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  She had the patter, I gave her that.

  As she carried on talking, my thoughts drifted. For the first time that day, I really felt as if we’d finally gelled as a group. I know my chat with Alex in the green room had helped, but our live performance of “After the Rain,” with all Alex’s changes in it, had just gone down a storm with the audience, confirming to me that Alex really had known what she’d been talking about.

  Our first TV appearance as the new Be4 had been a hit, and I knew that was thanks to Alex.

  I stole a look to her while she was still talking. The first proper look I’d been bothered to give her, and I saw in her eyes an understanding that I was sure I hadn’t seen before. She knew her stuff, that was clear. As I watched her from the corner of my eye, the anger and bad feeling I’d directed towards her in the weeks before now seemed to dissolve when I saw how comfortable she was with Hugh and the audience, and when I remembered the shivers I’d felt in my spine at the beautiful music we’d all just created on that stage.

  “And I’m so excited for the future…” Alex was still doing great. She was funny, articulate, charming, and I loved how her charisma and apparent natural ease around a live audience had them laughing and hanging on every word she was saying.

  Okay, so we knew they weren’t entirely our target audience, but we also knew the programme was being aired live at five p.m. when our preferred teenage viewers would hopefully be watching at home, and I guessed Twitter would be our guide later as to how we’d done.

  “And have any of you seen Nicole since she left?” Hugh asked, bringing my attention back to him. “Last seen living it up in Barbados, I think.” He gave a look to the audience, making them laugh.

  “We haven’t, no,” Brooke started.

  “There were rumours she was back in England,” Hugh said. “Could you guys clarify that?”

  Brooke, Robyn, and I made a big show of looking confused.

  “She’s still in Barbados, Hugh.” Robyn spoke first. “You’ve seen the pictures, right?”

  “You’ve seen her bikini, surely?” Brooke.

  Another ripple of laughter. Good old Brooke.

  “Sure,” Hugh said, “but those other rumours just won’t go away, will they?”

  “Other rumours?” Robyn leant her head to one side.

  “The rehab rumours,” Hugh said. “That she’s in Croft House.”

  “That’s crazy.” I laughed. “She’s in the Caribbean having a break and writing some solo stuff,” I said. I wanted Hugh to shut up. “It sounds good too.”

  “Solo stuff?” Hugh latched on to that. Of course he did, and it was then I wished I’d never said anything. “Are you giving us an exclusive here?” he asked.

  “No, no.” I laughed, but Robyn fired me a look, so I added, “At the moment, all she’s doing is enjoying her time off in Barbados,” and knew all I’d done then was just dug a deeper hole for myself.

  Fortunately, Alex changed the subject, and in doing so, saved me. She butted in and somehow managed, with an effortless fluidity, to steer the conversation away from Nicole and back round to the impending release of “After the Rain.” It was genius. Hugh apparently completely forgot all about Nicole and focused all his attention on Alex, who was doing an awesome job of maintaining eye contact with him the whole time she was speaking, frequently leaning over to touch his leg, and now quite obviously had his entire attention.

  I was so grateful to her. I sat and watched her, wishing I’d never said anything about Nicole. It would be all over the Internet like a rash later, I just knew it. Ed was going to have to work some of his magic, and I was going to have to stay out of reporters’ ways for a while. I was an idiot. I slipped another look to Alex, who, now Brooke was talking to Hugh, looked back at me and gave me a small wink, as if to tell me everything was going to be all right.

  Then our eight-minute slot was up.

  Had we talked enough about “After the Rain”? Or Alex’s input into the band? I had no idea, but as the programme cut to commercials, the long and genuine applause from the audience told me we’d done okay. I was pleased.

  I was less pleased with Robyn’s attitude. She’d been giving me evils as we’d left the floor, and her silence was expected, but then it grew longer and more awkward as we walked back down the corridor towards the green room, and I knew the second we got into the room, she’d let rip.

  “Why did you say that about Nic back there?” She swung round to face me once she knew we were all alone. “Ed’ll be furious.”

