Chapter Twelve Mo
Chapter Twelve
MO
‘I’m on the way in,’ said Mo, his jaw tight, his hands white-knuckling the steering wheel.
‘Good, good,’ boomed Rhona over a swell of background noise. She sounded distracted, as though she only had one ear for Mo. ‘And then straight from the hotel to the interview, yes?’
Mo flinched at the mention of the interview.
Today would be the first time he’d revealed his involvement in Play On.
He still didn’t want to, but Rhona was adamant that it would earn him some reputation brownie points, and Play On was worth it.
For the past five years, with Mav at the helm and Mo hidden in the background, the charity had provided instruments and musical equipment to disadvantaged schools all over the UK—more and more each year as it grew.
Kids who might never have had an opportunity to learn an instrument were getting the chance, and the thought of that made Mo incredibly proud.
If he couldn’t get things back on track image-wise and the record company pulled the deal, their plans to extend Play On’s reach to developing countries would be dead in the water.
And that would break his heart. He couldn’t let it happen.
Not for the kids’ sake, and not for Mav’s either.
‘Yep, straight there after,’ said Mo. ‘What’s all that noise, anyway? Where are you?’
‘Oh, sorry. I’m at the football. Miles’s team is getting absolutely bent over. It’s excruciating. Hang on, I’ll find somewhere a bit quieter.’ The pause in conversation was filled by the sound of Rhona’s breathing as she found a better spot. ‘There. Is that better?’
‘Much.’
‘So, you said you’re on the way to the hotel already? Don’t forget she’s in the primo room—The Queen suite—right at the top of the stairs.’
‘Yeah.’ Mo kept his eyes glued to the road as the traffic swelled around him. ‘Got it.’
A light sprinkling of rain scattered across the windscreen and he gave the wipers one swipe to clear his vision.
‘You’re nervous,’ said Rhona. It wasn’t a question. She knew him well enough to read his voice with scary precision.
‘Yeah. I am a bit,’ he admitted. ‘Did she seem okay to you last night?’
‘Netta? She seemed great, Mo. Seriously. I believe her that she hasn’t read your diary, and there aren’t many people who’d have the integrity to resist that sort of temptation.
She seems like a genuinely good egg. In fact, I was thinking— ’ Rhona’s voice was replaced by a scuffling noise and distant cheering.
‘Oh my God, Mo! Miles just scored a goal! My son scored a goal!’
The line went dead and Mo chuckled to himself. Miles was the most uncoordinated kid he’d ever met in his life. Rhona would probably have the ball coated in 24-carat gold and custom-framed.
The mist of rain coating the windscreen picked up as the city swallowed the Jeep, and Mo flicked the wipers on again.
He focused on their steady rhythm and deepened his breath in an attempt to ease the knots from his stomach as he slowed for a red light and mentally recited the facts he’d been clinging to for comfort:
1.It’s just a kid’s diary.
2.Netta hadn’t read it, which meant nobody had.
3.It was better to have it in his hands than hidden under a house on the other side of the world.
The traffic lurched forward with the green light and, ready for a distraction, Mo flicked the radio on.
He was rewarded with Faith No More’s version of ‘Easy’, one of his top five favourites.
He wasn’t a superstitious person, not by any measure, but even so, as Mike Patton’s unmistakable voice cruised through the speakers, the thought crossed his mind that the song could be a sign that everything was going to be just fine. Easy. Fingers crossed, anyway.
Mo passed the gelati-coloured terraces of Portobello Road and parked as close as he could to the hotel, which was thankfully located on the tail end of the street, several blocks from the buzzing market.
Rhona, in her wisdom, had pre-arranged his visit with the manager, Xavier, who’d promised to offer as much privacy as possible.
Mo unclicked his seatbelt, double-checked his phone was set to private and called the number Rhona had given him.
A glassy male voice answered. ‘Welcome to The Royal Crown, this is Xavier. How may I help?’
‘Hello, Xavier,’ said Mo. ‘I believe my manager, Rhona van der Wilden, has spoken to you?’
Xavier’s accent shed its clipped edges. ‘Is that you, Mr Maplestone?’
‘I’m a bit earlier than we discussed, sorry, mate.’
‘No problem at all, Mr Maplestone. The lobby’s clear. Our guests have all left the hotel for the morning. I’ll meet you at the door.’
Mo grabbed his beanie and pulled it down past his eyebrows, slid on his sunglasses and checked the street.
The market was heaving in the distance and there were a few people browsing the shops across the road, but he was close enough to the hotel that if he made it quick, he should be able to get in without being spotted.
He slid out of the Jeep, head down, and quickly cleared the distance between the car and the entrance, where Xavier was waiting for him at the door.
‘Hi, mate,’ said Mo as he went inside. ‘Thanks for doing this. Really appreciate it.’
‘No problem,’ said Xavier, closing the door behind them. ‘Your friend was lucky to get a room at such short notice. Last-minute cancellation.’
Mo followed Xavier over dark herringbone floorboards, past frame-filled walls to the bottom of a narrow staircase.
‘The Queen is the suite on the very top floor. No lift, I’m afraid, just the stairs. Old buildings, what can you do?’ said Xavier. ‘You okay to go on your own or would you like me to walk you up?’
‘Nah, I’ve got it,’ said Mo. The adrenalin fizzing through his veins was picking up pace, gathering in his chest. He cleared his throat. ‘I won’t be long. I just have to collect something and then I’m out.’
Xavier nodded. ‘I’ll leave you to it, then.
’ He vanished and Mo took a steeling breath, inhaling the heady scent that hung in the air.
Cinnamon and vanilla. Maybe. Whatever it was, it smelled expensive.
Decadent. Comforting. He took the stairs quietly, two at a time, until he reached the top floor.
He glanced at his watch—10:55am. He was only a little early.
He strode along the dimly lit hallway to find Netta’s suite.
As he neared the door, his pace involuntarily slowed and his heart rate quickened. The moment had finally come. His past was about to catch up with him.
He came to a halt, raised his hand and knocked.