It was not until one in the morning that they made it back to their rooms. They had probably emptied all the alcohol at the pub, danced on the bar pretending to be famous rockstars, and then stumbled into the car, plastered after twenty shots of vodka and Red Bull. Luckily for them, their security team made sure the press never found out about the carnage that they could indulge in after a successful show.

Kyle had crashed on his bed fully clothed, occasionally rolling around and giggling in his stupor. The others had not been any better. Brandon could tell he was soberer than the other lads because he was still awake an hour later.

He fumbled for his phone in the dark, accidentally knocked his watch down, and then finally decided to switch on the lamp. Kyle had rolled over again, now only in his underwear. He had probably stripped off his clothes in his sleep. Brandon wondered how he did that.

Phone in hand, he debated whether he should remain in the room or go outside. Kyle was drunk and unconscious, so it would not matter. It was late. He was tired and drunk. But he could not sleep. Not without…

He pressed the number on speed dial. Isabel had a mobile phone but she hardly ever used it. So he tried the house phone. One of the extensions was in her room, and with Ben’s parents staying over in London for the night, she would be the one to pick up, if at all. There was no way Elsa was answering a call at two in the morning. Not even a bomb could wake her up.

When the phone started to ring on the other end, Brandon sat up, bouncing his legs uneasily. It was wrong to wake her up at that ungodly hour. She had school the next day. She needed to sleep.

Oh, darn.

And just then the call connected.

“Hallo?”

His breath caught. Isabel’s sleepy, throaty voice down the line poured into his ears and ran through his veins.

“Izzi?” he said, his voice almost a whisper, not wanting Kyle to hear him. A long pause followed.

“Brandy? It’s two in the morning.”

“I know.” He glanced at his sleeping mate, then shuffled down from the bed, opened the door, and walked barefoot out of the room. “I couldn’t sleep… I…”

“You’re drunk.” It was a statement. Isabel did not like people getting intoxicated. She could never understand why anyone would want to drink so much that it robbed them of their senses.

“I’m still a lot better than the other lads,” he tried to explain. “I’m just… I’m sorry I woke you up—”

“No. I was awake.”

Brandon frowned. “Awake? At two in the morning?”

“I woke up a while ago. Thought of going over the lessons for the test today.”

“Couldn’t sleep?” There was a faint smile on his lips, even though he felt bad deep inside whenever she could not sleep well. In the background, he could hear the rain, and he vaguely pictured her on the window seat wrapped in a blanket, her hair tousled and ravishing.

“I’m fine,” she said. “Why aren’t you sleeping?”

“Because I’m missing you.” He leaned against the wall, the overhead light drawing his silhouette on the carpeted floor of the hallway. “You didn’t say you wouldn’t be here today.”

“You didn’t ask.”

“I assumed you would come.”

“I would, but the thought of London unsettles me a little.”

Realisation washed over him. Isabel had not stepped outside Carraroe since moving to Ireland and that was what she preferred. Now when he thought about it, he could imagine what it would do to her to be back in the city where she nearly died.

“How was the show?” she asked.

“Amazing,” he sighed, closing his eyes. “Wish you were here. Then it would be perfect.”

“I’m not fit company.”

“That’s what you think. To me, you’re the best company in the world.”

“That’s because you’re an eejit.”

He did not miss that. Eejit, was it? The thought that she was catching onto Irish mannerisms made him smile.

“No, just in love with you.” He sank to his feet, crouching on the floor when his legs turned wobbly. “So in love with you. You’re beautiful.”

“And you’re really tipsy. Please go to bed. Don’t you have anywhere to be in the morning?”

“I can’t remember. Anto will remind us.”

Anto was their tour manager, always trying to herd them, discipline them. He only ended up frustrated most of the time, because they were wild and uncontrollable. Just what you’d expect from lads barely out of their teens.

“Poor Anto,” Isabel sighed. “You give him grief. Him and Louis.”

“Oh, they handle us just fine. I don’t think I’ll ever forget being slapped by Louis after botching up that first audition.”

“That’s how much your success means to him.”

“Nah, we make him money.”

“Yes, so do many other artists. He didn’t have to invest his all in Pentoniac.” She yawned again. “You’re lucky you have a manager that genuinely loves you. His nurturing will go a long way.”

