Page 4 of Two Hit Wonder

The cottage had thick walls that kept out the worst of the Scottish weather, a fireplace that actually worked, and just enough room for one person who didn't need much. A bedroom, a bathroom, a kitchen that doubled as a living room. Her guitar sat in the corner, the good one, the one she actually played. Beside it, a stack of manuscript paper and a laptop that had seen better days.

This was where she worked. Where she wrote songs for other people to sing.

It had started as desperation. She'd needed money and had nothing to sell except the music in her head. The first few songs had been terrible, written in the shaking aftermath of early sobriety, when she couldn't trust herself to string a sentence together, let alone a melody. But she'd gotten better. The songs had gotten better. And somewhere along the line, she'd realized that this was maybe a life she could live.

Write the song. Send it off. Collect the check. Never have to stand on a stage, never have to see her own face on a poster, never have to be Maeve Maureen MacDonnell, lead singer of The Stage Girls ever again.

Some of her songs had even been hits. She heard them on the radio sometimes, sung by people who were younger and stronger than she was. It was a strange feeling, hearing her words in someone else's mouth. But it was safe. Anonymous.

She was halfway through her second cup of tea when she heard chaos approaching.

Glinna Campbell didn't arrive anywhere quietly. Glinna Campbell arrived with an entourage, whether she wanted one or not. Today's entourage consisted of four of her six children. Robbie, who was twelve and had inherited his mother's talent for being in everyone's business; the twins, Isla and Hamish, who were seven and had inherited nothing but a gift for destruction; and somewhere in the midst of it all, a baby that Maeve couldn't quite see but could definitely hear.

"Maeve!" Glinna called, pushing open the door without knocking. "Are you decent? Not that it matters, the twins have already seen everything there is to see in this world, haven't you both?"

"We saw a dead fox!" Hamish announced proudly.

"It was really dead," Isla added, in case there was any doubt. "It smelled."

"Lovely," Maeve said. She stayed exactly where she was, at the kitchen table, while the Campbell family invaded her space. "Tea?"

"God, yes." Glinna deposited the baby, which would be Charity, the youngest and Maeve's goddaughter, into Maeve's arms without asking and started filling the kettle. "Robbie, don't touch that. Twins, sit down. No, on chairs, not on… Hamish, I said chairs."

Charity looked up at Maeve with round, trusting eyes. She was, objectively, a very cute baby. Maeve held her awkwardly, the way she always held babies: like they were unexploded ordnance that might go off at any moment.

"You could look a bit more comfortable," Glinna observed.

"I could," Maeve agreed. "But that would require being a different person entirely."

"She won't break, you know."

"I've heard that before. Generally right before something breaks."

Glinna laughed, which was one of the things Maeve appreciated about her. She never took offense when Maeve was being prickly. She just assumed, correctly, usually, that Maeve didn't actually mean half of what she said.

They'd known each other for years now. Glinna had been the one to find Maeve, back when she'd first fled north, burned out and barely functional. She'd seen something in the wreck that Maeve had been and decided it was worth salvaging. She'd offered her the cottage. She'd offered her AA meetings and didn't judge when Maeve showed up shaking. She'd offered her friendship, patient and persistent, until Maeve had finally stopped trying to push her away.

There weren't many people Maeve trusted. Glinna was one of them. Glinna was probably the only one, to be honest.

"So, I've got news," Glinna said, handing over a cup of tea and extracting Charity from Maeve's arms in one smooth motion. "And you're not going to like it."

"That's a promising start."

"The council's been on again. About the water supply." Glinna sat down at the table, shifting Charity to her hip. "They're finally connecting the cottages to the mains. All the old properties along this stretch."

Maeve felt something cold settle in her stomach. "Connecting them how?"

"Digging. Lots of digging. The whole lane, basically. They'll need access to the cottage, too. New pipes, new fixtures, the lot," Glinna said. "You'll need to move out for a few months. Two, maybe three."

"Move out." The words didn't quite compute. "Move out where?"

"Well, you could stay with us. The kids would love it. Charity adores you."

"Your house has six children in it. And Neil. And those chickens you keep in the kitchen."

"They're not in the kitchen, they're in the utility room, and they're only there because the coop's being repaired."

"Glinna." Maeve's voice came out sharper than she'd intended. She took a breath. "I can't. You know I can't."