her unemployed friend might try to dissuade her from working, but Bluebell was extremely supportive of Autumn’s career. She bragged about it on Autumn’s behalf to everyone they met and forced Autumn to celebrate achievements she’d previously had nobody to celebrate with.

“Come on.” Bluebell hurried Autumn along, as excited as ever to dance and drink. “Or we’ll miss the first number.”

They took a taxi to the venue — a small theatre with a grubby floor — bulk-bought drinks to avoid queuing at the bar, then perched on seats in the front row.

“They’re good enough that people come to see them, but not so good people fight to be at the front.” Bluebell shouted the end of her sentence because the lights had dimmed and the crowd was cheering. Autumn turned her attention to the stage, where five men were happily picking up instruments. It wasn’t hard to spot which of them was Bluebell’s brother. He was tall, over six foot, with the same dimples and big lips she had, the same messy blonde hair, and eyes so blue Autumn could see their unmissable shade from where she was sitting. His features weren’t as attractive on him as they were on Bluebell, but she enjoyed the way he held his guitar, his crotch tilted suggestively towards the audience, as well as the obvious strength in his shoulders and hands. Autumn could tell he had the same unabashed confidence his sister did.

They launched into their first number and, less than ten words into the song, Autumn dragged her eyes from Marley to raise her eyebrows at Bluebell.

“He’s really good, isn’t he?” Bluebell beamed with pride. “He’s so talented. Honestly, he’s wasted doing this — they’re never going to make it. He’s carrying everyone else, but he loves it so who are we to tell him what to do?”

Bluebell’s wealthy parents had an unusual attitude to their children working, it seemed. Bluebell lived off an allowance they gave her. In return, they wanted only her assurance that she’d work when she found something she really loved to do.

The music was a little mix of everything considered cool. Bluebell proudly told Autumn that most of what they sang had been written by either Marley or her other brother, Bowie. There were love songs and tunes about partying, songs about sex, drugs and politics. Since live music wasn’t really her thing, Autumn had worried she might be bored, but the interval rolled around quickly and then, before she knew it, the show was over.

She’d hardly taken her eyes off Marley all evening. She wondered if Bluebell knew. She hoped not. She wasn’t sure how that would be received.

As the band took their bows, Autumn clapped as heartily as everyone else. She felt an inexplicable amount of pride. Beside her, Bluebell screeched her brother’s name. He heard her and laughed, but didn’t look over. The lights came on without warning and with unnecessary enthusiasm. Autumn winced. She felt sticky and unattractive.

“Here, take my pass.” Bluebell passed Autumn a lanyard. “Wait backstage and grab Marley if you see him. I’ll be back in ten.”

Autumn didn’t like the idea of standing backstage on her own, so she took her time in the toilets in the vague hope her friend might be there before she was. She reapplied her make-up and carefully tried to tidy her hair. She realised she was nervous about meeting Marley. She wanted him to like her, not just because he was her best friend’s brother, but also because he was exactly her type. She didn’t think Bluebell would approve of her sleeping with him — and she definitely would not do that unless she had her best friend’s express permission — but she wanted to look nice when he saw her just the same.

She’d been standing backstage for fifteen minutes or more — waiting for Bluebell or Marley or both — when he appeared from behind a curtain. He was walking with absolute purpose, as though he was going somewhere, but he saw her and stopped dead, loitering with obvious discomfort three or four strides away. They stared at each other for a few seconds.

“I’m a friend of Bluebell’s,” Autumn said. “She told me to grab you—”

“Ah.” He shook his head. “Sorry. You think I’m Marley. I’m not. I’m Bowie. His brother. His twin brother. Obviously.”

She hadn’t known they were twins, but it made sense. The man in the band had been really sweaty by the end of his performance, but the man in front of her looked like he would smell like clean laundry. It also explained how he’d managed to transform from a guitar-wielding, musical genius into a man who could barely maintain eye contact with her.

“I’m really sorry,” she said.

“Don’t worry. It happens all the time. It has its benefits. We’re not identical, but, as I’m sure you can see for yourself, we look very much alike at first glance. Women throw themselves at me at these gigs because they think I’m him. He’s sexy, apparently.”

Autumn laughed. Bowie was bashful and awkward. She liked him.

“Are you waiting for Bluebell?” he asked.

“Yeah, she asked me to wait and to grab Marley if I saw him. She said she’d be back in a minute.”

“Yeah,” Bowie said, trying and failing to conceal an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry, she’s not going to be back for a while.”

