A Loving Light
Copyright© 2026 by Marc Nobbs
Chapter 10: Loveable Shithole
During my first semester in Westmouth, my social life was consistently predictable. I’d visit one of the campus bars with my friends most weeknights, and on Fridays and Saturdays, we’d go out drinking and dancing. I’d spend the evening dancing and flirting with one of the girls on Amanda’s list, then take the lucky girl back to my room for her Paul Robertson Experience.
My second semester was just as predictable, but with two key differences—all my dancing and flirting had been with Vanessa, and she had waited until the end of the semester to have her Paul Robertson Experience, which meant I had slept alone every night.
As my second year began—my third semester—I’d been with Paige, and at weekends I’d alternate between taking her out on a date one night and drinking and dancing with my friends the other.
Well, for the first half of the semester, at least.
Hannah replaced Paige for the second half of the semester, which meant that while Paige hadn’t gone out with me when I was with my friends, Hannah did, as she was already part of that group.
But since Christmas, during my fourth semester, nothing about my social life had been predictable. Weekend trips to London, Birmingham, and Manchester, dates with Carly on random weeknights, some nights spent dancing, others just sitting on the sofa with her, or me at my desk studying while she sat on the bed writing songs.
The last two months had been a whirlwind—emotionally as much as anything else.
So, as I checked my appearance in the full-length mirror in my bedroom one last time before heading into town with my housemates, I felt a sense of ... calm. Normalcy.
Jamal had referred to my ‘uniform.’ My ‘student’ uniform. And I was still wearing it. Blue jeans instead of black. A different white shirt—short-sleeved rather than long.
I shook my head. Did a person’s clothes really say that much about them? Or was Jamal exaggerating?
Whatever. The point was, my life was possibly getting back into a routine.
Well, ‘routine’ is relative. This time next week, I’d be on the other side of the world. Or the other side of the Atlantic Ocean, at least.
But for this evening ... Yeah, it felt ‘normal’ to be getting ready to go and meet up with a large group of my friends in The Mariner, drink some beer, play some pool and talk shit for an hour or two before heading to the ‘Loveable Shithole,’ as Bobby had described Porky’s, for an evening of revelry and merriment.
Revelry and merriment? Yeah, I shouldn’t have binge-watched that medieval fantasy series during the week.
“Hey, stud.”
I glanced to my left. Amanda. Of course.
“Buy a girl a drink?” She grinned and adjusted her pose to showcase her spectacular figure to maximum effect. “I’ll be really nice to you if you do.”
I rolled my eyes. “Don’t you ever give up?”
“Why would I give up, when the prize is so...” she looked into my eyes. “Rewarding.”
“Mands...”
“Oh, come on, Paul. Tell me you don’t want another go on this fairground ride.” She posed again. “You can’t, can you? You know how compatible we are. You’ll blow my mind, I’ll blow your—”
“Mands!”
“—mind too.” She grinned. “I’ve got a great rack. You’ve got a great—”
“Mands, quit it. It’s not happening.”
She pouted. “Spoilsport.”
While we’d been ... What? Could you call what Amanda was doing ‘flirting’? I don’t think you could. It was too brazen for that. And I certainly wasn’t flirting with her. If anything, I was deflecting her. But while that was happening, whatever it was, the barman had completed my order.
I rolled my eyes again.
“Help me carry this round back to the table?”
She picked up two of the bottles of that horrid vodka-based fruit drink she and her friends preferred from the tray and smiled at me.
The tray wasn’t exactly going to be any easier to carry as a result.
“So,” she said as we weaved our way through the crowd back to our group’s table by the large window overlooking the seafront. “Is this ‘personal assistant’ of yours the next to get the Paul Robertson Experience?”
“Executive Assistant,” I said. “And no. It’s not like that.”
“Why’d you invite her along tonight then?”
“Why not? She’s the same age as us. More or less. And she’s been working hard for me. She deserves a night out.”
“If she’s been working that hard, she deserves a Paul Rob—”
“Quit it.”
She grinned.
When we got to our table, I put the tray down, picked up my own pint, then said to Mark, “One of the pool tables is finally free.”
“Excellent. You go over and grab it, I’ll round up the boys and join you in a sec.”
I nodded, then turned my attention to Marie, who was sitting between Imogen and Emily—the now ‘standard’ position for thorough grilling by two members of Chloë’s group chat. Although Chloë had now added Marie to the group chat.
That couldn’t be good for me.
“All good?” I asked.
She reached out to pick up her glass of Coke. “I am now.” She smiled. “No, seriously, I’m good. Immy and Emily have lots of stories about you that I haven’t heard before.”
I shook my head.
Yeah, that wasn’t good for me at all.
I surveyed the table and, more importantly, the balls on it. Mark and I were teaming up against Phil and Jem. Mark had potted a red with his break, but he’d also scattered the balls, making a run on the table tricky. He’d potted another red, then missed the next shot. Phil then potted three yellows in a row before missing. That put us one ball behind, but from the cue ball’s position, there were three reds I could pot.
