Page 68 of Going Solo

“I think you should ask him,” Nick said.

ChapterTwenty-Six

It had been a long week. For the third night in a row—one night in Glasgow and two in Manchester—I’d done two hours of live radio surrounded by thousands of Kenneddicts. I’d seen Cole’s concert three times. Although it did not get old, I was as mentally, emotionally, and physically exhausted as a police sniffer dog who’d done double shifts all Glastonbury weekend. A late-night call from Denzil had informed me the board had “received overtures from an interested party.” I felt like the station’s entire survival was in my hands.

I’d got out of the shower and was ready to fall into bed when my phone pinged.

Fiona Kennedy:We’re in the car park under your hotel. Can you come down?

I groaned. The Kennedys had monopolised every waking hour of the last week. I wanted to sleep. Still, my curiosity switch had tripped. I replied saying I’d be right down. I ran a brush through my hair and threw on my boysenberry puddy-cat velour onesie and my fluffy slippers. I was way too tired to make an effort. If Cole wanted to see me at one in the morning, he could take me as he found me. It was only going down in the lift that I remembered the paparazzi might be lurking about. I looked at my reflection in the elevator mirror. I looked like someone had tried to recreateWeekend at Bernie’swith a dead Pink Panther. The press would have a field day if they saw me like this. I popped the hood up over my head. One puddy-cat ear stood upright, the other flopped down. At least if I got papped with Cole now, there was a chance I wouldn’t be recognised and the tabloids might take him for a fetishist.

The elevator chimed, and the silver doors shuddered open. Cole was nowhere to be seen. I don’t know why I expected a global superstar to be standing in the middle of an underground car park in a hotel that was teeming with fans who’d been to his concert. A pair of headlights flashed, and a big black SUV rumbled up and stopped right in front of me. A door opened, and Fiona’s face appeared. She waved a hand, urging me to get in.

“What’s going on?” I asked as she climbed out of the car.

“We need your help to bury a body,” she said, rolling her eyes—a good reminder that no one’s patience is at its best at one in the morning. “What do you think? Cole wants to speak to you.”

I peered in. Cole was seated in the back of the car. He waved at me like Forrest Gump. I climbed in.

“What’s new, pussycat?” he said. Two car doors slammed. Mitch had joined Fiona outside.

“Am I the body you’re going to bury? Is that what this is? Because if I’d known, I’d have blow-dried my hair.”

Cole reached across and felt the fabric of my ears. “I was going to bury you, obviously, but this is so super cute, I’m going to have to reconsider.”

“I believe bundling me into a hessian sack and throwing me into the canal is the traditional way to deal with unwanted cats.”

Cole’s eyes met mine and locked. I could feel the heat of his hand through the velour hood of my onesie. “But that assumes the kitty cat concerned is unwanted,” he said.

I slapped his hand away and pushed the hood down.

“Speaking of wanting things, it’s late, what do you want?”

Cole shrugged. “To thank you. For this week. For giving me a chance to clear the air a bit. It’s felt good to hang out, you know?”

Despite myself, I did know. “It’s not every day someone drops a million quid to hang out with me. The least I could do was put on my party dress and show up.”

“I’m glad you did. It means a lot to me that you agreed to it.”

“To be clear, I was not given a choice.”

“Of course you had a choice.”

“Ah, no, I didn’t. Denzil made that crystal clear. The station needs that swag or the board is going to sell us to some soulless hedge fund who’ll strip our assets and kick our arses onto the street. I’m literally here because Denzil didn’t give me a choice.”

Cole looked crushed. “It wasn’t meant to…” I could see his mind processing what I’d said. “Is that genuinely the only reason you’re here?”

“If I’m being honest with you, yes.” And there was a part of me, the part of me that had spent ten years hating Cole Kennedy, that enjoyed watching the words sink into his chest like the blade of a stiletto piercing his heart. But there was another part of me, the part buried deep inside me that was forever sixteen, the part that felt like the last few days had been a gift from the universe, that felt more than a little guilty.

“But I’m glad I’m here,” I said, letting my better angel win. “It feels good to talk.”

Cole’s face brightened. “Good. And we’ve got plenty of time to talk.” Our eyes met again—and I felt the old attraction tug in my chest. I fought it, dropping my gaze to my lap.

“Anyway, I wanted to pop by and say goodbye,” Cole said. “I’m off in the morning for a four-day promo tour for the US shows, so I won’t be around.”

“Oh.” I felt a little deflated. I had no right to. I hadn’t been expecting to spend time with Cole between gigs. Nick and I were driving down to Cardiff in the morning and leaving the van in a lock-up, then catching the train home for a few days. Yet, in that moment, I felt like I was going to miss Cole, and I wasn’t quite ready to say goodbye. We had more things to talk about, process, and catch up on. Talking to Cole had been therapeutic. I felt like I was starting to let go of a lot of anger, disappointment, and hate.

“Hey.” I felt awkward, like a teenager summoning the courage to ask his crush out on a date. “Are you free now?”

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