Steve cast a look over his shoulder at Daniel and widened his eyes, as if recalibrating his opinion of him, then he looked back at Alison. ‘I might want a female vocalist, and I definitely want her to look like you,’ he said. ‘Backing singer, two or three songs. Can you sing?’

‘Which songs?’ Alison said.

He gave a small laugh and said – patiently, as if he was humouring her – ‘“Juliet”. “No Safe Place”. Maybe “Evermore”.’

She nodded. ‘Right.’

He stared at her for a moment. Cocked his head. Weighed her up. ‘You’re fuckin’ gorgeous, Alison Connor. But can you sing?’

Alison met Steve’s calculating eyes with cool control. ‘Yeah, I can sing,’ she said. ‘But you’ll have to say please.’

Daniel thought, Jesus, she’s fearless. It was news to him that Steve wanted a female vocalist; news to Dooley and John too, by the looks on their faces. They’d already got their sodding roadie on lead guitar – why would they shove in an untried new vocalist too? Only Daniel had heard Alison sing, in his bedroom, unselfconsciously accompanying Debbie Harry and Marc Bolan and Elvis Costello and Bowie. He knew how good she was. He wondered, should he go over? Wander across the room, nonchalantly, just to emphasise her unavailability? But he didn’t, and instead hung back with the band, watching his girlfriend give the local legend a mildly hard time.

‘Alison Connor,’ Steve said, ‘will you have a go at singing backing vocals for me, please?’

‘OK,’ she said. She was familiar with the songs; she’d heard the band play their full set tonight, and on previous nights too, and lyrics that she liked tended to penetrate her mind like a kind of gospel: the way, the truth, the life. She walked around Steve, across the room to the rest of the band, and stood in front of Daniel. With her back to Steve she rolled her eyes, and Daniel grinned at her.

‘You were good,’ she said.

He nodded, accepting the compliment. ‘But you’ll be better,’ he said.

‘Right,’ Steve said, back at the mic. ‘“Juliet”. Dooley, get Alison a mic. Alison, I want you to come in on the back of me, at the last line of the first verse, just, like, repeat it, twice maybe, see what works, we’ll muck about with it. Then chime in at the middle eight, whatever sounds right. We’ll suck it and see.’

Dooley passed her a mic, plugged her in.

‘Thanks,’ she said to him. Then, to Steve, ‘I’ll give it a go.’

‘Ah shit, you’ll need the words. Dooley, find some fuckin’ words, fuck’s sake.’

Dooley, hunched once again over his guitar waiting for the off, looked injured. ‘Wha’?’ he said.

‘The fuckin’ words!’ Steve said, like he was talking to a moron. ‘Get ’em, for Alison.’

‘No, it’s all right, Dooley,’ Alison said. ‘I know them already.’