“Why are we talking about Louis at two in the morning?” he grumbled. “What about the writing contest?”

“I’ve sent my entry. Not hoping for anything though.”

“I am.”

“The prize?”

“Yes, your smile,” he sighed. “You don’t smile anymore.” He wanted to say she did not cry either, but it did not matter.

“There’s nothing to smile about.”

They’d had that conversation before and she had always said the same thing. It did not make sense to argue about it again, especially when he was drunk.

“I should be home in two weeks,” he said, his speech turning a little slurry. He rose to his feet because he feared he would fall asleep right in the hallway. “Is there any way I can see you before that?”

“Yes, if you can come home sooner.”

“I cannot. We’ll head to Tenerife for a shoot and then we’ll be heading to Dublin right after…” He sighed again. “I miss you so much. Are you okay?”

“Hmm. How’s everybody?”

“Great. We’re having so much fun. It’s like a whirlwind but we wouldn’t want it to be any other way. Izzi…” He breathed, then swallowed. “I wish I could see you. Haven’t seen you in weeks now.”

Isabel seemed to dither for a moment. “It’s strange not seeing you at the restaurant when I drop in,” she admitted. “Liam walked me home the other day since you were not there, but it’s not the same. Like something is missing.”

“What is missing?” he urged.

“Holding your hand when you walk me home. Catching your eye when I enter the Carlton Lodge. Hearing your infectious laugh and dulcet voice echo through the place.”

“I’m never that far away from you.” Brandon dropped his head back, and winced when it made a hollow thud against the wall. “Even if you call me in your sleep, I’ll answer in your dreams.”

A little scoff came from the other end. “You usually do.”

“What does that mean?”

“Nothing. You should go now.”

“Please try to get some more sleep.”

“I’ll be okay. You’re the one more in need of rest. Slow down and take care of yourself, if you can.”

“Izzi?”

“Yes?”

“I love you.”

There was a pause. He knew she would not say anything in reply to that, knew it was too soon for her, but…

“I love you, too.”

His eyes snapped open. Did he hear that right?

“You’re serious?” he mumbled. On the other end, Isabel was probably rolling her eyes.

“Why would I joke about something like this?”

“It’s the first time you’ve said that.”

“I needed time to perfect it inside my head.”

“Perfect what?”

“It’s too late for this, Brandy,” she groused. “Now please go. Say hi to the lads from me. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Izzi.”

He clutched the phone to his chest, trying to remember how to breathe as he made his way back to his room.

#

The middle-aged gent was talking about their new single from their first album, which had debuted on No.1, making it their second song and their second hit. It was late afternoon and they were at a radio show for an interview, very, very hungover.

The carnage of the night had been followed by a chaotic morning. Kyle had been seeing things in his stupor and screaming that the walls were closing in on him. Their security guy Paul had come running and said that Ben was acting weird. They had found him sitting motionless in his underwear with white sunglasses and a pair of deely-bobbers on his head, a bouncing star at the end of each wire. Mark and Nathan had been vomitting buckets. Brandon himself had vomitted a number of times that morning, wondering if it was time to go to the hospital and get the alcohol pumped out of him.

Eventually, they had managed to sober up, but the light in the radio station still seemed very bright, cutting through him like cheese wire even through the sunglasses. Brandon and Nathan usually did most of the talking. Mark was the quiet one, only talked when spoken to. Kyle handled the difficult questions- marketing, budgeting. They joked he had Louis’ number on speed dial, always talking business with him. Ben was the funny one. You asked him something and then spent the next ten minutes trying to get your breath back.

They talked about their new hit single, their upcoming album, and how it felt being small-town lads from Ireland dominating the pop scene. They were used to those questions and also had set answers for them. They did not have a lot of control over these things. They needed to listen to management, whether it was their clothes, their food, or their relationships. They knew the systematic crap they had to repeat at interviews, when to smile and when to act totally unaffected.

It was not going to be an easy life but they would not want to change any of it. That was their dream, and they were living it.

Ben was answering a question about his dual identity and if he preferred one over the other. Nathan was next, talking about the similarities and differences between being on the football pitch and on the stage. He also said that he had wanted to join the guards, but Pentoniac was the most amazing turn of life he could have expected. 

