Twenty-Three
Now
They had done Glasgow, Leeds, and Liverpool now. Manchester was the fourth stop.
Ashley walked out into the empty arena space at the Manchester Academy just after eleven in the morning. The room was cold, and she was alone. This was her ritual. A minute alone in the space before anyone turned up. To feel it.
She stood in the centre of the bare stage and struck her low E string three times. The unamplified sound bounced off the high, curved ceiling and came back flat.
She was pissed off. But not about the acoustics.
The PR strategy had been clear from the start: Molly was supposed to be visibly supporting Ashley from the VIP boxes at the bigger shows.
But if a venue didn’t have one, Molly simply didn’t come to the gig at all.
And when the venue did have luxury boxes, Molly suddenly developed a blinding migraine.
The one night she’d been in the building, she’d had noise-cancelling headphones on.
Ashley was doing her best not to find that bruising.
Three cities in, and Molly hadn’t watched a single minute of a show. With no VIP box at the Academy tonight, she wouldn’t even need to make an excuse.
Ashley didn’t understand why Molly was avoiding the gigs so aggressively. Was she really that uninterested in the music? She knew it wasn’t Molly’s cup of tea; it was aimed at teenagers.
Still, it hurt.
Every time Ashley had looked over at the left wing during the middle of the set last night, her eyes went straight to the dark space behind the monitor desk, on the off chance. It was never Molly. It was always just a guy named Dave chewing and looking at an iPad.
***
After Ashley had finished her quiet moment, she walked back out to the bay where the tour bus was idling.
She never liked checking into hotels on tour.
She preferred the predictable rumble of the bus and the routine of sleeping in her own bunk.
But that meant Molly had to stay there too, trapped in the same cramped metal tube night after night.
It was getting smaller by the day.
Ashley climbed aboard, kicking her boots off in the narrow corridor, intending to rest ahead of tonight’s gig.
She had just sat down to doomscroll her phone when it rang. Simon was calling from London, his voice carrying that loud, clicking echo it got whenever he used his car speakerphone.
‘We need another set of photos,’ Simon said without preamble.
‘The engagement on the Music Mag piece is dropping off. There’s a sushi place called Mooch in Manchester.
It’s got floor-to-ceiling glass walls right on the street.
You’ve got a seat in the window. I’ve put you down for 2 p.m. Car coming to pick you up. ’
‘I’m supposed to be resting before the gig,’ Ashley said, balancing the phone between her ear and her shoulder.
‘You can rest while you eat,’ Simon said. ‘Just make sure you walk in together.’
‘She doesn’t even come to the gigs, Simon,’ Ashley said quietly, leaning against the wooden bulkhead in case of errant ears down the corridor. Was Molly in? Ashley was never quite sure where she was.
‘She’s not? I’ll have a word with Karen about that.’
Ashley was aghast. ‘Don’t, Simon. I don’t want her thinking I’m tattling to Daddy.’
‘Then you tell her she needs to be seen. But she agreed to this, and I want what we agreed to.’
‘Yeah, she loves doing as she’s told. Always has,’ Ashley said dryly.
They hung up.
Ashley let out a long breath and walked up the narrow aisle to the small rear lounge to find Molly sitting on the edge of her lower bunk with her feet resting on the runner rug, reading a crime novel. She was wearing a dark green shirt that looked a bit too big for her and black jeans.
‘Simon’s ordered a car,’ Ashley said, leaning against the bunk frame.
Molly didn’t look up from her book. ‘Where are we going?’
‘Some sushi place.’
‘Right,’ Molly said.
She tried to place her bookmark on her current page but dropped it, and had to jump down to the floor to grab it.
Ashley watched the back of Molly’s neck while Molly searched the narrow gap.
There was a little mole right at the top of her spine.
Ashley had forgotten about that mole. She wanted to reach out and touch it. It was only a passing impulse.
‘You don’t have to go if you’re too tired,’ Ashley said.
‘It’ll make Karen happy,’ Molly said, coming back up with the bookmark. Her face was slightly red from being upside down in the cramped space. ‘It’s fine. I like fish.’
***
The restaurant was too bright inside. It had white stone floors and a lot of leather booths that looked like they belonged in a car. They were seated at a table right by the front glass wall.
The waiter brought them two bowls of edamame beans and a selection of sushi.
‘Are you going to eat that one?’ Molly asked, pointing a chopstick at a piece of salmon.
‘You can have it,’ Ashley said. She took a sip of her sparkling water. ‘How was your morning?’
‘I went to a museum,’ Molly said. She chewed the sushi, her jaw moving quickly. ‘Steam engines. A man in a flat cap told me about boilers for forty minutes because I glanced at a gauge for too long.’
