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Ashley shook her head.

Outside her flat window, London looked grey. Rain threatened but hadn’t committed. ‘What you don’t understand about this is… it ended poorly.’

‘I assumed,’ he said, unbothered.

‘And now you’re suggesting I ring her up and say, “Hello, fancy pretending our emotional history is a marketing strategy?”’

‘When you put it like that—’

‘I’m putting it exactly like that.’

‘—it does sound challenging.’

Ashley laughed despite herself.

Simon waited.

‘I’m not saying yes.’

‘I know.’

‘I’m not even saying maybe.’

‘Understood.’

‘I’m saying it’s a horrible idea.’

There was a pause. Then Simon said, much more gently, ‘For what it’s worth, she’d definitely benefit from something positive right now.’

Ashley thought about Molly standing in that crowded party. ‘Losing a show sounds rough.’

‘Yeah.’

Ashley wandered back into the living room where her comp notebook waited. The unfinished lyric stared up at her.

‘If I did this,’ she said carefully, ‘hypothetically…’

Simon’s intake of breath was immediate. ‘Hypothetically. Of course.’

‘She’d have to be fully on board.’

‘Naturally.’

‘And if I were considering it, which I’m not, it would only be because I feel sorry for her.’

‘Sure, sure.’

‘I need some space to think about it.’

‘Take it,’ he said cheerfully.

‘Goodbye, Simon.’ She hung up.

The silence that followed felt oddly loud. A moment later her phone buzzed.

A text from Simon.

For the record, I think ‘Ashley and Molly Reunite’ sells at least three thousand extra tickets. Chet agrees.