“So what’s it to be?” I asked. “Will you at least listen to what he’s got to say?”

Moira took a deep drag on her cigarette. Maggie looked as if she was holding her breath and praying. Moira blew two streams of smoke down her nose and nodded at me. “I’ll listen. When can you set it up?”

“The sooner the better. He’s at home working on his new album. Believe me, he needs your help yesterday.”

Moira smiled, a wide grin that lit up her whole face and took ten years off her. “I’ll bet,” she said. “What about tonight? Might as well get it over with.”

“But it’s past ten o’clock!” Maggie protested. “You can’t go off there now.”

“Maggie, unless Jett has had a personality transplant, he’ll be up watching videos and listening to music till three or four o’clock. He doesn’t get up to listen to the Archers omnibus on Sunday mornings,” Moira replied, a gentle tease in her voice.

Maggie flushed. “I still think you should leave it till tomorrow,” she said stubbornly. “You’re tired. You need a night’s rest after the show.”

She still had a lot to learn, I thought sadly. Every performer I’ve ever met is so high after a show that they need half the night to come down to a point where sleep’s possible. That’s why so many of them get hooked on a mixture of uppers and downers.

As if reading my thoughts, Moira said, “No, Maggie. Right now, I’m on a high. All that applause! Tonight, I feel like I could meet Jett as an equal. And if I sleep on it, I’ll probably bottle out. Or else I’ll let you talk me out of it.”

Moira got to her feet and put an arm round Maggie’s waist. “Kate, if you’ll give me ten minutes, we’ll meet you in the car park. Ours is the red 2CV. I’ll have to go home and change into something more suitable,” she added, waving at her blue lurex dress and a jogging suit. “If you follow us back there, then you can take me over to see Jett. If that’s OK with you.”

“Fine by me,” I confirmed, feeling exultant. There’s no better feeling in the world than the moment when you know you’ve cracked a difficult job. Moira wasn’t the only one who was on a high.

An hour later, Moira and I were heading back down the motorway towards Manchester. “I feel like I’ve spent more time on this motorway in the last couple of weeks than I’ve spent in my own bed,” I muttered to break the silence that had fallen on us since Maggie had waved a mournful farewell on the doorstep.

Moira chuckled. “I’m sorry I’ve given you so much trouble,” she remarked.