They went back on the road in October, just when she’d settled in Nashville and her studies were going really well. She was acing exams and was well on her way towards academic excellence. Gemma her tutor wasn’t available to travel. It was a blow. Her new tutor was a man called Zac. He was in his thirties, a hippy type who had been home-schooled all his life. He used the word ‘man’ more than most and he smelled strongly of sandalwood. He was a nice guy, but he wasn’t Gemma. She could talk to Gemma about girly things, things she couldn’t talk to Davey about. Gemma had been hers and hers alone.

They were on tour for two months, which took them right into the holidays, but Davey had promised her they’d go back to Dublin, so he bought two first-class tickets online and she dreamed about seeing her home and her boyfriend again.

‘Do I need to worry about this boy?’ he asked.

‘I’m thirteen.’

‘Going on fourteen.’

‘That’s still young, Davey.’

He nodded. ‘If you ever want to talk about boy-girl stuff, you can come to me,’ he said, choking the words out.

‘Thanks.’

‘Or your auntie Grace is always on the end of a telephone line.’

‘OK. Thanks.’

‘Or your gran.’

She looked at him.

‘Maybe not her, she’d probably put down the phone and kill the young fella.’

‘With a bag of oranges,’ Juliet said.

‘It is her weapon of choice.’

That was the conversation that made her want to tell Davey that Trevor the sound guy had been acting strangely. Since returning from Ireland she’d tried to stay away from him as much as possible. Every time he proposed a lesson, she made an excuse. Even then when they shared a lift or he stood behind her in the queue at a service station or canteen, he got too close. There was an atmopshere between them now. She didn’t like it. He made her feel uncomfortable. She thought about what she’d say to Davey, how she’d approach it, but she didn’t know how, or what was even happening – so she didn’t. Maybe if Gemma had still been tutoring her, she might have said it to her.

They’d been touring six out of the eight weeks when Trevor knocked on her hotel room door with an old ten-channel sound desk in his hand. She’d just taken a bath, she was in her robe and she was tired. She told him she was going to bed and felt really awkward because she was naked under her bathrobe.

‘Is Davey around?’ he asked.

‘No, they’re rehearsing a new song for the set tonight,’ she said, and she thought it was an odd question as she was sure he knew about it.