Simmer Dim

Eden likes having David sleep over, but likes a lot less the part where he has to call his brother beforehand and in the morning, constantly checking in with him to ask permission and make sure he isn't needed. In a way it feels like being chaperoned, the two of them carefully monitored by this guy she hasn't even met.

But at this point in the evening it no longer feels like a big deal--the two of them are curled up under a blanket on the threadbare couch, half-naked, halfway through a twelve-pack, looking at pictures of Orkney on the laptop. She's feeling lazy and warm, David's arm around her shoulders and her settled in his lap, laughing at the way his accent gets thicker when he's tipsy. Giggling makes her shoulders shake and she leans back against him, closing her eyes, with a little hum.

"I love you."

Matthew is getting more and more comfortable about the idea of Kamal, about the idea of being around him and being with him and not driving himself into panicky fits at the very thought of him. When he dresses for this dinner, he makes sure his bottle of Valium is in the pocket of his suit, but he only takes one ahead of time and he doesn't drink any beer or even smoke one of his cigarettes (he's trying to keep the smell off his clothes).

He manages to tame his hair somewhat, and straightens his tie obsessively, but by seven o'clock he's at the agreed-upon restaurant, even wearing cufflinks, looking exceptionally respectable and only a little nervous. The nervousness, though, is half-eclipsed by the brilliance of his smile.

Daphne is going back to England. Shortly, in fact. To Oxford for Michaelmas term. As such, she's having a summer of saying goodbye to her mates, doing New York-y things like Shakespeare in the Park and spending a day at the Met.

She is NOT giving much time or thought to the sort of jerk who bought her some drinks and awkwardly introduced her to his family and then decided not to call for awhile which was BEST really as she certainly wasn't going to call him.

All of which would be fine and dandy, except her best mate Rachel has decided she wants to go see Simmer Dim once more before they leave New York. And as Daphne hasn't exactly told her friends about Andy, she can't very well give a legitimate reason not to go.

He's probably got bored and moved on anyway, she thinks. She's making a tempest in a tea kettle, and nothing's going to happen.

So she dresses nice for a night of bar hopping and concert going, in a green halter top and a swishy little brown skirt. Everything is going to be fine.

Left alone, David goes back to his own room, swearing under his breath. He picks up the coffee he brought back, lukewarm now, and downs half of it; any inclination he had toward actual food is gone. After a minute he goes hunting for his phone, and dials Eden's number with a slightly shaky finger.

True to his word, Matthew shows up at the coffee shop the next day to meet Kamal there. This time it only takes one Xanax, and no beer at all, and he even makes sure the cigarette smell is cleaned off him before he arrives. Admittedly he didn't sleep last night, and had a bit of a panic attack at David, but by noon he's presentable and his heart rate is only a quarter again what it should be instead of twice.

He looks around hopefully, a bit of a half-smile on his lips.

It takes about half a pack of his American Spirits, one or two of the Xanax the doctor in Edinburgh prescribes him, and a bottle of some reasonably inoffencive microbrew, but eventually Matthew works himself up to the point where he can pick up the card Kamal gave him and dial the number into his mobile.

The worst Kamal can do is say no, he reminds himself, reciting David; although as far as he's concerned this is an outright lie.

Even David eventually gets to a point where he needs downtime, and he's spending the Tuesday afternoon sprawled on the bed in the room he shares with Matthew, with a battered book of crosswords for company. That, of course, and the phone. Theoretically this is for the purpose of coordinating the movements of six people; actually it's mostly in case Eden calls him.

Matthew assures himself repeatedly that Kamal did not seem like the kind of guy to say he'd show up and then cancel, but he still breathes short until he can pick Kamal out of the crowd in the pub. After the performances he hurries in between the people, elbowing them aside while looking as inconspicuous as possible.

"Hey! Hey, you made it! Come backstage, I want you to talk to Greig. What did you think? Did you like the show?"

Andy is aware that he is losing Daphne's interest somewhat, but she is certainly not losing his, mainly as she still has not slept with him. To this end he has decided upon a new strategy to put things back on the course he is hoping for.

