Page 58 of Going Solo

The door opened, and Marcel Dupont walked in. I recognised him from the telly. He put a silver tray on the coffee table.

“Macaroni au gratin, messieurs,” he said, lifting the silver lid with a flourish. There were a few green things on the side, and he ran through them, pointing his finger at each in turn, announcing something in French. I didn’t understand a word, but I know asparagus when I see it. We thanked him. He waved a hand and disappeared back out of the room.

“Don’t let it get cold,” Cole said, grabbing a bowl. “It’s best piping hot.” He sat back, cross-legged on the sofa, put a big cushion between his thighs to use as a table, and began to eat.

“Ooh, ibs hob!” he said, trying not to burn the roof of his mouth. “So, wob dib you thin ob the new Zara Larssob albub?”

* * *

For two hours Cole and I chatted about music—who we liked, who was overrated, who was the next big thing. It felt like old times, like the kinds of conversations we used to have late into the night, chatting on our phones in our bedrooms, or at the cheap motorway hotel where theMake Me a Pop Starproducers had put us up. We dissected lyrics, compositions, and production choices. For ages, we talked about the healing nature of music. It was the most stimulating discussion about pop music I’d had in years. It felt good. I was disappointed when there was a knock at the door and Fiona stuck her head in.

“I’m sorry, Cole. It’s America.”

“Jerry?” he said.

She nodded. “I know you said no calls. I tried to put him off.”

“It’s fine. I’ll be right there.”

Fiona disappeared up the hall. Cole turned back to me and apologised.

“This call might take a while,” he said. “Will you wait for me?”

I looked at the time on my phone. It was after two in the morning.

“I should get going. We’ve got the drive down to Manchester in the morning.”

Cole looked disappointed. “OK,” he said. “Mitch will drop you back at your hotel.”

I smiled my thanks.

“Hey, I know this is late notice, but I have a thing at eight tomorrow morning, and I’d love it if you would come with me.”

“Like a public engagement? Absolutely not.”

“Why not?”

“Did you listen to anything I said tonight? I can’t be seen with you in public. My life would be hell.”

“We were seen in public together this afternoon. Photographed. Filmed, even.”

“That was an interview. I’m not going with you to whatever breakfast TV interview you’ve got. The press will think we’re dating, and I’ll be hounded by paparazzi for months.”

“It’s not an interview. It’s a private engagement, and Fiona’s already had everyone sign an NDA. No one will even know we’re there.”

Exhaustion was starting to wash through my body. It was late. I wanted my bed, and I needed a sleep-in. “Nick and I have got to hit the road by ten, so?—”

“I’ll have you back by ten, I promise. Please say you’ll come.”

Cole looked at me with those soulful puppy-dog eyes. For a moment, I was sixteen again, falling hopelessly in love with the first boy who’d ever flashed me a bit of ankle. I could feel myself caving.

“What is it, though?”

“It’s a surprise,” Cole said. “I don’t want to spoil it.”

My curiosity was piqued, and I felt my resistance wavering.

“Cole!” Fiona’s voice echoed up the hallway.

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