Netta grinned. ‘I’d better get going. Just wanted to show you.’
Audrey dropped her voice to a whisper. ‘Is your rock star here?’ ‘He’s in the lobby.’
‘Oh, we mustn’t keep him waiting! I’ll walk with you. Make sure you get there okay.’ Audrey closed the door behind her.
Mo turned as they approached.
‘Audrey Farrington,’ announced Audrey, extending her hand to Mo. ‘Pleased to meet you.’
Netta stifled a laugh. Forget Beyonce, next time she needed courage, she was channelling Audrey.
‘Morrison,’ said Mo, smiling and taking Audrey’s hand. ‘And I’m pleased to meet you too.’
Audrey fixed him with a shrewd glare. ‘You’ll take good care of this precious woman tonight.’
‘I certainly will.’
***
Outside, a small crowd had gathered around the limo.
‘The stretch always brings out the rubber-neckers,’ Mo murmured as he peered through the hotel’s door. ‘But no paps. They’ll already be hovering around The Royal Albert Hall like mosquitos.’ He slipped his jacket off and handed it to Netta. ‘Still, might be best to cover up in case someone out there gets a shot and posts it. We don’t want anything getting out early and pissing Charlie off.’
Netta hooked the jacket over her head, being careful not to ruin her hair, and let Mo guide her to the car. The driver opened the door for them in a comically fluid motion and shut it with a reassuring clunk once they were safely inside.
‘You can come out now,’ said Mo with a smile in his voice. ‘Tinted windows.’
Netta removed the jacket and handed it to him, self-consciously smoothing her hair.
‘Still perfect,’ said Mo.
Netta’s heart flipped and heat rose in her cheeks again. In the quiet of the car, with only centimetres between her and Mo, she felt a new visitor in her belly. Excitement. She’d not been expecting that. Foreboding dread and crippling fear? Sure. But excitement had not been on the radar. Netta felt fortified by Mo’s company, despite heading directly for the lion’s den. She smiled. Maybe tonight might be good, after all.
‘So, Rhona’s going to meet us there,’ said Mo as the car pulled away. His knee moved closer to her as he turned to speak, reducing the centimetres to millimetres. ‘UK Yeahhas set up a pretend red carpet for our photos. I know, it’s weird. But whatever. Then you’ll go inside with Rhona and I’ll go and do the real red carpet, and I’ll meet you inside after. We’ll be together all night, except when I’m on stage, slaughtering my career with that fucking song.’ He rolled his eyes and shook his head. ‘You can stay in the audience to watch, or you can come backstage with me and watch from there. Whatever you’d rather.’
‘Okay.’
‘You nervous?’
‘Yep.’
‘Me too.’
‘Seriously?’
‘Yeah. I’m always nervous about going on stage. And red carpets kill me. But, you know …’
‘It’s all part of the job?’
‘Exactly.’
The driver took the back route to The Royal Albert Hall, avoiding the glut of sleek cars lined up to deposit shiny celebrities at the red carpet where a horde of photographers and reporters lay in wait, ready to capture every arrival. The car swooped around the southern side and slowed near the loading bay, turning to make the three-level descent into the underbelly of the grand hall. Netta stared out the window in awe. The huge underground space was full of trucks and staff, buzzing around like single-minded worker bees. Rhona, magnificent in a mint-green three-piece suit, was waiting for them near a huge mural depicting The Royal Albert Hall surrounded by iconic performers, Jimi Hendrix at the centre. The car came to a gentle halt and Mo rolled his window down.
‘Howdy.’
‘We’re good to go up there; it’s all set up in one of the big dressing rooms,’ said Rhona, peeking through the opening. ‘Netta! You look stunning!’
Mo cleared his throat pointedly.
