‘Seraphim’ was usually a harder, driving number, benefiting a lot from a heavy bassline and a violent beat. She’d never really done it acoustic, and she stumbled a few times slowing it down. Not her finest performance by a long shot, but Clio, pushing through the crowd and hugging her, didn’t seem to mind.

‘Is that true? Is that true? You bad bitch. Is that true?’

Siobhan nodded, breathed in perfume and felt a bit fraudulent. She hadn’t thought of the origins of that song in years until tonight; it had become its own thing completely separate from Clio. It reminded her of that perfect sunset performance at Glastonbury, feeling Daisy kick inside her to the thrum as the crowd screamed; she almost wished she’d kept it for herself now.

Clio was restless, snatched or distracted away from her side almost immediately. As she tried to cut her way back across to the people she knew, a small man tapped her on the shoulder.

‘Great set, Shiv. Really.’

‘Och, it was just the one song.’

‘I mean it. Really interesting to hear the origins of that one, too.’

He had a soft voice and his balding scalp was damp with the heat, the hair brushed over it sweaty. She wondered why he didn’t take his leather jacket off.

‘So, is there anything else in the pipeline?’

‘I’m sorry? Do I—?’

‘Um. Neil Munro? From the Standard? We’ve met. I’ve interviewed you quite a few times over the years?’

Nothing, but she let her eyes do slow recognition.

‘Of course! I’m so sorry. I’m actually slightly face-blind; do you know that? Well, you do now!’

‘Not to worry, not to worry. Listen, can I buy you a drink?’

He’d already placed a hand on her back and steered her towards the bar, she noticed.

‘Oh no, no, please—’

‘Go on.’ He winked, and it was awful. ‘Glass of wine? G&T? The first time we met you were drinking pints of lager, but I suspect your tastes have changed.’

As she waited, helpless and stuck by obligation at the side of the bar, she noticed a young woman trying to work up the nerve to approach. Usually Siobhan tried to avoid these sorts of encounters, as her fans tended to be painfully earnest, but she could use a buffer right now, so she smiled in what she hoped was an encouraging way. The woman simpered, blushed, then began to move forward, arriving just as Neil made his way back from the bar with her drink.

‘I just wanted to say that that was amazing,’ the woman said. She was probably in her late twenties, heavy, with frizzy hair dyed badly purple and a nose ring. She spoke in almost a monotone.