  I followed her in, holding the door open for Alex and Brooke behind me.

  “I don’t know.” I shrugged. “First thing that came into my head.”

  “Solo stuff?” Robyn said. “Now the press will want to know how, when, why—”

  “They won’t,” I lied, grabbing my bag. “And if they do, then…”

  “Then what?” Robyn asked. “You’ll make up some more lies to add to the ones you’ve already told?”

  “Look,” I said, “Nic forced us into having to tell those lies. I wouldn’t lose any sleep over it.”

  “Yeah, and whose fault was it in the first place,” Robyn muttered under her breath.

  “What?” I spun round to face her.

  “Why are you two arguing?” Alex stepped up next to me. “We’ve just had an amazing time out there. Totally killed our performance, charmed the pants off the audience and Hugh. So why spoil it now?”

  I glanced at her, surprised but grateful she had my back.

  “Tally shouldn’t have said what she said,” Robyn said. “There’s enough speculation around Nic as it is, without Tally opening her big mouth.”

  “Okay, that’s unfair.” Alex spoke before I could. “Tally just said what Nicole’s fans probably wanted to hear, that’s all.” She stared at Robyn. “I think you should apologize to her.”

  “Oh, you do, do you?” Robyn squared up to Alex.

  “Look,” I said, keen to avoid any more arguments. I pulled my phone from my bag and tapped up Twitter, then searched the name of the chat show. “You see anyone talking about Nicole on here?” I held up my phone, relieved that her name hadn’t appeared.

  First Robyn, then Brooke, pulled their own phones out and looked at them. I watched as Robyn narrowed her eyes as she read, the hint of a smile playing on her lips. Thank goodness massaging her ego was more important to her than arguing with me.

  I read some of the messages too, searching for Nicole’s name, but not seeing it:

  .@Be4 are back!

  Totally loving the new lineup. Love, love, LOVE #Tally’s hair today.

  Looking good @TheAfternoonShow there, Robyn.

  OMG, Alex is gorgeous! @Be4

  After the Rain sounds amazing. #Brooke is the best singer ever.

  .@Be4 look and sound awesome.

  #Alex from @Be4! Marry meeee.

  I laughed at that one. As I scrolled down, Alex’s name appeared more and more often.

  Okay, so just watched @TheAfternoonShow, and now I’m totally in love with #Alex Brody from @Be4!!

  Thought #Alex was amazing on @Sing, but now I love her even more in @Be4.

  “They sure like you.” I held my phone up to Alex and waggled it.

  “Do they?”

  Alex wasn’t reading her phone. Instead, she had walked away from us and was now sitting with her chin resting in her hands, staring out of the green room window while she waited for our car to come and pick us up. Her casual disregard for the messages about her wasn’t forced, I thought. She genuinely didn’t seem affected by the praise that was being heaped on her, and while I thought that was a bit weird, I also thought it was totally cool.

  *

  Twitter went even madder after that. Our number of followers rocketed, and the phone to Ed’s office, according to him, never stopped ringing. He, of course, was stoked.

  It seemed as though no one had latched on to my indiscretion about Nicole on The Afternoon Show. The rumours that had dogged her sinc
e she’d left Be4 still persisted, but my fears that they would escalate just never materialized. Instead, it was Alex and our performance on the show that were all anyone wanted to talk about, and I could sense a palpable shift in our popularity. I could feel it in the vibe that seemed to follow us wherever we went, see it in the photographs that appeared almost daily in the papers, and could read it in the numerous articles that kept cropping up online about us. It all felt different now somehow. More intense. I knew something big was happening. We were finally going places and I knew it was all thanks to Alex, even though I didn’t want to admit it to myself. She was the one always being featured in the photo shoots. Her picture was the first one that appeared on the computer when I searched for us. She had more Twitter followers than any of us and I knew that just proved how much the fans had accepted her into Be4.

  Nicole, it seemed, was already history.

