‘I know a couple of people who are following her movements.’
‘What? Like stalkers, or private eyes?’
He smiled. ‘No, of course not. Photographers. She’s a bit of a minor celebrity.’
‘Paparazzi? Really?’
Nick tilted his head to one side, amused at my naïveté. ‘That’s the power of reality television. She’s got half a million Instagram followers, but not one of them realises she’s also a talented musician.’
‘The internet is full of idiots,’ I muttered, pulling out my phone. I scrolled to Simon’s name. But when I tried to dial, I had no signal. Probably just as well. We wouldn’t be able to hear each other. The muffled vibrations from a last-minute sound-check were bleeding through the walls and raucous male laughter was coming from a room nearby.
‘Come and hear it from the horse’s mouth.’
‘Simon’s here?’
‘No, the club manager.’
‘Oh.’
Nick turned down a corridor to his left and nodded at me to follow. Within a few steps, the passage gave out to an office where a man with a long grey beard was sitting behind a desk.
‘Tell her what you told me, Jim.’ How the hell was Nick on first-name terms with everyone? Had he been staking out the place since yesterday?
Jim looked up and steepled his hands. The tip of his little finger was missing. I tried not to stare. ‘They rang half an hour ago and cancelled. Do you know them?’
I nodded.
‘Well, you can tell them they’re not getting their deposit back. And I’m keeping the buns.’
Buns?I thought I’d misheard him, then he pointed to a pink-ribboned basket of pastries doing its best to brighten a dusty grey filing cabinet.
‘Got it,’ said Nick. ‘No refund, and the baked goods are impounded.’
He nudged me, trying to guide me out, but I held fast. I needed to know something.
‘Did they give a reason for cancelling?’
‘She’s unwell. Food poisoning or something.’
Well, that explained why I hadn’t heard anything. I felt marginally less slighted.
Jim waved us out and I followed Nick as he steered us into the next room.
I blinked as he turned on the light and I realised we were in a small dressing room. A bare bulb struggled to banish the gloom, but it was better than nothing. And there wasn’t much to illuminate: a fire extinguisher on the wall and a dark stain on the carpet tiles.
Nick held out his hand. ‘Pain au chocolat?’
I hadn’t seen him take it. ‘No, thanks.’
He finished it in three bites, then brushed the flakes from his hands.
‘Maybe you should go back and distract him so I can get another one.’
I didn’t respond. Instead, I checked my phone again. Now, I had reception – and two texts from Simon. The first apologising and the next suggesting we all meet up in a restaurant. Wait, wasn’t Jess supposed to have had food poisoning?
I asked Simon in a text. The reply came back almost immediately.
‘What is it?’ said Nick.
