Page 66 of Two Hit Wonder

"Thank you," Iona said, and meant it. "That's very kind."

"Can I get a photo with everyone?"

"Let me find the others."

Cam was surrounded by a small crowd of people who all seemed to know her from somewhere. One of them was holding a bottle of champagne. Another was wearing a vintage Stage Girls t-shirt that Iona was fairly certain they'd never actually made.

"Where did you get that?" she asked.

"Made it myself," the person said proudly. "Screen printed. I've got extras if you want one."

"I absolutely want one."

Ellie had retreated to a corner and was having a quiet conversation with someone who turned out to be a music blogger. She looked pale but happy.

A teenager appeared at Iona's elbow, holding a teddy bear. The bear was wearing a tiny guitar.

"This is for you," the teenager said. "I know it's weird. My mum made me bring it. She said you probably wouldn't remember but you signed her CD at a meet-and-greet in Sheffield and she's never forgotten."

Iona took the bear. It was soft and slightly lopsided. "Please tell your mum thank you," she said. "This is possibly the best thing anyone has ever given me."

"Really?"

"I'm going to put it on my amp during every show from now on. It can be our mascot."

The teenager's face lit up. "She's going to freak out. Can I take a picture of you holding it?"

They took eighteen pictures, from various angles, with different poses. By the time the teenager left, Iona's face hurt from smiling, and she was clutching the teddy bear to her chest like a trophy.

She needed to find Maeve. Share this with her. Show her the ridiculous bear and the ridiculous night and the ridiculous fact that people still cared, after everything, after fifteen years of silence. She made her way through the thinning crowd, nodding at faces she half-recognized, until she reached the door to the dressing room.

The door was closed.

She pushed it open.

Maeve was sitting at the dressing table she’d claimed, her back to the door. The overhead light was harsh and unflattering, picking out the sweat still damp on her neck, the tangled mess of her hair. She didn't turn around when Iona came in.

For a second, Iona just wanted to kiss her, wanted to say that they had it all back, that it was like nothing had ever changed, that this was what they’d always wanted, always promised to be.

Then Iona saw the bottle.

It was sitting on the dressing table, inches from Maeve's hand. Whiskey. Good whiskey, from the look of it, the kind with a name you couldn't pronounce and a price tag that made you wince. Someone had tied a ribbon around the neck.

A long silence stretched. Iona could hear the muffled sounds of the venue clearing out, voices and laughter and the clatter of glasses being collected. Normal sounds. Happy sounds. Then Maeve looked up and caught Iona’s reflection in the mirror, her eyes catching in a second what Iona was looking at.

She swallowed, but said nothing.

And suddenly, Iona couldn’t do this. Couldn’t deal with it. Couldn’t parse the sentence that she knew she wanted to say.

She picked up her gear, her guitar case and her bag, slung both over her shoulder and walked out without a word.

THE NIGHT AIR as she walked to her car was cool against the warmth of the stage lights still clinging to her skin. Her makeup was going to be a disaster by the time she got home, mascara probably already smudging, lipstick worn away to nothing. She hadn’t bothered to remove it. Hadn’t even bothered to say goodbye to Cam and Ellie. They’d wonder where she was, what she was doing.

But she'd spent fifteen years thinking about what it would be like to have the old Maeve back. The wild one, the brilliant one, the one who'd kissed her backstage at a club in Camden and tasted like possibility.

And standing in the cool breeze outside Churchill’s Black Dog, teddy bear tucked under her arm, Iona realized she didn't want the old Maeve at all. She wanted this one. The one who'd rebuilt herself from scratch. The one who'd spent a decade and a half writing songs in a cottage in Scotland, proving she could be different.

And now she was terrified that she'd dragged Maeve back into a world that would break her again.