Page 63

Molly chuckled. ‘Oh my god, you lifesaver. I could kiss you right now.’

Ashley’s grip on her phone tightened. A hot, toxic flash of jealousy flared up in her. She was thousands of miles away, completely miserable in an American dressing room, while Molly was flirting casually on set at seven in the morning.

‘Who’s that?’ Ashley demanded, her voice dropping into an icy register she barely recognised.

‘What? Oh, that’s just a runner. Look, Ash, I’ve got to run. I’m getting looks. Can we talk about this later?’

‘No, it’s fine,’ Ashley snapped. ‘Go. Don’t let me keep you from your lifesaver.’

‘What—’

‘I have to go too,’ Ashley lied smoothly, her throat aching with a sudden, violent urge to cry. ‘Have a great day on set, Molly.’

Without waiting for a response, Ashley slammed her thumb against the end-call button, severing the connection. She threw the phone onto the makeup table, where it skittered and hit the wall.

Tucking her knees up to her chest, Ashley stared at her reflection in the mirror. The glittering pop star staring back looked entirely unrecognisable.

Four months had sounded like a blink of an eye in London. But two months in, and Ashley didn’t know what was happening. If Molly actually liked her all that much anymore. If she was already moving on.

Twenty-Two

Now

The room behind the main bar was packed and smelled like old beer. The afterparty was loud. A woman with a digital recorder and a lanyard that said Music Mag was cornering Ashley near the fire exit.

Karen had texted Molly ten minutes ago: Sorted an interview. Make it look natural.

Molly swallowed the rest of her warm white wine and put the empty plastic cup on a ledge behind a radiator. This was the first night of the tour, and she had spent the last two hours sitting in the dressing room downstairs by herself while the gig happened upstairs.

She had told Ashley that she had a headache from the bus ride. She wasn’t going to tell her the real reason, which was that she couldn’t face standing in the wings watching Ashley play. She didn’t want to think about why that made her feel sick. The lack of VIP venue at this gig simplified it somewhat. There was nowhere for her to be seen.

But there was no avoiding the afterparty.

She pushed through a group of men in heavy coats who were arguing about the bass mix. Her skin felt hot. Standing next to Ashley was becoming difficult because every time they were close, Molly felt a specific irritation she couldn’t name. Molly was sure Ashley felt the same. But neither of them had talked about it. They had both fallen into a pattern of behaving like coworkers, just two people doing a job for Simon and Karen.

‘Oh, here she is,’ Ashley said when Molly finally reached her.

Ashley pressed herself lightly against Molly’s shoulder in a way that suggested contact visually but made little actual impact on Ashley. She smelled like the stage smoke from upstairs.

‘Hi,’ Molly said to the journalist. ‘I’m Molly.’

‘Great to meet you,’ the journalist said. She had a smudge of blue ink on her thumb and shifted her recorder an inch closer to Molly’s face. ‘We were just talking about the tour kick-off. Ashley says the energy upstairs tonight was unbelievable. What was your favourite moment from the set, Molly?’

That was a tricky question considering Molly hadn’t seen a single fucking second of it. But she could improv.

‘Oh, the whole thing was brilliant,’ Molly said smoothly. ‘Just seamless from start to finish. Incredible flow.’

The journalist blinked. ‘Seamless? Even... during the third song?’

‘Especially the third song,’ Molly declared, nodding with deep, artistic appreciation.

Beside her, Ashley made a strange, choking sound in her throat. Her whole body was trembling slightly.

‘Flawless?’ the journalist repeated, looking down at her notepad in absolute bewilderment. ‘A rogue stage pyrotechnic set the main velvet curtain on fire, and three security guards had to beat it out with a fire blanket while Ashley was doing an acoustic guitar solo.’

Molly’s smile froze. Her stomach dropped into her shoes.

‘Right!’ Molly squeaked, her voice jumping an octave. ‘The... flaming curtain incident! Which was... handled so seamlessly! You’d barely know the stage was on fire, really. Pure professionalism.’