  I know I should have been sad, annoyed, jealous…whatever. But I wasn’t. I honestly wasn’t. I was just pleased that we’d found the right person, the person that we’d apparently needed all this time, and it was all thanks to Alex that we were heading in that right direction. I knew I had to thank her. There was something about her that the public had seized on, that the fans loved, that the cameras loved. And I could see what it was that everyone loved so much about Alex Brody, because I could see it myself.

  She was perfect for us, and even though I’d initially thought she was nothing more than talent-show fodder, it was abundantly clear to me now that she wasn’t, and never had been. Instead, Alex was exactly the sort of person I’d always wanted for Be4. I guess I’d always seen Be4 as being a gigging band, the sort of band that plied their trade live as much as they did recorded, and for the first time ever, thanks to Alex, I could totally see that happening.

  Nicole had never really wanted that. It had been the source of too many arguments between us all, and those arguments had become more frequent over the years. Robyn and Brooke had always envisioned Be4 the same way as I had: less dance band, more live band. Nicole had always preferred the dancing, but I couldn’t somehow see Alex being the dancing kind of girl.

  The fact Alex was awesome live hadn’t been ignored. Offers of live appearances flooded in, but the second I walked into Ed’s office a few days later and saw the look on his face, I knew he had news for us. It was a request to headline the second night of a festival that would be taking place in Hyde Park in two weeks’ time, and I don’t know who amongst us was more excited about it. Me, probably. His news took my breath away, because I knew it really showed Be4 were on the up. It had always been my dream to headline a summer festival, but I’d never for one second ever thought it would happen so soon into our career. The gigs we’d done since we’d formed the band had been awesome, but a festival in an arena as big as Hyde Park was taking it to a whole new level, and taking it to a size of audience we could only have dreamed about two years before.

  It seemed my instinct about us had been right.

  Be4 had arrived.

  *

  The festival was confirmed. Better than that, Ed had insisted to the festival organizers that we would perform four of our songs—“After the Rain,” “Crush,” “Drowning in You,” plus an extra one, “Take Me There,” which had been written with Nicole just before she’d gone into rehab, and which we knew Ed wanted to release once “After the Rain” had dropped back out of the charts.

  I knew it was going to be weird performing at the festival without Nicole by my side. I also knew that “Take Me There” had been written by Robyn and Nicole, and that they had put a long guitar solo in the middle of it just for me. I could totally do it, I knew that. But there was a niggling doubt that had gradually wormed its way into me since Ed had confirmed the festival, that somehow I wouldn’t nail my solo on the day.

  I knew why I felt like that: Alex.

  I was concerned about her opinion of my solo, which would be fair enough if I wasn’t a good guitar player, but I was a good player. But still, the nagging worry that she’d find fault with it, like she’d found fault with my singing at the recording of “After the Rain” a few weeks before, remained.

  I knew I was just going to have to prove her wrong.

  Chapter Nine

  It was so bloody hot. I looked down from the rehearsal stage at the festival, to the parched yellow grass, untouched by rain in weeks, then to the dusty plumes kicked out by passing trucks, wishing that the day would end so I could go home. Or at least go and sunbathe under a tree somewhere.

  It was Thursday. Two days before the festival started, two days before Be4 were to play live on stage for the first time as a new-look band.

  We had been rehearsing nonstop since Ed had accepted the gig, and now we’d been in Hyde Park since ten that morning, Alex and me working first with Nate and Grant to make sure our guitars didn’t blast everyone’s eardrums out, then with Brooke and Robyn to perfect our performance. We worked with a choreographer too, the one thing I detested most about performing live. It was always okay when we appeared on television, because the size of the studios didn’t allow us to move much, but gigging live always brought with it some sort of choreography, and although I knew it was necessary, and even though I could keep protesting that Be4 were singers, not dancers, I knew we had to get the few moves we did do on the stage absolutely perfect.

  But by two p.m. I’d had enough. As the stage lights mingled with the bright sunshine, making my face burn hot, all I wanted to do was grab my guitar and sit in the shade to practise my solo a bit more. Alex and I had managed a twenty-minute practice together after lunch, but I knew it wasn’t nearly enough and that my own sanity was crying out for my guitar and some much-needed me-time away from everyone else.

