Page 15 of Not Just for Christmas

‘Your neighbours will love you.’ He grinned. He made a mental note to ask Janet for Suzy’s address – he was going to send the kid the best toy drum set he could find.

‘They already do,’ she said with a laugh.

‘Good luck, Suzy. Send me photos of the baby when it comes, promise?’

He felt an ache deep in the pit of his stomach. He’d kind of thought he might have had a family by now. Somewhere he belonged, someone he belonged to. Little people who missed him when he was gone. He didn’t even have a girlfriend anymore.

‘Sure.’ Suzy seemed to read his thoughts. ‘Hey, cheer up. It’ll soon be Christmas. You can chill, spend time with family.’

‘Yeah.’ Dylan managed a smile. ‘You take care.’

He didn’t want to think too deeply about Christmas. At the moment it was one long empty space in his diary since breaking up with Amelia. Once he’d realised they wanted different things out of life, he’d acted quickly; there was no point carrying on a relationship that wouldn’t lead to the family he so wanted. By the time they’d touched down in Dallas, both of them were red-eyed and upset it was over. They’d had one last night together and Amelia had flown straight back to New York.

Now all he had in his schedule was work. Merry Christmas, Dylan …

They had one last hug and Suzy made her escape for the evening.

‘Three dates of the tour left to go!’ Bernie, the PR guy from his record label, Phoenix Records, sidled up. ‘How are you feeling?’

‘Three cities, three nights living out of suitcases, and three times walking out on stage and connecting with the fans?’ Dylan grinned. ‘I love every second of it.’

‘You are a PR’s dream,’ said Bernie. ‘There was this band last year, man, they were hard work. Nothing was right for them, they ordered expensive whisky for after parties then didn’t show, they wouldn’t do interviews—’

Dylan held up a hand to stop him before he dissed the other band any more. ‘It’s tough being in the public eye constantly. You never know what someone’s going through. I’m a social kinda guy, but not everyone can do it twenty-four seven.’

‘Sure. Sorry, of course,’ Bernie said, chastised. ‘Listen, can I ask a favour? There’s a journalist over there, she wants to interview you for her entertainment column?’

Bernie pointed to where a young woman with deep red hair cascading over her bare shoulders in waves was chatting with a couple of the sound technicians. His breath caught; from this angle she reminded him of Lucy, her hands waving in the air telling a story.

‘Sure, why not?’

‘You’re a star. I’ll let her know. Her name is Sasha, by the way.’

Bernie jostled his way towards the girl and Dylan felt a tap on his arm.

He turned to find the two members of his support act, Dune, with an older woman in between them. Angel, the lead singer, had the most incredible husky voice and Adam, her brother, was an equally talented guitar player. They were only kids just out of high school; Dylan reckoned they were going to be huge.

‘Hey, guys, you were phenomenal.’ He put his arms around their shoulders. ‘The crowd loved you.’

The pair of them beamed back at him. Dylan recognised that energy, the nerves, the fear, the awe of stepping out on stage and facing a huge crowd. He felt it too; it never faded even after almost two decades in the business.

‘Thank you,’ said Angel, her entire body still vibrating with elation after the end of their set. ‘We’re so grateful for the opportunity to be here.’

‘Our mom, Hazel, wanted to say hi,’ said Adam. ‘Hope you don’t mind.’

‘I’m Hazel. A big fan,’ the older woman gushed, her cheeks pink with excitement. ‘You look smaller in real life. And older.’

‘Mom!’ Angel shrieked.

‘Good to meet you.’ Dylan suppressed a chuckle. Comments from people he’d never met before had stopped surprising him years ago. ‘You must be very proud.’

‘Oh I am.’ She pulled a phone out of her jeans pocket. ‘My children are geniuses, they take after my side.’

Adam groaned. ‘I’m so sorry.’

‘No problem.’ Dylan grinned. ‘She’s right, you are great and of course you get it from your mom.’

‘Can I get a selfie with us all?’ Hazel sailed on, oblivious to her daughter’s mortification. ‘For my scrapbook.’