Page 122 of The Sound Between Us

I gesture around the expensive room, at the whole edifice of success we’ve built around three kids from working-class backgrounds who just wanted to make music that mattered.

“Bit bigger than we started, hey?”

“That’s an understatement,” Jamie mutters. “Remember when we thought selling out the Camden Roundhouse would make us proper rock stars?”

“And now we’re headlining festivals and you want to pack it in,” Dex shakes his head. “Are you sure about this? Really sure? Because once we do this, there’s no going back.”

“I’ve never been more sure of anything.”

The waiter appears with practised discretion, and we order coffee. Jamie immediately starts dismantling his napkin into precise geometric shapes, which means he’s thinking hard about something he doesn’t want to say.

“Maybe you should wait before making your mind up. Take some time. See how you feel after we finish the tour.”

“I’ve had months of time. I know what I want.”

“Which is?”

“To finish this properly. I’ll fly back with you. We finish the tour, we give the fans what they paid for. Then we do one final album, exclusive for Glastonbury. Drop it on the day, say it’s our goodbye.”

The plan feels right as I say it. No bitter breakup, no public feuds, no burning bridges. Just three friends who achieved more than they ever dreamed possible, choosing to end on their own terms.

“The new album,” Dex repeats slowly. “The one you wrote about her?”

“It’s good, Dex. Better than anything we’ve done in years.”

“It’s fucking brilliant. We all know it.”

Jamie looks up from his napkin destruction. “But one song doesn’t make an album.”

“There are others. I’ve been writing again. Properly writing, not just churning out radio-friendly garbage.”

“About her?”

“About everything. About what it feels to remember who you used to be.”

Dex is shaking his head, processing, and when he looks up there’s a familiar glint in his eye. His mouth curves into that troublemaker grin I know too well.

“So, Damon Rogers’ daughter?”

I nod, no shame or defensiveness. This isn’t a secret I’m interested in keeping.

His pause is deliberate, loaded with mischief. “Which one?”

“Shut it. Leave it.”

The protective edge in my voice stops him cold, and Jamie intervenes before the moment can turn ugly.

“He’s happy, Dex. Look at him.”

And I suppose that’s the thing they’re both seeing, that I look myself again instead of the carefully managed version I’ve been performing for the past few years. Present instead of going through the motions.

“I haven’t seen you this... here in ages. You look yourself again.”

“Fair point,” Dex concedes, raising his coffee cup in a mock toast. “You do look less you’re dying slowly of boredom and existential dread.”

“Cheers for that ringing endorsement.”

“What I’m saying is, if this is what makes you human again, I’m not going to argue.”