Kira ran a small hippy festival every year. It was called Bunt fest after Libby’s mother-in-law Bunty, who allowed it to happen at her huge plot of land in Richmond. The whole thing was completely fabulous and very Kira.
“Er … hi,” I said, giving them a small wave and a bemused smile.
“We’re sorting out the staging and stuff so you’ll need to be involved too chicky,” one of the lads said.
“What?”
“In the staging for Bunt Fest,” Kira told me. “You’re performing this year. You promised me last week.”
“I did?” My eyebrows shot up and I took a step back. “I don’t remem - “
“It’ll be a blast, Prodigy Girl,” the more unkempt member of Ferret’s Testicles added. “You’ll smash it. No better audience than them.”
My stomach hollowed out and I pressed my lips together. Performing to crowds was not my idea of “a blast” - I just didn’t have the confidence yet. I grabbed my bag and started backing away to the door.
“Well, sorry,” I said, “but I’ve gotloadsto sort this morning and I –.” Before I had the door fully open Kira was right in front of me holding out my diabetic kit. I must have left it on the side,again.
“You’re on the programmeProdigy Girlso you’ll have to stop being such a cockwomble and suck it up. But I need you tosurviveto make it there, okay?”
*****
“Hello, Urvi?”
I startled in my seat at the deep voice pronouncing my namejust right. After I’d found this small café I’d become so engrossed in my lyrics that the outside world had faded away. Having a piano and my computer helped when I was writing but I could manage the lyrics without if I needed to. I’d always been able to see music – almost as if it were colours dancing through my subconscious. It was a shock to be dragged back to reality. My eyes lifted slowly from some expensive leather shoes, up a perfectly tailored light grey suit, past a crisp white shirt and blue tie and to broad shoulders and, finally, to a lightly stubbled face. I felt my heart clench in my chest. Jack’s blue eyes were locked on me and his lips were tilted in a small smile.
“I . . . er . . . hi!” I stumbled over my words, scrambling to sit up in my chair. His head tilted to the side in an obvious attempt to read what I was writing and I flipped my notepad shut. The lyrics were only half done and would sound bloody weird out of context. I managed a smile and he returned it with a wide, white, glamourous one of his own. All the air left my lungs in a sudden whoosh. I didn’t think I’d ever been so attracted to anyone. “Mad Man, how’s it hanging?”
“All the better for seeing you,” he said. Mr Smooth as always. “Mind if I sit?”
“Er, sure,” I said, clearing some of my other manuscripts out of his way and nearly spilling my coffee in the process. It shouldn’t shock me so much to see him in this neck of the woods. The coffee shopwasnear London Bridge after all. But I’d never seen the man outside of the Dragon’s Den. Never seen him in daylight. In full technicolor he was even more striking than under the bar lights.
“You’re a student?” he asked, tilting his head to the student ID lying alongside my notebook. I nodded.
“Umhmm, Yes.” I decided not to elaborate. I knew that in the back of my mind I’d taken my family’s attitude to my degree to heart. If I were still studying medicine I would have told him, but music . . .
“So you work at the bar to finance your course,” he said, taking a sip of his coffee and clearly mulling something over in his mind before his sharp focus came back to me. “I’m sorry about the other night.”
“You’ve already apologized,” I told him. “And it wasn’t warranted the first time. People can be dicks, it’s fine.”
“It is not fine,” he countered, his expression darkening. “Ibrought that particular dick there in the first place.”
I shrugged. “You can’t always choose which dicks you do business with.”
He sighed. “That’s not strictly true. I can choose who I make an ad campaign for.”
I laughed. “Only if you own the company,” I joked. He paused for a moment and then laughed along with me.
“Yes,” he said. “Only then.”
It was his pause that gave him away. “You don’t actuallyownit … do you?” I asked slowly and he bit his lip.
“Maybe?” he said, as if he was asking me if that was the case.
I let out a puff of air and grinned across at him. “No wonder you drop so much cash in the club, swanky bastard.”
“Jack?” A tall blonde approached our table and slipped her hand onto his shoulder. She was wearing a beautifully cut black trouser suit with toweringly high heels and she matched Jack perfectly. I scuffed my worn out, dirty Converse on the floorboards, feeling self-conscious. She looked like the kind of woman who had her shit together, big style. “We’re going to be late to the boards.” He shifted a little and her hand fell away.
“Thanks Stella,” he said, flashing her an annoyed look. “One minute, okay?” Stella sniffed, glanced over at me and then stalked over to the coffee counter. I caught a flash of her red soles as she walked away and I tucked my Converse even further under my chair.