Autumn waited for him to elaborate.

“She’s seeing one of Marley’s trumpet players. Adam, I think he’s called. I was just back there and I think they’re in his dressing room. Sorry to be the bearer of bad news.”

“Great.” Autumn sighed. She could have been in bed by now. She tried not to be irritated. She and Bluebell had an agreement — it was fine for either one of them to bail if they met someone they liked, but Bluebell had begged her to come tonight, and she didn’t normally have an important meeting to get to the next day.

She was a little annoyed this time. She made a concerted effort to hide her irritation from Bluebell’s brother and hoisted her handbag onto her shoulder, turning to pick up her jacket from the table behind her.

“Where are you going now?” Bowie asked, readying himself to leave too. He was wearing jeans and a plain white T-shirt. He picked up a dark-grey duffle coat and a scarf from a stack of chairs in the corner and started to put them on. It was March, and freezing cold. His coat looked warm.

Autumn had an unsettling desire to climb into it with him.

“Home. I have a meeting in the morning.”

“Have you eaten?”

Was he asking her to dinner? She was surprised. She hadn’t sensed any hint of an attraction to her while they’d been chatting. She was wearing a dress that showed a little cleavage and a lot of leg, but his eyes had been firmly fixed on hers, except when he was looking at the floor. She’d be lying if she said that hadn’t been alluring. Autumn was pretty. Men usually let her know that they thought so. She found herself smiling and shaking her head.

“There’s a place around the corner that makes great cake,” he said.

Not dinner. Cake. Was that the same thing? She found herself hoping so. Despite her looming meeting, she wasn’t ready to go home yet and she had no desire to be out by herself. She opened her mouth to answer, but Bowie broke their lingering eye contact to watch an approaching rabble. His twin brother was among a small group of jovial men and women. The siblings caught sight of each other and grinned.

The resemblance between them was breathtaking. Autumn searched frantically for differences. Marley was slightly taller, but not by much. Bowie had a small freckle beneath one eye, and Marley had one ear pierced several times against the single, delicate silver hoop in Bowie’s left lobe. Marley had slightly longer and darker hair, and his demeanour was much more relaxed than his brother’s. He was quite clearly a man who was very comfortable with who he was and how he looked. Bowie, despite their likeness, didn’t seem so sure. They embraced.

“This is Bluebell’s friend, Autumn.” Bowie gestured. She liked the way he said her name. As though she was a really big deal. Urging herself not to blush, she took Marley’s hand and shook it.

“We’ve heard a lot about you,” Marley said.

“Nice to meet you.” Autumn smiled.

“You too.” He dropped her hand. “My sister says you’re the most liberal woman she’s ever met. That’s a lot, coming from Bluebell.”

Autumn laughed. Bowie agreed with a nod. He opened his mouth to speak, but Marley jumped in again before he could.

“They don’t make many women more liberal than Bluebird.” He grinned. Bluebell had told Autumn once that her brothers called her that to annoy her. It was interchangeable with ‘blueberry’ and ‘bluebottle’, depending on how they were feeling.

“That’s definitely true,” Autumn said.

“If you’re even half as liberal as she is—” Autumn knew Marley was working hard to hold her attention. Beside him, Bowie was looking at the ground — “New York had better look out.”

“It’s far too late to save New York,” Autumn said jokingly. Marley laughed.

“Good for you.”

They were silent while he looked her up and down. Autumn was used to the eyes of men upon her, but she found herself blushing under his gaze. She wondered if he was imagining her naked. When he was done, he turned to Bowie.

“Have you asked her out already?”

Bowie laughed nervously.

“We’re going for cake,” Autumn answered for him.

“Damn,” Marley said. She could tell he didn’t really care. He was attracted to her, but there was a gaggle of girls waiting eagerly for him by the door. The tension between them was palpable. Still, she wasn’t sure Bluebell would approve. And she was not there to ask. So, though Marley was undeniably sexy, eating cake with Bowie was a much better idea.

“I’m bailing,” Marley said. “I’ll handle your absence with Mum if you need me to.”

“Thanks.” Bowie blushed, smiling a little sheepishly at Autumn. The brothers embraced again. Autumn wasn’t sure if she’d had two hugs in her entire life from her own sibling.

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” Marley quipped as he left.

“That doesn’t leave much,” Bowie called after him, waiting until his brother was gone before he met her eyes again. Despite being the eldest of Bluebell’s five siblings, he was obviously the less dominant twin. How was it she knew useless information like that but had not known they were twins?