‘Did you enjoy that?’
‘You know me,’ Molly said. ‘Love a good mansplain.’
Ashley looked at the table. A tiny drop of soy sauce had fallen onto the white cloth between them. She took a napkin and tried to dab it out, but it just spread into a larger grey circle. ‘The venue tonight is a big one.’
‘I know,’ Molly said. ‘Toby texted me a photo of the balcony railing. He said he was going to try and do the drum intro to the third song from up there if the tour manager let him.’
‘He won’t,’ Ashley said.
‘That’s what Jax told him. Then they had an argument about it, obviously.’ Molly picked up an edamame bean and cracked the pod between her teeth. ‘They’re still not talking, are they?’
‘They’re talking too much,’ Ashley said.
‘Just about the wrong things. Jax was banging on about the difference between a dynamic mic and a condenser mic to Elena, and Elena already knows. She’s been playing bass for eight years.
She just sat there and let Jax do it because she wanted to look at their arms.’
Molly snorted. She dropped the empty bean pod into the ceramic bowl. ‘That’s exactly what the tube violinist used to do. He’d explain the circle of fifths to the nurse while she was trying to iron her scrubs. It’s a very specific kind of showing off.’
‘It’s annoying,’ Ashley said.
‘It’s pathetic,’ Molly corrected.
She looked out the window. A man with an SLR camera was hanging about. He had his back to them, but he was holding the camera under his armpit, so the lens was pointed back at their table. ‘He’s not very subtle, is he?’
‘He doesn’t need to be subtle. He just needs the pictures to be clear enough for the Daily Mail sidebar.’
Molly looked back at her plate. Her expression went a bit flat. She picked up a piece of ginger with her fingers and put it in her mouth. ‘We should look more coupled up then. Otherwise, Karen will text me more crying emojis.’
‘You don’t have to touch me if you don’t want to,’ Ashley said.
‘I don’t mind,’ Molly said. She blinked. ‘I don’t care,’ she amended quickly. She reached across the small table and put her hand over Ashley’s wrist.
Ashley’s skin felt very alert where Molly’s palm was resting. She could feel the pulse in her own arm hitting the flat of Molly’s hand. But it was an awkward position because the table was slightly too wide, so Molly had to lean forward to stop it looking strained.
‘You look like you’re trying to reach for the soy sauce,’ Ashley said.
‘I look like I can’t bear to let the table get between us,’ Molly muttered.
She didn’t let go, though. Her thumb moved half an inch, rubbing against the bone of Ashley’s wrist. It was a very small movement, but Ashley felt it down in the back of her legs.
‘The album is doing well in Germany,’ Ashley said, because she couldn’t think of anything else to say that wouldn’t sound weird. ‘Simon said the radio play went up twelve percent.’
‘That’s good,’ Molly said. She was looking at Ashley’s shirt collar now. ‘You like Germany. They have those big sausages.’
Ashley tried not to smile.
‘Oh my god.’
The voice pitched high enough to cut straight through the noise of the restaurant.
Two teenage girls—maybe fourteen or fifteen, both clutching glossy phones—had abandoned a booth near the kitchen, leaving two deeply weary-looking parents.
They practically vibrated as they skidded to a halt beside the glass-fronted booth.
‘It is you!’ the taller girl squeaked, hands flying to her mouth. She was wearing a pink oversized hoodie with Ashley’s face printed across the chest. ‘Oh my god, Ashley! We literally listen to “Dance Like You Mean It” every single day!’
‘It’s our whole aesthetic,’ the second girl chimed in, leaning over the back of the leather banquette without an ounce of spatial awareness. ‘We love you so much!’
‘Thank you,’ Ashley said, her professional public-facing smile snapping into place automatically, even as her posture stiffened. She fucking hated that song. ‘That’s really sweet of you—’
‘And you’re Molly!’ the taller one gasped, turning her camera slightly to capture both of them. ‘From TikTok.’
‘If you say so,’ Molly said.
Ashley felt the blood instantly rush to her ears, a hot wave of humiliation crawling up her neck.
Molly’s hand, still resting over Ashley’s wrist, froze entirely.
‘Wow!’ the girl continued, oblivious, her thumb flying across her screen as she zoomed in on their joined hands under the bright restaurant lights. ‘We read all about you! You’re the comedy actress, right? JazeLooksIntoIt said Ashley wrote “Half Light” about you! It’s so tragic and beautiful.’
Oh great. Some idiot influencer has stumbled onto the truth, Ashley thought, screaming inside, but still smiling.