Hanna choked back a laugh. “Josh, you know there’s nothing going on there. He lives thousands of miles away, and I’m with you. Have a little faith, okay?” Leaning forward, she touched her lips against his. “I’m going to be away until Sunday, let’s not leave things like this.”
“I still don’t like it.”
Despite her entreaties, his bad mood continued all the way to Paddington Station where he dropped her off. She gave him a quick kiss before exiting the car, feeling his irritation as he responded with a quick peck. She had barely pushed the door closed before he sped off, and she watched the car as it disappeared into the London traffic, her worry for her relationship with Josh reflected in the anxious nausea gripping her stomach.
As soon as she was on the train, Hanna breathed a sigh of relief, deciding she would worry about their argument when she was back in London. She touched her pocket to check that Richard’s letter was still there, and pulled it out to read one more time.
June 20th 2002
Dear Hanna,
Thank you for the present. After all these years, to finally receive the promised mix tape made me grin madly. When I read the track listing I laughed out loud. Starting with Wall Street Shuffle may have seemed rather obvious, but to follow it with Money for Nothing by Dire Straits was an inspired touch. Your final song, Puff Daddy’s All About the Benjamin’s is actually one of my favorites.
Anyway, to thank you for your gift, you’ll be pleased to see that I spent a few Benjamins on a t-shirt for you. I’m not sure if you are a New York Dolls fan or not, but just seeing it made me think of you, and the night we saw The Strokes.
Let’s do it again soon, okay?
/> Richard
Sitting in the backstage bar of the Glastonbury Music Festival, Hanna watched as Tom McLean crossed the room and placed five ice-cold bottles of Stella Artois on the sticky plastic table in front of them. She picked one up and leaned back on the flimsy folding chair, necking a huge gulp of beer, much to the amusement of the rest of the band.
“So, what did you think?” Tom asked, trying to appear nonchalant as he pulled up another chair, placing it right alongside Hanna so their thighs were almost touching.
“On the record or off?” Hanna teased. She fingered the backstage journalist pass that hung around her neck.
Tom stared at her for a moment, his eyes narrowing as he considered her words. “Whichever I’m going to like the best.”
“I’m kidding, you goof.” She was smiling broadly. “You were absolutely fantastic. I loved the new set. It was brilliant. You had the crowd hanging on every note.”
“Were we better than Coldplay?” Robert, the bass guitarist, leaned forward, his chin placed on top of his palms. He looked at Hanna with clear, wide eyes.
She couldn’t believe how interested they were in her opinion, although the little ego-boost their anticipation gave her was quite welcome. It wasn’t the first time since she’d been at the festival that a band had genuinely seemed engrossed in what she thought about them. Somehow her judgment had become sought after. She assumed it had something to do with the fact that she was interning for Music Train, and had their logo hanging from her neck everywhere she went. All the bands wanted a good write-up from the nation’s most popular music magazine.
“Coldplay was excellent, everybody was singing along to them.” Tom physically blanched at her words, and she hurried to continue, “But you guys were something else. People weren’t just singing, they were worshipping. They were throwing themselves down as sacrifices to the gods of rock.”
A broad grin spread across Tom’s face. He stood up, walked over to her, and pulled her into a tight embrace, his lips swooping down on hers with a loud smack. “Hanna Vincent, I fucking love you. Now make sure you call me a rock god in your review.”
“You know that Music Train has proper writers here, right? I’m going to be lucky if they even print an indefinite article without sending it through five editors.” She wriggled in a feigned attempt to escape his grasp. Not that she minded him being overly demonstrative—she was used to it by now. He was like an overenthusiastic five-year-old, throwing himself at everybody, not just her
“I spoke with your boss earlier and I promised them an exclusive interview, but only if you wrote it.” He winked as he pulled away from her, moving to sit back down.
“Oh my God!” she squealed at him, trying to restrain herself from starting the whole hugging fest again. People were starting to look.
“Oh my Rock God, if you please.”
They stared at each other, matching smiles on their faces. It was hard to believe that only two years previously she’d been watching him play in a small pub and had no inkling he was going to become internationally famous. How things had changed.
“Tom, sweetie!” A thin, highly-pitched voice came from across the room. Hanna watched in amusement as a tiny blonde ran over, throwing herself into Tom’s arms, wrapping her legs around his waist as she placed her lips firmly on his.
“Is that Pinkie Jones?” Hanna asked Robert in a whispered aside.
“Oh yeah, she’s been the bane of our existence all summer. Whenever you turn around, she’s there. She’s been hovering around us like a fly over a pile of shit.”
“Nice simile. Especially when you compare yourselves to manure,” she replied dryly, watching as Tom sat back down on his chair, pulling Pinkie onto his lap. Hanna bit her bottom lip in an attempt to stop from giggling, causing Tom to raise his eyebrows in response.
“Are you not singing today?” Robert drawled over at the blonde. Pinkie giggled and shook her head before burying it in the side of Tom’s head, nuzzling at his throat. Hanna noticed a flash of something just underneath the surface of his eyes. And all of a sudden she realized that Tom McLean was smitten with a Z list celebrity and runner-up in that year’s Rock Star reality show.
Hanna tried to restrain the wide smirk that was trying to unzip its way across her lips because she knew that Tom would think she was mocking him, even though she wasn’t. In fact, a little corner of her heart was heating up fast at the sight of her friend being bowled over by a woman.