Page 12 of Two Hit Wonder

"Life isn't fair. I thought you'd have figured that out by now."

Iona stared at her. "That was unnecessary."

"Really? Because you’ve always been the Sweet Summer Child, Iona. Have you still not figured out that the world will eat you if you let it?"

Iona closed her eyes for a second. In the fifteen years of memory she’d forgotten that Maeve could be like this, could do this, could cut to the heart of her in just a few words. She took a breath and opened her eyes again. "Look," she said, changing tactics. "Ellie's in too. She wants this. We all do."

"Good for Ellie."

"She misses you, you know. We all missed you."

"Then you should have written a postcard."

The accusation was quiet, almost offhand. Iona opened her mouth to respond and found she had nothing. Because Maeve was right. They hadn't written. They'd let her disappear into the Scottish wilderness and they'd told themselves it was for the best, that she needed space, that she'd come back when she was ready.

She'd never come back. And they'd never gone looking. Not until now, when they needed something from her.

"You could have written too," Iona said finally, weakly.

"I was busy not dying of alcohol poisoning."

"That's fair."

"I know it's fair. I'm always fair." Maeve's delivery was so dry it could have kindled a fire. "Ask anyone."

"I'm asking you. To just… think about it. Come to London. See the others. Play with us once. If it's terrible, you can come straight back here and live with your sheep and never speak to us again."

"She's not my sheep."

"She seems very attached to you," Iona said doubtfully, looking out to where the sheep was standing watch by the garden gate.

"She's attached to my garden. Specifically, to eating it. And biting anyone who isn't me." Maeve paused. "Although she has attempted to bite me as well. We have an understanding now."

"What kind of understanding?"

"She doesn't bite me too hard, and I don't call the council to have her forcibly relocated." Maeve shrugged. "It's a work in progress."

"Right." Iona couldn't help it. She smiled. "Very healthy relationship."

"The healthiest I've had in years."

That sat awkwardly in the air for a moment. Iona didn't know what to do with it. She wasn't sure Maeve knew either. "Shepherd says he'll represent us," Iona tried. "But only if you're involved."

"Shepherd can take a long walk off a short cliff path."

"Shepherd’s the best agent in the business."

"He wants money the same as all the rest," Maeve's voice was carefully neutral. "Don’t blame him, but that’s his job."

"You were the heart of the band. You know that. We all know that. Without you, we're just three women making noise in a room." Iona paused. "Not very good noise either," she added, wanting to be truthful.

"Flattery doesn't work on me."

"I know. But I’m being honest with you."

Maeve was quiet for a long moment. Outside, the sheep bleated. Iona waited, barely breathing, hope flickering despite everything.

"I have a life here," Maeve said finally. "It's small. It's quiet. Nobody expects anything from me except my landlord and the sheep. I write songs for other people to sing, and I stay out of trouble, and I don't miss any of it. The fame. The attention. The feeling that everyone is watching, waiting for you to fall apart."