Page 32 of Two Hit Wonder

"A show?" Maeve said, turning to Cam.

"Yeah, didn’t I say?" Cam said. "I talked to Shepherd. He's agreed to represent us. Provisionally. As long as we do a trial show. Open mic night at a club in Manchester. Prove we can actually perform in front of people without falling apart."

"When?" Iona asked.

"Couple of weeks. Plenty of time to get our act together." Cam's phone buzzed, and she glanced at it, smiling at something on the screen before tucking it away. "Same time tomorrow?"

IONA WAITED UNTIL everyone had left, then went to find Mo, who was sitting on the kerb outside, kicking at a loose piece of tarmac.

"That was rude," she said.

"It was honest."

"Honesty and rudeness aren't mutually exclusive."

Mo shrugged. "She's weird. That Maeve woman."

"She's not weird. She's just…" Iona searched for the right word. "Private."

"She’s weird."

Iona sat down next to her daughter on the kerb, not caring about the state of her jeans. "She's been living alone in Scotland for fifteen years. She's out of practice with people."

"That's sad."

"Is it?"

Mo considered this. "Yeah. Kind of. Also, a bit pathetic."

"Mo."

"What? It is. You can't just hide from everything forever. At some point, you have to actually live your life."

Iona looked at her daughter. Fourteen years old, all sharp edges and attitude, but occasionally saying things that cut right to the heart of something without even knowing she was doing it. "You're right," Iona said. "You can't hide forever."

The question was how to make Maeve see that. How to get her to loosen her grip, stop trying to control everything, trust the rest of them enough to actually collaborate. Because right now Maeve was holding on so tight that nothing could breathe, not the music, not the band, not any of them.

And if Iona couldn't find a way to crack that open, the whole thing was going to suffocate before it even got started.

Chapter Twelve

A week of rehearsals, and they still sounded like four people who happened to be in the same room at the same time.

Maeve stood at the microphone, watching the others take five, and tried to pinpoint exactly what was wrong. Technically, they were fine. Better than fine, actually. Cam had mostly stopped speeding up. Ellie's bass lines were solid. Iona's guitar work was as good as it had ever been, maybe better.

But it wasn't right. There was no spark. No moment where the music stopped being four separate parts and became one thing.

She'd spent years writing songs for other people to sing. She knew what a song was supposed to feel like when it worked. This wasn't it.

Iona was fiddling in the studio’s little kitchen corner, humming something under her breath. She looked up and caught Maeve watching her. Smiled. Maeve looked away.

That was the other thing. Fifteen years, and Maeve had thought she knew Iona. Sunshine girl. People pleaser. The one who smoothed things over and made everyone feel better about themselves. But Iona had got married. Twice. Had a child. Built an entire life that Maeve knew nothing about. And she'd done it all while Maeve was hiding in a cottage arguing with a sheep. What else didn't she know? What other secrets were tucked away in those fifteen years?

"Tea?"

Maeve blinked. Iona was standing in front of her, holding out a mug. Steam rose from it in lazy curls. "What?"

"Tea," Iona repeated patiently. "It's a hot beverage. You drink it."