Page 7 of Two Hit Wonder

"Cam." Shepherd cut her off gently. "I've been in this business for twenty years. I've seen dozens of bands try to replace their lead singer. It almost never works. And in your case…" He shook his head. "The Stage Girls had a sound. It was Maeve's voice. Without it, you're just three talented women playing cover versions of your own songs."

"That's a bit harsh," Ellie said.

"That's reality." Shepherd stood up, brushing imaginary lint from his suit. "I want to help you. I do. But I'm not going to represent a band that can't deliver. If you want me as your agent again, you need Maeve."

"She won't come back," Iona heard herself say. Her voice sounded strange in her own ears. Hollow. "She made that very clear when she left."

"Then convince her." Shepherd picked up his briefcase. "You've got my number. Call me when you've got something worth selling."

He was at the door when he paused and looked back at Iona. "Actually, walk me out?"

It wasn't really a question. Iona unhooked her guitar and followed him out into the corridor, which was somehow even worse than the studio. The carpet was sticky underfoot and the lighting had a weird green tinge to it that made everything look sort of moldy.

"This isn't just about business," Shepherd said, once they were out of earshot.

"Isn't it?"

"No." He turned to face her, and there was something in his expression that Iona recognized. It was the look he used to get when they were married, when she was about to do something impulsive and he was trying to work out how to talk her out of it without seeming like a condescending arse. "I know you, Iona. I was married to you. I watched you for years."

"Slightly creepy when you put it like that."

"You rush into things." He said it gently, but the words still stung. "You throw yourself in headfirst without checking how deep the water is. And sometimes it works out, and sometimes you end up drowning."

"Is this about the band, or about Maeve?"

Shepherd's silence was answer enough.

"I thought so." Iona folded her arms across her chest. "It was fifteen years ago, Shepherd. We were kids."

"You were nineteen. And I was twenty-four, and I remember very clearly what it was like to watch you around her." He reached out and touched her arm, a gesture so familiar that it made Iona's throat tight. "I'm not saying don't do this. I'm saying… be careful. Know what you're walking into. You loved her once, and it nearly broke you when she left."

"I didn't love her," Iona said automatically.

Shepherd just looked at her.

"Fine. Maybe a little." She huffed out a breath. "But that was a long time ago. I'm different now."

"Are you?"

"I have a daughter. A mortgage. Gray hairs I have to dye out every six weeks. I'm a completely different person."

"And Maeve?"

Iona didn't have an answer for that. She had no idea who Maeve was now. She only knew who Maeve had been: fierce and frightened and furiously talented, with a voice like honey and smoke and a self-destruct button she couldn't stop pressing.

"Just… be careful," Shepherd said again. "That's all I'm asking. For Mo’s sake, if not for mine." He left before Iona could respond, his footsteps echoing down the sticky corridor.

When Iona walked back into the studio, Ellie and Cam were exactly where she'd left them. Cam had moved on from the snare drum to doing paradiddles on her own thighs, which couldn't be comfortable. Ellie was still sitting on the war-torn amp, looking at something on her phone with a frown.

"Well?" Cam said. "What did he want?"

"To warn me." Iona sat down on the floor, not caring about the dubious stains. "About Maeve."

"That's his job as your ex-husband," Ellie said mildly. "Warning you off beautiful Irish women with terrible life choices."

"She made one terrible life choice," Iona protested. "She's probably completely different now."

"She's probably exactly the same," Cam said. "Leopards. Spots. Et cetera."