Chapter 29
Aidan
Adrenaline courses through my body as I thank the audience one last time and step offstage.
I feel electric. If only I could share this feeling with Cielo, fly her out with me.
Cut her a sidelong glance as she listens from the wings, knowing which lyrics are meant for her.
A performance of this scale is nothing like playing a pub, and I want her to share in the intense experience.
Sound techs begin shuttling our equipment backstage, and the band is already deep in a lively conversation in the wings. Personal assistants and roadies shuffle back and forth. Backstage can be chaotic, even more so with a tight festival lineup.
I pull out my mobile and bring up the text conversation with Lo. Feck, I miss her. There’s a tap at my shoulder before I can even type a check-in message.
“Excuse me,” a striking redhead says. A VIP lanyard dangles from her neck over a bohemian outfit. She’s familiar, but I can’t quite place her. Then it hits me. Emma Kinnane. Usually she’s wearing Victorian clothes in a beloved BBC drama. “I just wanted to say that was a great set.”
“Oh, erm, hi. Thanks so much.”
“Was that last song new? It was amazing!”
Pride balloons in my chest. If she loved it, Nigel might feel the same. Martin didn’t want me to introduce any new work tonight, but I added it to the set list anyway. Maybe now that he’s seen the audience’s response, he’ll agree that it’s worth fighting for.
“Yeah, tonight was its debut.”
“Is it going to be on the next album—sorry, I’m a big fan but I don’t mean to interrogate you.”
“No, no. It’s nice to hear it. I’m not sure about the track lists on the new one yet,” I tell her honestly. If I can’t strike a compromise with the label, the next album might sound nothing like how I envision it. “I’m a fan of your show. The second season was really powerful.”
I know our teams felt being spotted together would be mutually beneficial, but I don’t know how Emma felt about it, or if she was offended that I declined. I pray she doesn’t bring it up.
The touring bass player claps me on the back. “Is this the girl you were tellin’ me about?”
“No, this is Emma Kinnane,” I tell him. “But we haven’t been formally introduced yet.”
She slaps a palm to her face. “Sorry. I should have included that bit of information when I said hello, huh?”
“Oh! Thought I recognized you,” he replies. “The Spinsters show.”
Extending her hand, she greets him by name. She must be a true fan. With a bright smile that probably gets her whatever she wants, she holds up her mobile. “Aidan, I know you’re busy, but can I get a quick photo?”
“Of course.”
Martin approaches just as Emma is thanking me again and rushing off to watch the next band perform.
“Have I got some news for you,” he says.
“Spit it out, man.”
“Nigel Culpepper wants to meet.”
My stomach tightens. I didn’t know if he’d even notice me, much less give me the time of day. “You’re a fecking miracle worker, Martin, you know that?”
“I do, but I so love to hear it.”
“Okay, yeah, where do I go?” I ask.
Martin shakes his head. “Not so fast. He says he’ll have lunch with you on Monday.”
“I can do that,” I rush. It’s the day after the festival ends, and my flight isn’t until late that evening. God, I can’t wait to tell Cielo.
“Wonderful. I’ve already confirmed. Now, there are some people I want you to meet,” Martin says, leading me farther backstage. “Other bands from the label. They’re having an after-party.”