‘Sounds like he’s very lucky it was you who found it then,’ said Rhona approvingly. ‘And to answer your question, no, I don’t know. He’s kept a very tight lid on it from the moment I told him about your email. I’m glad you were able to come and bring it to him, love. I hate seeing him so worried.’
‘Glad to,’ Netta lied. ‘Although, I have to say, I’m shitting bricks sideways, if you’ll excuse my French, about actually having tomeethim. Just talking to him on the phone turned me into a blithering wreck.’
Rhona cackled. ‘Don’t worry. He might be famous, but he’s also just a guy. He’s not as cool or prickish as he makes out, I promise.’ She glanced briefly at Netta again. ‘Remind me how old you are?’
‘Thirty-nine. I’ll be forty in February.’
‘Hmm. And are you single or—’
‘Single.’
‘Kids?’
Netta paused. ‘No, no kids.’Because my uterus is as useless as my taste in men.
‘Interesting,’ said Rhona.
‘Why?’
‘No reason. Just curious. Oh, would you look at that!’ she said as the sparkling lights of London began to gather around them. ‘This part of the drive never gets old.’
Netta gazed out at the edges of the city that had broken her whizzing past.
London. Of all the places in the world, why did it have to be London?
Chapter Twelve
MO
‘I’m on the way in,’ said Mo, his jaw tight, his hands white-knuckling the steering wheel.
‘Good, good,’ boomed Rhona over a swell of background noise. She sounded distracted, as though she only had one ear for Mo. ‘And then straight from the hotel to the interview, yes?’
Mo flinched at the mention of the interview. Today would be the first time he’d revealed his involvement in Play On. He still didn’t want to, but Rhona was adamant that it would earn him some reputation brownie points, and Play On was worth it. For the past five years, with Mav at the helm and Mo hidden in the background, the charity had provided instruments and musical equipment to disadvantaged schools all over the UK—more and more each year as it grew. Kids who might never have had an opportunity to learn an instrument were getting the chance, and the thought of that made Mo incredibly proud. If he couldn’t get things back on track image-wise and the record company pulled the deal, their plans to extend Play On’s reach to developing countries would be dead in the water. And that would break his heart. He couldn’t let it happen. Not for the kids’ sake, and not for Mav’s either.
‘Yep, straight there after,’ said Mo. ‘What’s all that noise, anyway? Where are you?’
‘Oh, sorry. I’m at the football. Miles’s team is getting absolutely bent over. It’s excruciating. Hang on, I’ll find somewhere a bit quieter.’ The pause in conversation was filled by the sound of Rhona’s breathing as she found a better spot. ‘There. Is that better?’
‘Much.’
‘So, you said you’re on the way to the hotel already? Don’t forget she’s in the primo room—The Queen suite—right at the top of the stairs.’
‘Yeah.’ Mo kept his eyes glued to the road as the traffic swelled around him. ‘Got it.’
A light sprinkling of rain scattered across the windscreen and he gave the wipers one swipe to clear his vision.
‘You’re nervous,’ said Rhona. It wasn’t a question. She knew him well enough to read his voice with scary precision.
‘Yeah. I am a bit,’ he admitted. ‘Did she seem okay to you last night?’
‘Netta? She seemed great, Mo. Seriously. I believe her that she hasn’t read your diary, and there aren’t many people who’d have the integrity to resist that sort of temptation. She seems like a genuinely good egg. In fact, I was thinking— ’ Rhona’s voice was replaced by a scuffling noise and distant cheering. ‘Oh my God, Mo! Miles just scored a goal! My son scored a goal!’
The line went dead and Mo chuckled to himself. Miles was the most uncoordinated kid he’d ever met in his life. Rhona would probably have the ball coated in 24-carat gold and custom-framed.
The mist of rain coating the windscreen picked up as the city swallowed the Jeep, and Mo flicked the wipers on again. He focused on their steady rhythm and deepened his breath in an attempt to ease the knots from his stomach as he slowed for a red light and mentally recited the facts he’d been clinging to for comfort:
1.It’s just a kid’s diary.
