Page 97 of Two Hit Wonder

"No," Maeve agreed. "She still doesn't."

"You could tell her."

"I could."

Mo waited, but Maeve didn't elaborate. Some things you couldn't tell someone. Some things they had to figure out for themselves, or they'd never believe you anyway. Perhaps that was true of more things than she thought.

She was battling with what to say to Iona. But perhaps Iona had to figure it out herself or it wouldn’t mean the same. Maeve knew her word wasn’t to be trusted, she’d made peace with that a long time ago. So her actions would have to speak for her. And the rest, well, Iona would have to decide, wouldn’t she?

THEY MANAGED TO catch an earlier connection and pulled into King’s Cross an hour and a half early, which could either be a good omen or the universe laughing at her and pushing her into action, Maeve didn’t know which. Either way, they were early. So she texted Iona and asked where she was.

The reply came immediately: Rehearsal room.

Maeve looked at Mo, who was stretching and yawning and looking remarkably undamaged for a teenager who'd traveled four hundred miles on public transport. "Change of plans. We're going to the rehearsal rooms."

"Cool." Mo pulled out her phone and started texting. "Mum says she's going to kill me, but in a loving way."

"That seems fair. Probably more or less what you deserve, no?"

They took the tube, which Mo navigated with the casual competence of a London teenager while Maeve tried not to look like someone who'd been living in the Scottish highlands for fifteen years. The Piccadilly line was packed with tourists and commuters and one extremely loud hen party in matching pink sashes.

"City's got worse," Maeve muttered.

"It's literally always been like this."

"I have fond memories of it being quieter."

"Those are called delusions."

Christ, the child really was Iona’s. Maeve grinned to herself and thought that now that it came down to it, she really liked Mo.

WHEN THEY REACHED the rehearsal room, the door was propped open. Maeve could hear voices inside, overlapping, not quite arguing but not quite agreeing either.

"Ready?" she asked Mo.

"Are you?"

"Absolutely not."

They went in anyway.

The reunion wasn’t exactly a Hallmark moment. Iona spotted Mo first and made a sound that was half sob, half laugh, and entirely undignified. She crossed the room in three strides and pulled Mo into a hug that looked like it might crack ribs.

"Don't ever," Iona said into Mo's hair. "Don't you ever."

"I know. I'm sorry. I know."

Cam was hovering nearby, practically vibrating with the effort of not interrupting. Ellie stood by the piano, quieter, watchful. Shepherd was at the back of the room with his arms folded and an expression Maeve couldn't read.

And then Iona looked up.

Their eyes met across the room, over the top of Mo's head, and Maeve felt something lurch in her chest. Not a dramatic romantic lurch. More of an internal, oh, there you are, which was somehow worse.

Iona's face seemed to… calm somehow. Seemed to relax, perhaps, to edge into something closer to her normal look.

They didn't move toward each other. There wasn't time, wasn't space, it wasn't the right moment. Maeve didn’t know if there’d ever be a right moment, to be truthful. Mo was still clinging to her mother, and Shepherd was already stepping forward with his professional face on.

"Maeve," he said. "Glad you could join us."