Page 32 of Going Solo

“I’ve missed you!” I said.

“You shouldn’t be calling me on this number.”

There were footsteps and rustling, as Cole moved from wherever he was to someplace safe to talk.

“I know. Your mum gave it to me.”

“She shouldn’t have done that. I could get insooomuch trouble.”

“I’m sorry, I wanted to hear your voice.”

A heavy door creaked open. Cole cleared his throat. “I’m glad you called.” The acoustics had changed, Cole’s voice no longer echoing off walls. He was outside. “I was hoping maybe I’d see you at one of the live shows. I know you never miss them. Are you coming along?”

“Are you serious?” I said. “Do you know what it’s been like for me? Cole, I’m a laughing stock.”

A moment of silence on the other end of the phone.

“Is this the marriage material thing?”

“Are you winding me up?” Anger rose inside me. “I can’t leave the house without an armed escort, babes. I’ve got the paparazzi hounding me. Have you seen what they’re saying about me on social media?”

“To be honest, no,” he said. “They don’t let us go on the apps. We see a rundown of important media stuff at breakfast each morning. I know a heap of rock fans have started a ‘let Cole be Cole’ campaign because they think I’m better than pop songs, which is awesome, but?—”

“My life is a living nightmare.”

“I’m so sorry, Toby. I had no idea.”

“Have you even thought of me at all?”

“Of course I have! The other day I was doing an interview, and this girl outside the radio station had a sign that said ‘I’m marriage material,’ and I thought of you.”

My piss had officially boiled.

“Are you having a laugh?” I was in utter disbelief. “Your fans are pure, unrefined evil. This whole situation has ruined my life.”

There was a long pause, then a sigh. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think that through. Hey, listen, like I said, I’m glad you called. I needed to speak to you.”

“You could have called at any time. I was waiting.”

“I didn’t have your number in this phone.”

“Seriously?”

Cole yawned. “Sorry. Incredibly long days. So, listen, um… about… us…”

“I don’t believe this,” I said, sensing what was coming in the same way a rabbit senses that the oncoming headlights are probably not good for their health: dazzled, frozen, about to be flattened by the inevitable. “You’re fucking kidding me.”

“I’m sorry, look… they… they don’t want me to be…out… on the show.”

“What are you saying?”

“It’s the fans, apparently,” Cole said. “It’s the girls with ‘marriage material’ signs. Felicity said they need to believe I’m ‘achievable.’ That’s the word she used.”

“You’re going back into the closet for a TV show?”

“I guess. But it’s not like I was ever very far out of the closet, anyway.”

“You’re breaking up with me.”

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