Well, that was annoying. Should I go after them, or wait? The lure of alcohol won, so I got myself a drink, then schlepped up to the balcony where I’d have the best view of the stage door and found a table with an uninterrupted view of downstairs.
The wine had been pretty undrinkable so I’d switched to a bottled beer.
I took a sip and winced. The beer was horribly sour. It was a brand I’d never heard of, written in a Cyrillic script dotted with strange accents. I absently scored my thumb around the soggy label, trying to remove it in one satisfying piece and had nearly managed it when a voice cut in.
‘Zoë?’
I turned.
Nick Jones. Dammit. It had been him. What was he doing here – apart from standing awkwardly under the low ceiling? And wearing a suit, for God’s sake.
‘Well, this is quite a coincidence,’ he said.
I shrugged. ‘I’m a music journalist. We’re at a gig.’
He looked incredulous. ‘You’re here in a professional capacity? To see Jessica Honey?’
He had me there. ‘She’s a friend.’ No need to get specific. ‘Why are you here?’
‘I live nearby and pop in now and then – occasionally there are some diamonds in the rough.’
It sounded like a blatant lie, but why else would he be here? It wasn’t for the extensive wine list.
AC/DC’s ‘Back in Black’ was playing over thePAloud enough to prevent awkward silences, but we managed one anyway. No doubt he was still upset over Marcie. Well, sod him, I was here to enjoy myself. Except I was having a shit time – but he didn’t have to know that. The last thing I wanted was to talk about work.
‘What are you drinking?’ he said eventually.
‘I have no idea.’
‘I meant it along the lines of “What can I get you?” but now I’m intrigued.’ He picked up the bottle. ‘Mongolian beer? No wonder you look so depressed.’
That broke the ice. ‘It tastes truly awful.’
He pointed at the empty seat next to me. ‘May I?’
‘Really?’ I hadn’t meant to sound rude. I tried again. ‘What I mean is, I’m not going over the whole piano shop thing again. I did what any journalist would have done – a source told me she’d be there and I followed it up. You’re not blameless either. You went over my head and cut a deal with my publisher. That’s not on.’
He sat down on the empty chair. ‘Marcie’s quite a nervous character. All sorts of nut-jobs follow her around. She doesn’t like being ambushed.’
‘We were having a perfectly cordial conversation.’
‘Trust me, you’ll get more out of her when she’s expecting you.’
I was taken aback. ‘Does that mean I’m off your shit-list?’
‘I was made aware of some new facts regarding your altercation with Jonny Delaney that night. He’d sworn to me that he hadn’t provoked you. I was wrong to believe him, and I’m sorry about that.’
Was my tinnitus playing up or was that an apology? ‘I appreciate that, thanks. Possibly I went too far, but I was feeling a bit emotional about Patrick leaving.’
‘You two are close.’
Ridiculously, that brought a lump to my throat so I just nodded.
‘You and I need to make a fresh start.’ He pulled out a silver case from his breast pocket and handed me a expensively thick card. His details were embossed. No mere ink for Pinnacle’s finest.
I gave him my own card, which was decidedly floppy and slightly worn, but he didn’t seem to notice.
‘So, how about that drink?’ he said.
