Loobey struggled for words. “Well, you know… I… shit, man, that’s heavy. I mean, sure, marriage will change things – of course it will – but in a good way, right? There’s nothing wrong with settling down and having kids. Believe me, I wouldn’t change a thing if it meant not having my Lucy. Her mum’s a complete nutter and scares me to death, but I look forward to every moment I get to spend with our daughter. It changes you in a good way.”
“Does Lucy know you’re ill?”
“She’s three years old, man. Does Sophie know you’re getting cold feet?”
“Of course not. Why the hell would I tell her that?”
“Seems like she’s the person you should tell the most. You don’t have to get married, but I do think you have to be honest with Sophie.”
“It would break her heart.”
“So would marrying someone who doesn’t want to get married. Talk to her. Maybe she’ll understand.”
“How, when I don’t even understand myself?”
Loobey reached out and patted Ryan on the shoulder. “You think too much, mate. It’s always been your problem. Have you considered that what you’re feeling is normal? Marriage is a big commitment; it’s supposed to be scary. Life is hard and it never stops moving forward, but you have no choice but to roll with it. Don’t you think I wish I could press pause on my cancer for a while so I can catch my breath? Of course I do, but shit ain’t like that. I can only try to embrace each day and try not to puke.” He grabbed a bottle of water from the counter and let out a lengthy sigh. “Seriously, everything will be okay, but I’m struggling to stand right now. I need to go to bed.”
“Of course. Go! I’ll tell everyone to keep it down.”
“Don’t! It’s your stag do, man. I’m just sorry that I…”
Ryan hugged his friend. “Don’t you dare apologise. You’re my best mate, Loobey. I wish you’d told me sooner.”
“Me too. I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Yeah. Good night, Loobs.”
Loobey went to bed, leaving Ryan alone in the kitchenette. He looked over at his other friends, all drinking and laughing in the lounge, and didn’t know whether to join them. Suddenly, he didn’t feel very much like partying.
Chapter Three
“You all right, Ryan?” Brett took his glasses off for a second and rubbed at his eyes. Then he said, “You’re a little quiet. This is your stag do, remember?”
Ryan blinked, exiting his thoughts. “Huh? Oh, yeah, I’m fine, mate, just relaxed. Must be the fire.”
Brett turned to observe the crackling logs on the metal grate inside the stone fireplace. “Nice, isn’t it? I’d love a place like this. Some quiet cottage, removed from all the hustle and bustle, where the nearest bus stop is a few miles away.”
“You mean the exact opposite of Manchester?”
“Yeah, I suppose I do. If I never see another red or blue football shirt again, it will be too soon.”
“You’re joking? I don’t think I could ever leave town. It’s so full of life – the people, the businesses. Whatever you want, whenever you want it. Out here, it’s lovely and that, but I would go out of my mind after a while. I’d have to go into the village every time I wanted to download porn.”
Brett chuckled. “You’d have Sophie.”
“Oh, yeah. Well, I hope you get a place like this one day, mate. You’ve worked for it.”
Sean leapt up on the other side of the room, a fag in his gob and a bottle of vodka in his right hand. Since Loobey had gone to bed an hour ago, Sean had snorted two lines of coke and drank half the bottle he was holding. He was getting progressively louder, and Ryan wanted to tell him to be quiet, but it would inevitably lead to grief for Loobey. Sean had already kicked off about him going to bed early.
Speaking of Sean, he was currently standing on the small sofa and butchering ‘This Charming Man’ by The Smiths. Brett pulled a face at Ryan and exhaled. “Here we go again. At least his singing is taking the pain away from my ankle.”
“I heard that, yer cheeky bastard. Let’s hear you sing.”
Brett shook his head, but Sean kept needling him until he relented and sang a couple of verses with him. By the end, Brett was grinning and drinking more readily. His ankle seemed to bother him less and less.
“I hate this song,” said Aaron, gulping from his latest beer. He had been joining in more and more as the alcohol sank in, his inhibitions melting away. “Sing something else, Sean.”
Sean blasted a finger gun at him. “All right, our kid. This one’s for you.” He started singing Oasis and everyone was powerless not to join in, making it all the way to the first chorus of ‘Wonderwall’ before they collapsed in raucous laughter. Ryan felt bad about Loobey, but this could be the last time he got to be with all his mates like this. No way would he waste it.
He’ll understand. Some day soon, him and me will laugh about this. We’ll celebrate the end of his cancer.
“Oh, I’ve got one,” said Tom, standing up and placing a hand across his diaphragm. He began singing the Verve’s ‘Lucky Man’, even doing an impression of Richard Ashcroft’s sullen voice.
“Nah, nah, nah,” said Sean. “I hate the sodding Verve. Makes me want to slit me wrists.”
“Give over,” said Brett, laughing. “They don’t sound any different than Oasis.”
Sean thrust his hand out with the vodka bottle, sloshing the liquid inside. “Oi! Don’t you piss on Manchester’s greatest sons.”
“Debatable,” said Tom. “What about the Buzzcocks?”
“Never mind the sodding Buzzcocks. No band has ever come close to Oasis. The Gallagher brothers are gods. Only the Happy Mondays come anywhere close.”
“There’s a surprise,” said Tom, swigging his beer and chuckling.
Sean glared, a subtle yet detectable darkening of his features. “You and me
