45. Chapter Forty-Five
Chapter Forty-Five
The spotlights burned into Cillian’s eyes, leaving the audience a dark, thrumming mass of bodies.
The only clear detail was the arms raised in the air as he belted out yet another song he didn’t believe in.
He closed his eyes and tried to get into the moment.
His rebellious thoughts turned to Saffron Bay, in particular May, and for one terrifying second he blanked completely, unable to remember the lyrics to the next verse.
He opened his eyes, mentally shook himself, and could have cried with relief when muscle memory kicked in and the trite words spilled from his lips into the microphone.
At the end of the song, the applause was deafening. Cillian couldn’t bear it. He turned his head, startled as he recognised a familiar figure waiting in the wings.
Kitty.
What the hell was Kitty doing at one of his gigs?
She hadn’t been to a concert of his in years.
She smiled at him, giving a cheesy thumbs-up, which only made him feel worse.
She knew his music, had always been supportive, buying each album he released, sharing any social media posts he put out.
Yet, deep down, Cillian knew she hated the songs, whatever she might say to spare his feelings.
For the next thirty minutes, Cillian went through the motions, spewing out the same old banter he delivered night after night, singing songs which no longer, or perhaps had never, touched his heart.
He tried to remind himself this wasn’t about him, it was about what he was giving his fans.
They clearly loved what he was doing and found something meaningful in the often nonsensical lyrics.
He was in a service industry, providing a product, and from the noise in the auditorium, that product was well received.
He needed to detach himself as an artist and think more like a businessman.
Channel Brian, he mentally told himself, as he responded to the chants of “More! More! More!” with the song that had won him the competition and propelled him to international fame.
He walked off the stage to near hysteria from the crowd, handing his guitar to the stagehand and giving one last wave. Kitty rushed forward and embraced him.
‘Well done, you,’ she said. ‘You’re amazing up there.’
Cillian shrugged off the compliment. ‘Why are you here?’ he asked, smiling.
‘I missed you.’ She linked arms with him, and they walked through the backstage area to his dressing room. ‘And it’s been ages since I came and watched you play. I messaged Brian, and he arranged for me to get the best seats in the house.’
‘I’m not sure a view of my backside is the best seat.’ Cillian managed a smile. ‘It’s lovely to see you. How are you doing?’
‘Better question is, how are you doing?’ asked Kitty. ‘What’s it like being back on the road?’ The way she fixed him with a stare told Cillian she’d seen more than he’d hoped. He might fool a thousand-strong crowd of fans. He’d never get anything past his big sister.
Cillian grimaced. ‘Tiring. Boring.’
‘Boring?’ Kitty teased. ‘Playing to a packed theatre is boring? Gosh, I never thought I’d hear you sound so ungrateful.’
Cillian raised a sheepish smile. ‘Yeah, sorry. I know I’m in an enviable position. I guess at the minute my heart’s not in it.’
‘Well, I could see that, although I doubt anyone else would have known from the performance.’ Kitty peered at him, questioning. ‘And I suppose that’s all that matters.’
‘It certainly is,’ boomed Brian, striding down the corridor towards them.
He slapped Cillian on the back and air-kissed Kitty.
‘The boy’s done good. I knew those couple of weeks down your way were just a blip.
We’re back on track, son. There’s talk of big things on your horizon.
’ He smiled wolfishly, and Cillian could hear the chink, chink of money behind the smile.
‘I didn’t want to say anything until there were firm plans in place, but as it’s all coming together, I can spill the beans.
’ He straightened, gestured grandly. ‘We’ve been approached by a PR company interested in taking you to America in the fall. ’
‘The fall?’ said Cillian. ‘Don’t you mean the autumn?’
‘Whatever.’ Brian waved and pulled his vape from his pocket. He took a lungful of blueberry-scented steam and blew it out in a cloud which momentarily smothered them all.
Kitty coughed politely into her hand. ‘I wondered if you’d be free for me to take you to dinner,’ she said to Cillian. ‘I thought I could fill you in on where we’re up to with all the wedding plans, and have a proper catch-up.’
‘No time for that,’ said Brian dismissively. ‘There’s an after-party we need to get to.’
‘Does he have to go to the after-party?’ asked Kitty.