  By two thirty I got my wish. I made my excuses to the others and snagged myself a spot behind the stage where I could clutch my best friend to me and let the stresses that had gripped my neck in a stranglehold all day disappear into the late-afternoon sky the second my fingers brushed the strings. It was heaven. As I first picked and then strummed my notes, the smile that had been missing from my face all day returned, and a coolness enveloped my body. I’ve always loved how my guitar feels in my hands. It felt so solid and trustworthy, and once I started to strum it, it’s like I knew everything was going to be okay. It was my guitar solo: not Alex’s, not anyone else’s. It was important to remember that each time the nerves thought to get the better of me.

  I’d only been playing for around ten minutes when I heard soft footsteps approaching across the grass towards me. I played on, hoping whoever it was would go away. The footsteps slowed and I heard a nervous cough from somewhere behind the stage, followed by, “Oh, hey.”

  I looked up. Alex.

  “I wondered where you were,” she said. “I mean…I wanted to ask you something.”

  I played on. “Ask away,” I said.

  “I was thinking.” Alex rested a hip against the stage rigging. “About the guitar part in the middle.”

  “You don’t like it?” I immediately stopped playing. What was wrong now?

  “No, it’s awesome,” Alex replied, looking down at her feet. She glanced back up at me. “I just wondered if you wanted to hang out later and practise it some more.”

  “Sure. If you want.” I looked back at her, still unsure. “You think it needs some practice?”

  “It didn’t feel as though we had much time together today,” Alex said. “But it doesn’t matter.” She pushed away from the rigging and delved her hand into her pocket, pulling out her phone. “I just thought it would be cool to hang out and jam together.” She moved out of the shade and back into the sunshine.

  “Today?” I asked.

  Alex stopped. “We’re kinda finished here for the day, aren’t we?” She squinted back at me against the sun. “And I’m totally done with any more choreography for today.” Alex rolled her eyes and shuddered. “I’m at a loose end for the rest of the day, that’s all,” she said, “but no worries if y
ou’re busy.”

  “No.” I jumped to my feet. My tiredness and irritability magically disappeared, and the thought of hanging out with Alex and playing guitar with her for the rest of the afternoon suddenly seemed like the only thing I wanted to do. “I’m not busy.”

  “Good.” Alex’s smile seemed genuine. She put her phone back in her pocket. “So,” she said, “your place or mine?”

  *

  We chose my place. I left Alex at the park, having given her my address, and then arranged for her to come over after five.

  It was weird, I thought, as I travelled back across London to Islington, that the thought of Alex coming to my apartment could give me such a sense of anticipation. Weird but exciting. Alex in my sphere, in my personal space. Seeing me out of context, for the first time since she’d joined us. Just me and her.

  My apartment, of course, was like a tip. I didn’t ever clean, I didn’t ever tidy up after myself. Why would I? I’m a seventeen-year-old living on her own in an apartment big enough for six people. The only clean and tidy part about it is the kitchen—that’s always spotless, primarily because I never use it. Within a five minute walk of my front door I have a pizza place, an Indian, a Mexican, and a sushi bar that does the best oshizushi this side of the Thames. Why would I ever need to cook?

  As I came in through the front door, kicking an errant pair of socks behind a potted plant, my eyes sought out one of my favourite guitars, waiting patiently for me in the corner of my lounge. My salvation. I shrugged my bag and guitar from my shoulders and, knowing I should tidy up, but wanting to play a few chords before Alex arrived more, I grabbed it and sat.

  As the music flowed from my fingers, the time passed without me even realizing it. Before I knew it, the sound of the buzzer on my intercom was intruding, cutting through the music like an annoying bee. I stopped playing and stared up at the clock. Four fifteen. I swung round to look at the door, debating whether to ignore it and carry on playing, but as if the person on the other side had read my mind, the buzzer rang again, longer this time.