Bowie was silent, so Autumn brought the conversation back to cake.

“So. This café . . .” she said, stepping out into the corridor and waiting for him to fall into step beside her. He grinned and blushed, and Autumn was floored. There it was again, the same fuzzy feeling she’d experienced the day she’d met Bluebell, stronger than it had been then, and a little dizzying this time.

* * *

Bowie took her to a tiny café. They ordered a pot of tea to share and a piece of cake each. Autumn would usually be drunk or high by now, but was surprised to find she was enjoying this just as much. She liked the atmosphere. The place was almost empty, except for a few trendy-looking couples. There was a man playing piano in the corner, and the walls were adorned with music posters and adverts for guitar lessons.

They’d met less than an hour ago, but Autumn, enraged by a man on the street who’d bashed into her rather than move himself, was already setting out her stance on women’s rights. She did so over the first thing she had eaten all day, which happened to be the best lemon drizzle cake she had ever tasted. Bowie listened to her intently, waiting until she was fully finished before he offered his own opinion.

“You’re absolutely right,” he said, before grinning. “In the best way possible, you sound just like Bluebell. I can see why she likes you so much.”

Though she had already known how Bluebell felt about her, his words made Autumn beam. Her new best friend was not, as promised, a person who hid her feelings when she loved a person, but it was nice to hear it from someone else.

“Your sister is the only person who makes me feel like I can be myself,” Autumn said, dropping her one-woman tirade against nameless men everywhere.

“She says the same thing about you.” Bowie smiled. “Most people think she’s nuts. She’s too confident for them, I guess, too shameless. It’s good to finally meet you because she never stops talking about you and we were starting to think you might not be real.”

Autumn grinned at him, an authentic gesture she normally suppressed around strangers. She was having an unusually good time. She had to be up at seven, but she didn’t want to leave. She could barely believe she hadn’t known Bowie an hour before. She felt, as with Bluebell, as though she had found someone really special. She searched for a new branch of conversation.

“Bluebell didn’t tell me you and Marley were twins,” she said.

“Yeah, we don’t look that much alike to her anymore, so I think she forgets. It might also be the drugs.”

Autumn laughed. Bowie smiled. They locked eyes for three seconds or so before Bowie blushed and looked away.

“I have a book I think you’d really like,” he said. “I’ll give it to Bluebell to give to you.”

She was a little perturbed by his insinuation they might not see each other again soon. She didn’t know if it was because her ego didn’t like the idea the decision to meet again might not be solely hers — since she was typically the one who did the rejecting — or because she genuinely liked him.

She was still trying to work it out when they finished their cake and saw no alternative except to give herself more time to decide by inviting him back to her apartment to watch a movie or something .

Autumn had no idea what ‘or something’ meant and immediately wished she hadn’t said it. It was too open to interpretation and she was worried it might be misconstrued. Most men saw an invitation home as a penetration invitation. Why else would you invite someone back to your house in the middle of the night? She only did that when she wanted to fuck.

Autumn wasn’t sure how she felt about Bowie, but that wasn’t the only complication. She’d had to remind herself more than once that Bowie was just as much Bluebell’s brother as Marley was. She’d need permission from her friend before she let anything happen. And Autumn was adamant, no matter how intense her growing attraction to him — no matter how lovely and attentive she found him or how comfortable he made her feel — they should not sleep together tonight. It was too complicated.

Still, that rationalisation had not stopped Autumn imagining what Bowie would be like in bed. Though she hadn’t fully registered it when she first met him — especially when comparing him to a twin who carried himself as though he was ten times better-looking — Bowie was sexy in his own right. There was something about how good he was that made her want to coax him into badness, and she wanted to know what he looked like when he was lost to ecstasy. She was enthralled by this sudden desire for a man whose shyness masked his looks and had made her feel at first and second glance that he wasn’t as physically appealing as his brother because of his lack of confidence. Bowie was quiet and shy, humble and reserved, and those were attributes that typically turned her off, but she could no longer deny that her attraction to him was inexplicably visceral. With hair that was shorter round the sides and untidy on the top, a long face and large features, Bowie was stereotypically good-looking, but it was almost certainly his lips and his use of them over the course of the evening that had done something to her. He didn’t say anything at first and she dared to hope for a second that he might be too well-behaved to accept her invitation. She held her breath and willed him to get them out of the mess she had put them in, but he didn’t.

Instead he blushed, mumbled something, and agreed to go home with her.