He would.
* * *
‘Miss Adams?’ The events manager, Kate Greenhill, popped her head around the dressing room door at the concert hall in Berlin. ‘You’re on in five minutes.’
Aiesha adjusted her droplet earrings, trying to fight the ants’ nest of nerves in her belly. She would have to get used to this if she was asked to join the rest of the tour. Nerves. Panic. Doubt. What if she missed a note? What if her voice froze? What if the audience hated her? ‘Thanks, Kate. What’s the crowd like?’
Kate grinned at her in the light bulb-lined mirror. ‘Massive. A sell-out. To be honest, I think they’re here to hear you, not the band. The boys won’t be too happy about that. This is supposed to be their comeback chance.’
Aiesha knew she should be feeling satisfied. Proud of what she had achieved in spite of all the setbacks in her life. She had been booked as the supporting act for the opening concert of the band’s reunion tour. She had an album in production. She had the prospect of fans. Fame. Fortune.
But she was lonely.
Desperately, achingly lonely.
James hadn’t contacted her. Not once. She knew it was for the best. He had to distance himself from her, especially now. Her stepfather had finally sold his story to the press. She suspected he had waited until now so he could go for collateral damage. He couldn’t have timed it better. The lurid tale of her being a smart-mouthed teenage tease who had tried to seduce him had gone viral. The press had subsequently sourced photos from all over the place. It had stirred up renewed interest in the scandal with James’s father, which would cause enormous embarrassment and hurt to Louise and James. There was even a photo of Aiesha’s father being led out of court on the day he was sentenced.
Lovely. Just lovely.
Her business manager/publicist assured her that any publicity was good while she was building her career as a solo artist, but Aiesha wasn’t so sure. She wanted to distance herself from her past. She wanted to be known for her music, not for her dodgy bloodline or step-relatives or her past behaviour. It would be different if she were a rock-and-roll chick. But she wasn’t. She was a love-song and ballad singer with a hint of blues and jazz.
Louise Challender had sent her roses and a sweet message. Aiesha had held the card against her chest and cried so much the make-up artist had hysterics.
The card said: ‘I always knew you would make it. Love you, Louise.’
But she hadn’t made it. Not yet. Maybe not ever if the news of her past kept resurfacing like a bad smell at a perfume launch.
Kate popped her head back around the door. ‘Two minutes.’
Aiesha let out a rattling breath. She hadn’t done her vocal warm-up. She hadn’t focused. She wasn’t prepared. This was not how she’d thought it would be. She loved writing songs; she loved being in the recording studio working with the team to produce the best tracks she could. But singing her songs in front of huge crowds was not the thrill she’d thought it would be. What was the point of singing those heartfelt words when the only person she wanted to hear them wasn’t in the audience?
The crowd roared as Aiesha came out to the spotlight, the beam so strong she could only make out the faces in the first few rows. She sat down at the piano, took a deep breath and went into the routine she had planned with her agent.
But then, towards the end of her performance, she turned on the piano stool and trained her gaze to the sea of unseen faces at the back. ‘This song is a new one. No one has heard it before now.’ She blinked to stem a sudden rush of tears. ‘It’s called “The Love I Had to Let Go.”’
The roar when the song was over was deafening. Aiesha got up from the piano and took a bow. She had three standing ovations. As she performed each follow-up song she kept reminding herself: This is what you wanted. This is your moment. You’ve wanted this since you were five years old. Enjoy it, for pity’s sake.
It was supposed to be the triumph of her life. But as she walked back through the bowels of the stage set to her dressing room she felt empty...like a deflated balloon at a children’s party. Useless.
Kate came in while Aiesha was taking off her make-up. ‘Um, there’s someone here to see you.’
Aiesha put the discarded facial wipe in the bin next to her chair. ‘I told you before. I’m not doing any press interviews.’
‘He’s not a journalist,’ Kate said.
Aiesha swivelled to look at her. ‘Who is it?’
‘It’s me,’ James said from the door.
Aiesha swallowed. Put her hand on her stomach to stop it from falling even further. ‘Erm...would you leave us for a minute, Kate? This won’t take long.’