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“I can’t believe it’s been six years since we’ve had him on the show. Give it up for the one and only Hugo Hayes!”
Three, two, one…and block it out. Mask. I’d done it a million times before. I skipped down the steps from the podium behind the wall, making my entrance to a round of applause. I raised a still wave, nodded to the audience of three hundred or so, flashed that winning smile people seemed to like so much.
The set had changed since my last visit. They’d swapped individual bucket chairs for one, long couch. Two guests were already sitting there after their interviews. Micky Barclay from the band Midnight Red, and Jennifer Arthur, promoting her latest movie. I could feel them watching me, waiting for me. I didn’t like that, but I couldn’t let it show. Ricky Byrne extended his hand. I returned the gesture, as expected, before taking up the offer of a seat.
“It’s good to have you back,” Ricky said, sliding behind his desk. I envied him in that moment, craved the distance he had, the safety barrier.
“Good to be here,” I lied.
“You don’t do many interviews like this these days. I know, because we’ve been trying to get you on here for the last couple of years!” The audience laughed when he said that. I didn’t get it. I smiled because they did. “Is there a reason for that?”
“I, uh, don’t have much to say, I guess.” It was a lame answer. Boring. I knew it as soon as it’d left my mouth. I’d known this question was coming, rehearsed an answer a hundred times in my head, yet now I was sitting here, my mind had erased all knowledge. This was why I didn’t do interviews; I looked stupid.
“That can’t be true,” he argued. “You’re one of, if not the, biggest-selling solo artists on the planet right now. I’m sure there are a lot of stories to tell.”
I shrugged, smiled awkwardly. “Not about me. I work, come home, work some more. I’m not the rock ‘n’ roll type everyone thinks I am.”
Ricky gave me a questioning look, like he didn’t believe me. “You’re on tour over here right now, yes?”
“I am.”
“Good to be back home?”
Home. Instinctively, my gaze wandered out to the audience, seeking Helen. “Absolutely. It’s my favourite place.” I had to force myself to look away before I became lost in her, forgot where I was or that anyone else in this building, this life, existed.
“This is probably too early seeing as your current tour hasn’t finished, but do you have plans for another album? I heard there’s new music on the way.”
Shit. “I’m sorry, could you repeat that last part.” I’d fallen into the familiar trap of focusing on our eye-contact. Had I held it long enough? Too much? Should I stare right into his eyes or off-centre, towards his nose. I fucking hated this.
“New music. Is it coming?”
“Not just yet. I’ve been in the studio, but I’m still excited about the current album, which I’m currently touring with.”
My pulse raced, awaiting the next quick-fire question…only it didn’t come quickly. I jammed my fingers together atop my knees, rocked just slightly. Come on. Jesus.
“Hugo…” Ricky said my name with caution, sending a shock of panic down my spine. He was about to go off track. I could feel it. “I like you. We’ve met a few times over the years, various events etcetera…”
Holy shit. What was he doing? “Right.” I nodded, breath hitching.
“Now, I’ve never witnessed anything that would make me believe this, but I think the audience would probably like me to address the rumours about the difficulties you’ve faced…are facing.”
“Difficulties?” What the hell? I hadn’t approved this. Had anyone approved this?
“You know…the drugs.”
The muscles around my eyes started to ache from being so contorted with confusion. I wanted out of there. Immediately. I planned to scan the studio, search for Drew behind the cameramen, but my eyes found Helen first. She smiled at me, winked. Such a simple gesture but it filled me with encouragement. Faith.
“I’ve never messed with drugs in my life,” I said, proud of the conviction in my voice. “And I don’t read the papers or social media hashtags, so I’m afraid I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Ricky sat back in his big leather chair, interlaced his fingers across his chest. “I suppose, and I’m only guessing here, people might be making such assumptions based on your behaviour?”
“My behaviour?” I knew my social skills weren’t always top notch but was I really the issue right now?
“You can come across, and forgive me if I’m wrong, a little…distracted. On edge. Like I said, I’m only trying to figure out where the rumours may have come from, like you.”
“No you’re not,” I spat, surprising myself. “You’re digging for dirt for higher ratings.” It was the first time I’d wished the show were live because I knew they’d cut that line out. I’d embarrassed Ricky Byrne, and my fellow guests going by the shallow gasp coming from my right. “It’s called autism, not addiction.”
