A/N: this book died in my head but I had so many messages asking when I was going to update. It's taken me so long to pick this shit up, but here you are.
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Sunday 30th April 1995, 9:45am
(Y/N)'s flat,
Camden,
London
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My face cracked open to the sound of the phone ringing. It thundered right through my pounding head and I swore quite loudly. My bed was empty, Damon had left early. I heard him wake up, sheets shuffling as he pulled on his jeans and gathered his things. I pretended to be asleep, mornings were always a reminder of things that were forgotten in the previous night. He kissed my cheek before he left. But now he was gone, and the phone was left ringing shrilly through my flat. I pulled the covers off, putting on a large shirt that I think might have been one of the items of clothing George kept leaving in my house when he borrowed any of my clothes. I padded through the hallway and picked up the call.
"Hello (y/n), I hope it's not too early," a voice spoke down the phone.
"It is a bit actually, but it won't do me any harm. Sorry to be rude but who actually is this?"
"It's Jamie, you gave me your number last night."
"Did I? Oh..." I paused a moment, trying to remember. "No memory of that I'm afraid," I laughed.
"Oh well, what are you doing today?"
"Fuck all."
"Do you want to meet me for a coffee? I can give you that Tank Girl VHS you were after."
"Yeah, why not, where are you? I'll meet you halfway."
We set a meeting place and I got ready. I pulled on some jeans, did my makeup and decided to leave the oversized shirt on, I liked the way it draped loosely, exposing my collar. I picked up some change and cigs and a lighter, shoved them into my coat pocket and left, locking up my flat and heading down the stairs. The tube ride was boring as usual. An older woman was sat across from me giving me evils for no apparent reason.
When I walked in to the café Jamie was already sat at a table, nice and discreet in a corner. I walked over to him. When he saw me he stood up and gave me a friendly hug before sitting back down and asking me whether I wanted a coffee or not. I said yeah and he offered to go and order and pay, which I told him was ridiculous as he was working as an artist, a profession famously difficult to make money in, and I was working in the music industry, an industry that once you had broken you could sell any old bollocks. He didn't argue.
My black coffee ordered, I returned to my seat. Jamie raised an eyebrow.
"I thought you'd go for something a bit less boring than that."
"How do you mean?" I replied.
"Well it's a bit of a boring choice. I suppose it works if you're French, but you're not very French."
"Je m'oppose a ça," I joked. "Je suis trés Français."
"Bollocks! You're an English rose if ever I saw one!"
"Une rose Anglais?" I questioned, doing my best impression of a French art house film character.
"Nice try, you're not French, you're just a good actress."
"You'd hope so, I went to bloody drama school!" I laughed, giving him a friendly shove. He raised an eyebrow.
"Drama school?"
"Yeah, well I'm in the music industry, it had to be art or drama school."
"Is that where the band met?" Jamie asked, grinning and stirring his coffee.
