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Out In The Open

Jonathan Harvey

I first saw you on March the first, 1998. Frankie was up in Manchester on business.
Checking out some clubs for Trade. He phoned me in the afternoon. I was in a cunty mood
and we had a row. Nothing major, but after I put the phone down I started to feel guilty. So I
decided to be dead impulsive and get on a train. And go to his hotel. I get there in the … the
evening. And the bloke on reception says he's gone out for dinner. Did he know where? Yes
he'd made the booking. He'd gone to Mash. So I go to Mash. And I climb up the stairs. Oh,
I'd forgotten to say I was looking devilishly handsome and carrying a big fuck-off bouquet of
flowers. I tell the waiter I'm looking for Mr McAdam. He points out the table. There's a waiter
standing at the next table. Frankie's sitting there with his hand outstretched. The waiter
moves out to reveal that Frankie is in fact holding someone's hand. Your hand. He never
held my hand in public. But he's holding your hand. And I hid behind the flowers. And I
walked out, backwards. I went outside and stood where he couldn't see me, but where I
could get a good look at you. And you were sat there. And you weren't saying much. So little
in fact that I thought, this isn't the first time. In fact, this is worse. This has been going on for
some time.