“Huh?”
“It’s the genealogy documentary, remember? I told you ages ago that a researcher would be coming to take you through what they found out about you and film it for Sky Arts.”
Corina had a habit of springing things on Shay first thing in the morning when he didn’t know which way was up. Who the hell knew what he’d agreed to when he’d been half-asleep. This, though, rang a distant and unwelcome bell. “My ma was dying of cancer when you asked me about this. I’d have told you anything to get rid of you.”
“Then you should’ve told me no,” Corina retorted, not unkindly. “I’d never force you into something you didn’t want to do, but I can’t get you out of things you’ve already agreed to just because you’ve forgotten about them and then subsequently changed your mind. Not with players as big as Sky.”
She was right, and Shay remembered now why he’d agreed to film the documentary. His ma had wanted him to.“Your dad and I aren’t all you are, sunshine. Let these people do some legwork for you… and take from it whatever you need.”
Shay sighed. Take from it whatever you need? What if he didn’t need anything? What if he was perfectly content with life as it was? Des and Michelle Maloney had lost their own parents long before Shay had come along, but they’d given him a home so full of life and love he’d never missed the big families some of his mates had grown up with. Why—
“Shay?”
“Hmm?”
Corina pushed a piece of paper towards him. “You need to sign this.”
“What is it?”
“The nondisclosure agreement between you and Sky. It means the researcher won’t report anything he sees on tour.”
“On tour?”
“Yes.” Corina drummed her nails on the table. “Itoldyou this before we hit the road. The researcher is joining the tour and filming the documentary as we go. This ishappening, Shay. And it starts today.”
* * *
Ollie shiftedhis weight from one foot to the other, his bag at his feet. Ditching his hire car and getting the train to Galway had eased his frayed nerves a little, but he still didn’t relish the prospect of a month trapped on the Smuggler’s Beat tour bus. The only consolation was he’d seen firsthand that the band had serious talent. The one thing worse than being stuck on a never-ending work trip would be if it were accompanied by a shit soundtrack.
Actually, Ollie could think of plenty of reasons why the next five weeks would suck, but he’d run out of time to imagine the worst. A beast of a bus with blacked-out windows rolled into the car park. Shay Maloney had arrived.
The bus parked and the doors opened. People began to spill down the steps. Ollie recognised a few band members, but there was no sign of the man he’d spent a night in a dingy Premier Inn trying to forget. Or rather, trying to put back in a box that was entirely professional. Shay Maloney had been on his mind for weeks and would remain so for the foreseeable future. He could do without the dirty daydreams.
Honest.
A woman with an iPad and a briefcase got off the bus. As she was the only one who didn’t look as though she’d just fallen out of the pub, Ollie took her to be his contact at Folklore Records, Corina Hussain.Here goes nothing.
He picked up his bag and crossed the car park. She saw him coming and met him halfway.
“Ollie Pietruska? From Sky?”
He shrugged. “I’m a freelancer, but whatever.”
Corina Hussain was not amused. Her sharp eyes narrowed, and her grip on her iPad tightened. “Are you here to film the genealogy documentary with Shay Maloney?”
“Um. Yes.”
“Good. I’m going to let the band get settled in the venue, then I’ll take you to meet him. In the meantime, why don’t you take a look around the bus? Your bunk is at the back by the lounge.”
She walked away without waiting for an answer. Lacking any better ideas, Ollie boarded the bus to find it empty. Somehow, in the thirty seconds he’d spent with Corina, he’d missed the rest of the band disembarking, and an odd disappointment tickled his chest.Idiot. You’ll be sick of them all by the end of the day.But still. The bus smelled like most buses did when they were home to a dozen people, but there was something else in the air too.
Excitement?
Nah. It couldn’t be. Despite the spine-tingling gig the night before, Ollie had taken this assignment under duress, and the sooner it was over, the better… right?
* * *
Two hourslater and Ollie was already at home with his rejuvenated pessimism. The Wi-Fi on the bus didn’t work, there was no nearby plug socket for his laptop, and his bunk was little more than a padded shelf. Also, not a soul had returned to the bus since the Smuggler’s Beat crew had disappeared into the venue, meaning that he hadn’t even begun to unpick the complex task of solo filming an entire documentary.