The interviewer asked Brandon about his childhood obsession with Michael Jackson. The frontman enlightened the listeners that he had indeed taught himself to do the moonwalk, knew all the moves to Bad, and used to sing with a hairbrush in front of the mirror. He spoke about his first break on stage as Artful Dodger in his school adaptation of Oliver Twist when he was fourteen and how playing Danny Zuko in Grease cemented his fate as an entertainer. He also responded to questions about his talent for rugby, golf, and showjumping.

A pang of sadness welled up somewhere inside him. Growing up, it was not smooth sailing all the time. Money was often short in their family of nine, and on many days they only had leftovers from the restaurant for dinner. What they did have in abundance was chips, and cans of Fanta and Coke. It was cheap and easily available and he did not blame his parents for trying to cut corners raising a big family. He loved having several siblings, never got picked on because he had three older brothers to protect him, and being part of the busy restaurant always made him happy.

Today, he had a million-pound album deal and growing money that allowed him to upgrade the barn, drive a fancy car, and make plans to buy his parents a house. If that was not grace, he had no idea what was.

“Hey.” Kyle whispered to him in the van on their way back to the hotel. Brandon looked away from the window and gave him a small smile.

“Hey,” he said to his blonde friend. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah. I just…” Kyle bit his lip and glanced around quickly. “I wanted to say… I’m sorry about what I said that day. About you and Izzi…”

Brandon stared at him, then nodded, accepting his apology. Kyle did not always apologise, was kind of arrogant, so it felt nice that he’d had good sense. He only wished he had not said that at all.

“I can understand those who call her weird without knowing her story,” Brandon murmured, looking out of the window again. “Hadn’t expected it from you, though.”

“I know. Shit.” A hand fell on his knee. “I hurt you. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay.” He looked at him, tapping the hand that was on his knee. “Just don’t repeat it.”

“You really love her, dontchya?” he smiled. Brandon laughed a little.

“Funny you should ask that, after all this time.” He raised an eyebrow. “How long have you known me, again?”

“Have to go back a few decades then,” Kyle laughed back.

“A few? You haven’t even been here for two.” The soft, smirking voice was that of Ben, beside the driver. “We are heading straight to lunch, right?”

“Oh, yeah.” Brandon yawned. “I need food.”

“Me too.” Mark raised his hand, half-asleep in the other corner. They laughed, as Nathan punched him lightly in the belly.

It was only after they reached the hotel that he saw it. Nathan had picked up the newspaper from the lounge, wondering if there was anything about them.

There was.

“Look, lads. Here’s our interview.” He held up the entertainment section of the paper so that the others could see.

“Which one?” Kyle asked. The Dubliner shrugged.

“Don’t remember. But this was probably last week.”

“Show me.” Brandon snatched the paper from him, his eyes falling on the file picture of the five of them in black leather. He skimmed through the text, reading only his parts. There was a certain fun in reading your own interview. His family always became so excited every time they were shown on TV or featured in the paper. If he was not mistaken, his mother even recorded some of their interviews.

And then he saw it.

Shit.

“What?” He had not realised he said that out loud until Kyle, who was also reading the interview while he held the paper, glanced at him. Brandon shook his head, his eyes refusing to leave that paragraph.

Interviewer: Brandon, you’re rumoured to be dating X-Factor finalist Jessica Forman. Is that true?

Brandon: No! (laughs) I’m single, not dating anyone. It’s so hard to date when you’re in a boyband. The schedules are hectic, you’re always travelling, and it’s also hard to trust people now when you’re getting famous. I’m happy being single as of now. When I find someone good enough… we’ll see what happens.

“Shit, shit, shit.” He threw the paper away and dropped his face in his hands. That was disastrous. Everyone would see it. His family. Ben’s family. Isabel.

He froze.

Brandon knew she read all of their interviews. She would definitely read that one too.

He knew he’d been asked by management to say that. The lads knew it too. But no one else did. And now everyone would think he was playing with Isabel’s feelings.

“Jeez.” Mark shook his head, sympathetically. “Are you in trouble?”

Brandon did not know. He only prayed he was not.