‘I’m actually staying in Brixton. In a squat, would you believe? With a brilliant bunch of people. I like it much better round there. You’re actually living in a real area with a real, diverse mix of folk, not just white music-industry blobs in their twenties. No offence, gents – although I don’t think you’re even technically in your thirties any more, are you, Pete?’

Roger from the NME snorted. ‘Brixton? Good fucking luck, sweetheart. You wouldn’t catch me in that shithole without a Kevlar vest.’

‘I know, Roger. One of the area’s many attractions.’

Clio raised the pint that had been set at her elbow in his direction. Shiv wasn’t sure what to do. There was some sort of undercurrent pulsing out from the older woman, a weird fizzing electricity, even though her smile was quite pleasant. She could tell it was making the men uncomfortable but she couldn’t name it.

‘The folk I’m living with are working in the underground,’ Clio said. ‘Campaigners. People who’ve really dropped out of the rat race and aren’t just slumming it for a couple of years. Trying to make a difference. It all just feels a lot more important than – this. I don’t know if it could possibly make sense to you just now, Shiv, when all this –’ she gestured around the bar, its shabby walls and peeling paint ‘– is amazing and new. I know how you feel, I really do. But I suspect some day you’ll understand what I’m getting at.’

‘So, those who can’t go to Brixton, eh?’ Pete seemed to be speaking to the ceiling, but everyone heard him.

Shiv thought the best thing to do was probably change the subject. She had no idea what was going on but they were all beginning to spoil her buzz, and she was pretty sure she needed these guys on side. She kind of wished Clio would just go, but she was sipping her drink very slowly.

‘You’re still making music, though? If you’re doing backing vocals? Oh my God, we should totally work together. Ed, Ed, can you set that up? I mean, you have no idea what a beautiful voice Clio has.’

‘Yeah, he probably can’t remember back that long ago,’ Pete said.

‘I mean, if I could sing one-tenth as well as Clio, I’d just – God, we could have really used a voice like yours in the studio.’

‘Hey, don’t you be hard on yourself, babe,’ Roger from the NME muttered, pressing his leg into hers as he rubbed her back. ‘You’ve got star power. The real thing. Don’t underestimate yourself, or other people’s jealousy of that.’