So on Sunday morning, fighting his hangover, he calls her to invite her to lunch with his family. Then he informs the others that he's having a girl over to meet them, and endures the somewhat suspicious looks this rather unprecedented act earns him. He calls down to room service for a decent lunch to be brought up, and even bothers to put on something not what he passed out in the night before.

And at twelve-thirty he is ready and waiting for her in the lobby of the hotel.

Matthew is, for once, feeling almost all right; talking to Claire helps in a way he can't quite express, fills a little of the feeling of emptiness and loneliness that's always following him. He slept well last night, and in the morning, instead of holing himself up in his hotel room with two packs of American Spirits and a carafe of coffee, he decides to try going out.

It takes some work, some difficulty with subway maps, several trips to several Starbucks, one anxiety attack that leaves him shivering in an alleyway, and a nice Indian couple with a corner grocery, but finally he manages to get Central Park, with a caramel latte and his messenger bag full of notebook pages and crackly old books of celtic lyrics.

Once he's sure that he's in the right place he finds a bench off the beaten path and settles down there, crosslegged, balancing his drink on one knee and papers strewn across his lap. To-day might actually be a good day.

The concert is over for the night, and it's only ten o'clock; Claire insisted, for reasons Andy doesn't feel like parsing out. Probably over Matthew, who's been looking poorly, which only annoys him, because he's never stopped feeling guilty for being the one who took Matthew out the night of his suicide attempt. Andy hates feeling guilty.

So to distract himself he calls the number on his hand. He doesn't remember infinite amounts about the girl who wrote it there, just that she was pretty, English, and definitely making fun of him a couple of times. Still, she might be willing to keep him company for the night, and that's all he really asks from a girl anyway.

Claire is practicing, barefoot in the middle of her room.

"'Why wear a blue kerchief, maiden, I said. Because the blue color is not one to fade..."

David manages to alert Greig and Claire to his plans, while avoiding the others -- Gareth will be blithely amused, Andrew obnoxiously so, and he really isn't in the mood for either. At seven sharp he's in the hotel lobby, freshly combed and trying not to bite his fingernails. (She is so pretty, she is so clever, and how is he going to pull this off without fouling up again?)

Eden has the day off, but even on her days off she tends to visit the aquarium (in her private fantasies she owns the aquarium and she has to check on her exhibits to make sure the tropical fish, seahorses, and gorgeous jellies are doing okay). Thom always lets her get in without paying, since it does make that big of a difference anyway.

It's about three, and she's finally breaking for lunch. Usually that means getting something to do and walking down the street where all the nightclubs and venues are, checking the marquees to see whether any of the bands sound worth going to. She has a salad in a plastic box, and she's studying the two-inch high letters announcing Simmer Dim. It is, in her opinion, not the most enticing name she has ever heard.

Claire and Greig are both early risers. To both of them, sleeping late is anathema. Never mind how late they got to bed, if it is morning, they must be up.

By ten past seven Greig has gone on his first jog of the day, showered, dressed, and joined Claire at a coffee bar across the street from the hotel. They're perched on tall stools in the front window, half behind the big gilt letters spelling out the shop's name.

Greig has a notebook balanced on his knee. Claire has loose notes ranged in front of her.

"I don't know," Greig says, "The Blue Kerchief is a good counterpart to An Old Man Courted Me, but with all the times we've done it, I can't decide if it should go before or after."

Unlike his brother, Andy is not interested in being solitary, particularly not before a concert. As a rule he generally performs drunk, and the fact that it is six in the morning does not disturb him, as his sleeping habits are not particularly normal.

And there's always an all-night bar somewhere. He settles in with a pint of beer and a few shots of whiskey, as that really comprises the perfect balanced breakfast.

Matthew is firmly ensconced in his hotel room--he doesn't mind when they're just in the city, but the occasional venue outside of Manhattan triggers all his nervous centres, and he's doing his best to pretend that nothing else exists besides him and his pages of notes. He's not writing his own lyrics for the time being, just rearranging traditionals into a form he likes better, which is less stressful overall.

He is chain-smoking, something he only does when he's writing. There are two empty packs on the table already, the ashtray is overflowing, and he has another one between his fingers as he frowns at the paper, tapping a rhythm on his knee.

He hasn't been outside in over twelve hours, nor has he stopped to eat, but that's normal. He doesn't really think anyone is going to bother him over that. Not really.