‘He does.’ Brian stared at her incomprehension of how things worked.
‘A handful of fans have been selected for a meet and greet at the start, but that should only take half an hour. Then he’ll be free to let his hair down.
’ He paused, carrying on gallantly, ‘And you’re very welcome to come too, of course. ’
Cillian squeezed his eyes shut. He wished he wasn’t contractually obliged to attend the after-party. A quiet dinner with his sister sounded far preferable.
Kitty met Brian’s challenge. ‘All right then,’ she said. ‘I’m up for it.’
The club was pulsing when they arrived, bass thudding so hard it rattled Cillian’s teeth.
Coloured lights strobed across the crowd of industry types and hangers-on, the air thick with perfume and the scent of stale champagne.
Brian was immediately swept into a huddle of promoters, and an official woman sporting an earpiece grabbed Cillian’s arm and informed him he was needed in the VIP area.
‘Will you be alright waiting for me?’ he asked Kitty.
‘Well, I haven’t been clubbing for the best part of fifteen years, but I’m sure I’ll cope. In fact, there’s a quiet table over in that corner which has my name on it.’
As the bass-line thudded through his skull, Cillian thought Kitty’s description of a quiet table was generous. Before he could check she really was alright being left alone, the woman with the earpiece dragged him across the dance floor to where a group of superfans waited for their meet and greet.
In the end, the half-hour Brian had told him meeting fans would take was wildly optimistic.
By the time he extricated himself an hour and a half had passed.
He made his way to the table Kitty had arranged to meet him at and found it empty.
Concern bubbled in his chest. Had she had enough and gone home?
He checked his phone. No messages from his sister.
He pushed through the huddle of sweaty bodies on the dance floor and burst out laughing when he finally spotted her.
Hair flying wildly around her head, Kitty was jumping up and down to the music, surrounded by members of his band.
‘You OK?’ he shouted into her ear when he’d found a path across the dance floor to reach her.
‘What?’ She spun around. ‘Oh yes,’ she shouted back. ‘Having a wonderful time. Your friends saw me sitting alone and took me under their wing.’
While Cillian didn’t think he could class the revolving door of backing musicians as friends, he was grateful for their kindness. He’d arrange some sort of day-off treat for them all as a thank you. Cillian leaned in again. ‘Do you want to stay and dance, or shall we sit and have a chat?’
‘This has been fun.’ Kitty’s voice was growing hoarse as she tried to make herself heard. ‘But it’s you I’ve come to see.’
They left the dance floor, abandoning the table in the corner for the VIP area, which, cleared of adoring fans, now provided a quieter, more comfortable place for a sibling catch-up.
Cillian sank onto a plush red velvet sofa, and Kitty joined him.
A waitress appeared out of nowhere with a tray of champagne, and they each took a glass.
When the waitress had made herself scarce, Kitty scooted closer so she didn’t have to shout. ‘When I said you put on a great performance tonight, it was true.’ She raised her glass in a mock toast. ‘I’m your sister, though, and I could tell you were miserable up there on that stage.’
‘I wasn’t miserable,’ Cillian protested. ‘Just tired.’
‘You forget I’ve known you since you were in nappies.’ Her voice was gently firm. ‘That wasn’t tiredness, Cillian. That was emptiness.’
He stared into his glass, the bubbles prickling his nose. There was no use denying it to either Kitty or himself. ‘It’s the job,’ he muttered. ‘I’ve got no choice.’
‘That’s not true.’ Kitty rested a hand on his arm. ‘You always have a choice. You wanted music to mean something, to make people feel the way you felt when you first picked up a guitar.’ She shook her head. ‘Tonight, it looked like you hated every minute.’
Cillian swallowed hard. For a second, the noise of the club faded, and he thought of Saffron Bay again – the cove, the sea, May’s laugh carried on the wind. ‘I haven’t a clue what I want anymore.’ His admission was so quiet, Kitty had to lean in and ask him to repeat what he’d said.
She gave him a sad smile. ‘Then maybe that’s what you need to figure out, before the business, before the tours, before Brian drags you halfway across the world. Otherwise, you’re going to lose yourself completely.’
Cillian didn’t reply. He sat there, rolling the stem of the champagne glass between his hands. The weight of her words pressed down heavier than the beat of the music.