Page 65 of Going Solo

Cole shook his head. “I swear to you, every word is real. It’s right here.” As he held up his phone for me to see, the busload of schoolgirls began to scream—and my worst nightmare was realised.

“Get down!” I tried to push Cole back onto the seat, but he was already waving at the girls.

“It’s too late, they’ve seen me,” he said, trying not to move his lips. “Stay calm.”

Not only had they seen him, but they were also now hanging out the windows with their phones out, filming him.

“I donotwant to be seen with you!” I snatched the hat off Cole’s head, put it on, and lay down across the seat—unavoidably, right across Cole’s lap. My chest was tight. I couldn’t catch my breath. I felt the familiar fear grip my body. “Oh God.”

“Relax,” Cole said, lips still taut. “Mitch is already on it. The footage will all be deleted. No one will ever see it.”

“I can’t breathe.”

Cole looked down at me, his eyes wide with concern.

“Toby? What is it?”

“Panic attack,” I choked out.

“What can I do? How do I help?”

I shook my head. Cole put a hand on my chest, firmly, and looked into my eyes.

“Toby, you’re safe. Nothing is going to happen to us. This is a standard Code Blue. Look, Mitch is offering them all free backstage tickets to tonight’s concert and the meet-and-greet afterwards on the condition they delete everything. It’s going to be fine.”

“What if they don’t delete it?”

“Would you argue with Mitch?”

I closed my eyes and focused on my breathing, trying to calm my body. After a few minutes, Mitch knocked on the van window to give us the all-clear. The girls would cooperate.

Ten minutes later, my panic attack had subsided and traffic started moving. The girls in the bus waved. Cole smiled and waved back. “See you tonight!” he called out, nearly deafening me in the process. I pulled the hat further down over my face.

“So, I’m sensing you really don’t want to be seen with me, huh?”

“You think?” I turned on the ignition, and the van rumbled into life.

“Do those… happen a lot?”

“Not as often as they used to.”

Cole was quiet for a moment. “They’re my fault, aren’t they?” he said softly. “I’m sorry.”

I remembered my first ever panic attack, the day I ran home from school. There had been so many more over the years. Always to do with Cole. I put the van in gear, checked the mirrors, and slowly moved off.

“This is incredibly stressful for me,” I said.

“I see that now. That was scary. I’m sorry.”

I changed gear.

“I’ve spent ten years trying to separate my narrative from yours. It feels like you’re unpicking all that hard work. Stitch by stitch. Deliberately.”

“Well, yeah,” Cole said. “Of course.”

“Are you serious?” I looked over at him in disbelief.

“That’s… why I’m here.”

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