Page 24 of Two Hit Wonder

Then Cam launched herself off her drum stool with a noise that could only be described as a squeal, crossed the room in three strides, and threw her arms around Maeve's neck. The hug went on for slightly too long. Long enough that Maeve's face cycled through surprise, tolerance, and finally landed somewhere near resignation.

"Okay," Maeve said, her voice muffled against Cam's shoulder. "Okay. That's enough. You can let go now."

"I really can't," Cam said. "I've been waiting years for this. You're going to have to pry me off."

Ellie stood up and approached with more restraint. She extended her hand for a formal shake. Maeve took it. Then Ellie pulled her forward into an awkward half-hug that neither of them seemed to know how to execute, their arms at strange angles, patting each other's backs like distant acquaintances at a funeral.

"It's good to see you," Ellie said, stepping back. "You look… well."

"I look like I haven't slept in two days," Maeve said flatly. "Because I haven't."

"Still. Good to see you."

Maeve's eyes finally found Iona. For a moment, neither of them said anything. The air between them felt thick, charged.

"Hi," Iona managed.

"Hi."

Such tiny words to carry so much weight.

Cam clapped her hands together, shattering the moment with characteristic subtlety. "Right! Brilliant! The gang's back together! Well, most of the gang. The important parts of the gang. Should we… do something? Play something? Has anyone got champagne?"

"No champagne," Ellie said quickly, with a fleeting glance at Maeve. "And maybe we should ease in."

"I don't need easing," Maeve said. She crossed the room and picked up the battered microphone stand, examining it like she was checking for structural damage. "We're here. Might as well see if this is a complete waste of everyone's time. And I don’t drink anymore. Just so you know."

Classic Maeve. Iona had forgotten how blunt she could be. Or maybe she hadn't forgotten, just filed it away somewhere she didn't have to look at it.

They took their positions. It felt strange, standing where she'd stood so many times before, guitar in hand, but with fifteen years of distance making everything feel tilted. Ellie was checking her bass, adjusting the strap. Cam had settled behind her drums, already doing little fills to warm up. And Maeve was at the microphone, not looking at any of them.

"So," Iona said into the silence. She didn't know why she was talking. Just needed to fill the gap. "How are you finding London?"

Maeve glanced at her. For a second, something crossed her face. Honesty, or the edge of it. "Overwhelming," she said. "Loud. Too many people. I'd forgotten what it was like to be surrounded by that much… everything."

Iona waited. There was more there, she could tell. Something Maeve was holding back.

"But it's fine," Maeve added, her voice flattening out again. "Nothing I can't handle."

And there it was. The shutters coming down. Maeve retreating into her hard shell.

"Ready?" Ellie asked. Her voice was steady, but Iona could see the tension in her shoulders.

"Let's just… start with something simple," Cam suggested. "The opening of Summer Days. Just to warm up."

They all knew Summer Days. It had been one of their first songs, back when they were teenagers writing music in Ellie's parents' garage. Before the record deal. Before I Wanna Be a Star. Before everything went sideways.

Cam counted them in.

The first few bars were rough. Worse than rough. Ellie's fingers sounded like they were fighting the bass strings, finding notes a fraction late. Cam started at a reasonable tempo and then, predictably, began to speed up like she always did. Iona's guitar sounded thin without the vocals, just a skeleton of a melody. And Maeve hadn't even started singing, just stood at the microphone with her eyes closed, waiting.

Then she opened her mouth.

The first note hit Iona somewhere behind the ribcage. It wasn't perfect. Maeve's voice was rougher than it used to be, lower, with an edge that hadn't been there before. Time had done something to it, worn it down and built it up in equal measure. But it was still unmistakably hers. Still that voice that could make you feel like she was singing directly into your soul, pulling out secrets you didn't know you had.

The music tightened around them. Ellie found her groove, her fingers finally settling into the familiar patterns. Cam pulled back on the tempo, settling into something steadier, that eager rushing tendency finally under control. And Iona's fingers remembered what her brain had almost forgotten, finding the progressions by muscle memory, weaving around Maeve's voice like they'd never stopped.

It wasn't the same. How could it be? They were all older, rustier, carrying the weight of years of separate lives. But somewhere in the middle of the second verse, something clicked. That intangible thing that had made them a band in the first place. The way four separate instruments could stop being four separate things and become one thing.