that they remained silent. In the words of one seventies pop duo, some things were better left unsaid.
‘Hey,’ Zoë looked at her sister, remembering something. ‘Did you know Dad nearly played rugby for England?’
Tamsin spluttered, eventually swallowing her mouthful of wine and frowning. ‘What?’
‘Back in the eighties. He got accepted onto the squad. I think he turned it down for a place in chambers.’
‘I didn’t know, no.’ Tamsin’s brow remained furrowed. ‘That doesn’t surprise me, though. I knew he was good. I guess he just didn’t want to take the risk. How did you find that out, anyway?’
‘I heard him talk about it at your…’ Zoë faltered. ‘Your dinner thing.’ She hadn’t meant to bring that up.
‘Oh yeah. What happened to you that night? I couldn’t find you during drinks.’
Zoë hesitated, not sure whether to tell her sister the truth. Tamsin knew how important the band was to her. She would understand about the rehearsal and the gig and the demo DVD…But the question was: would she see it as more important than her own celebratory dinner? Was it more important than the dinner that signified Tamsin’s coming of age in the legal world?
‘I…’ Zoë tried to decide. She kept getting close to coming out with the truth, then chickening out. ‘I…’
She was rescued by the sound of her phone. Quickly, she pulled it out of her bag.
‘Hiiiiii,’ came an unfamiliar, nasal drawl. ‘Is that one of the lovely young ladies from Dirty Money?’
‘Yes,’ she replied, quickly lowering the wine glass from her lips and trying to shield the mouthpiece from the noise. ‘This is Zoë.’
‘Zoë, hiiiiii,’ said the man. He sounded like a crank caller – possibly a fan from one of their less salubrious gigs. ‘This is Louis Castle.’
Zoë’s grip tightened on the phone. She could feel her heart rate quicken inside her chest. This was the man who managed Tepid Foot Hold’s career. The man who had helped Toby Fox win an Ivor Novello.
‘Hi!’ she squeaked breathlessly.
‘Just thought I’d drop you a line, y’know, t’say hi. I gat your demo DVD.’
‘Right.’ Zoë swallowed.
‘And I kinda like it. Or at least, I like the music. The DVD’s not gonna win any awards, is it?’
‘No. Um…Right.’ Zoë couldn’t speak properly. She wanted to apologise for the poor quality of the recording, to explain that they were a lot better in the flesh than the footage implied…But her mind was swamped by the single question: did he like the music enough?
‘So, I’m thinkin’,’ said the man, ‘if you girls are up for it, we should meet up. Chat a little. Talk about a management contract.’
There was a pause, and Zoë realised she was nodding into the phone. ‘Right,’ she muttered, shell-shocked. Then she pulled herself together. ‘Yes, great. Let’s!’
Tamsin was looking at her strangely when she got off the phone.
‘Is everything all right?’
Zoë forced herself to take a breath, then exhaled, slowly. ‘I think,’ she said eventually, to her baffled-looking sister. ‘I think Louis Castle might want to take us on.’
‘Beer for you…Beer for me…Whisky for Ellie, if she ever turns up…’ Shannon slid the drinks across the table. ‘Why’re you on orange juice, Kate? What’s up? It’s not right to celebrate without a proper drink.’
Zoë took her pint and shifted sideways, beginning to realise the scale of the task ahead. It was becoming apparent that their drummer’s feet had long since left the ground and it was going to be all they could do to keep her at the current altitude, let alone bring her back down.
‘Strictly speaking,’ she said, saving Kate from her explanation, ‘we’re not celebrating. There’s nothing to celebrate yet.’
Shannon let out an exasperated sigh. ‘Oh, party-pooper! We’re just about to get taken on by the guy who put Tepid Foot Hold on the global rock map – who, by the way, have just had their latest album go platinum. That’s reason to celebrate, if you ask me!’
Kate glanced anxiously at Zoë. ‘We haven’t even met the guy yet.’
‘I have,’ Shannon retorted.
‘Yeah, after about twelve beers at the end of a long night.’ Kate started manically stirring her orange juice. ‘We haven’t. He hasn’t met us. He might not like us.’
‘Of course he likes us!’ cried Shannon, lowering her pint with such panache that the head sloshed all over the table. ‘I mean…Why wouldn’t he?’ On seeing the other girls’ gazes drift upwards, Shannon looked round. ‘Oh, hi!’ She pushed the whisky towards Ellie as she drifted over.
Zoë sipped her beer as their drummer prattled on about other artists she intended to meet when they were up there with the biggest bands in the world.
‘…the latest single by The Cheats. Have you heard it? It’s gorgeous. I’m totally in love with the lead singer.’ Shannon tipped back some beer. ‘You know, Niall King?’ she prompted, looking around briefly but not waiting for a response. ‘He’s Irish. Has the most amazing voice. Honestly, you have to hear him sing. Wouldn’t it be awesome if we got signed by the same label?’
Zoë exchanged another worried look with Kate. This was getting ridiculous. They hadn’t even got a manager yet.
‘I wonder which label they’re on…Ooh!’ Shannon suddenly ducked under the table, emerging with her phone.
The others sipped their drinks while Shannon alternately fiddled and swore at her handset.
‘No word from the labels, then?’ Kate asked quietly.
‘Not yet.’
Zoë felt guilty. She knew that the second word was superfluous. Their dirty money campaign had clearly failed. If any of the label reps had been remotely interested, they would have called by now. The bastards. They’d probably pocketed the money and thrown the CD in the bin, along with all the others. Or worse…Zoë thought unhappily about the other prospect: they had listened to the CD and rejected it.
Sitting here now, waiting and hoping to get taken on by Louis hot-shot Castle, Zoë was beginning to realise that their little stunt might have actually set them back. If the heads of the labels had already turned them down, then no amount of schmoozing on Louis Castle’s part would convince them to change their minds.
‘Listen,’ said Zoë, deciding to put the whole expensive operation behind them. ‘I think, when we meet this guy, we should show him what we’re all about.’
‘Definitely,’ agreed Shannon, looking up from her phone.
Zoë wondered whether she actually knew what she meant. ‘He’s seen us on stage,’ she said, ‘and he knows our music, but he doesn’t know us. He doesn’t know what we’re capable of between gigs.’
Shannon was nodding, her brow creased in earnest.
‘Our promotional capabilities,’ Zoë explained. ‘The way we can generate a buzz. The massive fan base we’ve built up.’
To say ‘we’ was generous, thought Zoë, given that she always did most of the work, but it was important that they felt like a team.
‘Yeah!’ Shannon agreed. ‘We should show him what we can do!’