I faced a choice. Play it safe by potting the easy two, leaving Jem a difficult clearance, or go for the hero shot—the long pot down the table that could open up the rest of the reds but risk handing Jem the game if I missed.
High risk. High reward.
Was that my life now?
I glanced to my left at Mark.
He shrugged. “It’s your call, mate.”
“I should take these two and try to leave it safe from the third shot. Give you a chance to clean up after that.”
“You do remember Jem’s a fucking whizz at this, right? Give him an inch...”
I glanced at him. “I’m acutely aware of that.”
“Acutely aware? You swallow a fucking dictionary or something, mate?”
“The ‘boardroom’ must be rubbing off on me.”
“Either that or it’s your law lectures.”
I looked at him out of the side of my eyes.
“No, you’re right,” he said. “It’s the boardroom.”
Someone tapped on my right elbow. I looked to my side.
“Lana! What are you doing here?”
“Pleased to see you, too, Paul,” she said with a grin.
“No, I don’t mean ... It’s just ... You don’t normally—”
“Lily persuaded me to come out.” She paused. “And the girls in the group chat.”
Under my breath, I muttered, “Fucking group chat.”
She raised an eyebrow. “If you don’t want me here...” Her eyes twinkled.
“No, no, I’m glad you’re here. You should come out more.”
“That’s what the group chat said.”
I rubbed my face with my hand. “How many are in this group chat now?”
She shrugged. “Everyone who cares about you, Paul.”
“If you’ve finished flirting, it’s your fucking shot,” Jem said from the other side of the table.
Both Lana and I looked over at him and said at the same time, “We’re not flirting.”
I glanced at her, then stepped forward to take my shot.
“You know what he’s gonna do now, don’t you?” Phil said to Jem.
“Fucking show off, that’s what he’s gonna do.”
“I’ll go and get another round in,” Phil said. “This game’s as good as over.”
“Are you really coming to Porky’s?” I asked. Lana and I had rejoined the others at the table by the window. Some of the other boys in our group had joined Mark, Phil and Jem after I’d cleared the table and won the game.
Lana shrugged. “Well, I’m not staying in the pub on my own when the rest of you leave.”
“But you said you hated the place.”
“I said I hated the first two times I’d been there.”
“Same thing, isn’t it?”
“Not necessarily,” said Marie, who was sitting on my left. Emily had shifted to the right to accommodate Lana and me. “You can go somewhere but not enjoy it because you’re not with the right people.”
Her expression shifted slightly for a second—barely long enough to notice.
I looked to my right. Lana shrugged. “I didn’t really know anyone very well at the start of term. I can’t really relax unless I’m comfortable with the people around me.” She smiled. “Still, you can’t deny that Porky’s is a shithole.”
I chuckled. “A loveable shithole.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t go that far,” Imogen said from the other side of Marie. “‘Loveable’ is a stretch. Tolerable, maybe.”
I shook my head. “It’s what Bobby—one of my directors—called it.”
“Oh, listen to Mr CEO, here,” Emily said. “One of my directors. Speaking of which, how come we—” She gestured to Imogen and then back to herself. “—haven’t been invited to Atlanta? That’s what I want to know.”
“Well ... I ... Er ... I mean...”
“She’s teasing,” said Imogen. “But we do get tickets, flights, hotels and backstage passes to this celebrity-filled Exclusive Preview opening night, don’t we?”
“Yes, yes. Of course. Goes without saying.”
Lana caught my eye. “You know she’s teasing, too, right?”
I shrugged. “Doesn’t matter if she is or not. Having my chosen family at the opening night is non-negotiable.”
On the other side of Lana, I could see Emily smile warmly.
“Hey,” said Marie, “I didn’t tell you about Paul’s speech at the meeting.”
I groaned. “Please, don’t.”
“No. No,” she said, putting her hand on my arm. “You should have seen it. You should have been there. It was epic. It really was. He was standing there in front of, like, all these older people, all these experienced people, and he was all, ‘This is my mission. If you’re not with me, there’s the door.’” She threw her arm out, nearly hitting me on the head. “It was brilliant.” She looked at me. “You were brilliant.”
“It wasn’t like she makes it sound,” I said. “I really had no clue what I was going to say when I started to speak.”
“Which makes it all the more impressive,” Marie said. “It wasn’t prepared or rehearsed. It was from the heart. You meant every word of it. That’s what convinced them all to get on board.” She looked past me to Lana. “You really should have come. It was so good.”
Lana looked at me and said quietly, “I wish I’d seen it. But...”
“But what?” Marie said.
Lana also looked past me to speak to Marie. “I don’t think he’d have been able to do it if I’d been there.”
Marie raised her eyebrows and nodded.
I frowned and asked, “What do you mean by that?”
She shrugged.
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