𝐀𝐩𝐡𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐚. ⁽⁽⁽ᵐᵃᵗᵗʸ ʰᵉᵃˡʸ⁾⁾⁾

Manhattan.*

(Interpol - Hands Away)

Me

(Marlon Williams - Can I Call You)

It was late, extremely late when Helen, Dean, Ethan and I returned to the hotel, and I was grateful for the zen quality of the place, especially as I was struggling to walk in an entirely straight line. Dean and Ethan went straight to the bar for a nightcap, whilst Helen and I pressed the button for the lift.

'You know, you coped really well in the end,' Helen said matter-of-factly, studying her reflection in the mirrored elevator door and wiping off the mascara that has fallen below her lashes. 'I thought we were absolutely done for at one point.'

'Let it never be repeated,' I muttered darkly. 'I am personally checking my monitors myself every night of this tour.'

She gave me a tight hug before we parted to go to our rooms, a squeeze that told me everything I needed to know. As unpleasant as the glitch had been, I hadn't really been alone up there - regardless of whether an apparition from the past appeared. Worst case scenario, there would have been a brief interlude, audiences understood. Technical issues happened all the time. My blind panic was induced mainly by the pressure I had imposed upon myself, and the unsettled state of my mind.

I wandered into the bathroom, turning on the hot tap and letting the tub fill up as I undressed listlessly, peeling off my tights and carefully hanging my stage clothes up in the cavernous wardrobe. Testing the water with my hand, I turned the tap off again and pulled my hair up into a bun to stop it from falling into the water. A knock sounded at the door, three sharp raps. 'For god's sake,' I sighed under my breath, tiptoeing back into the room and wrapping myself in one of the luxuriously thick dressing gowns that I'd found hanging beside the ironing board and piles of spare towels the hotel had provided.

I opened the door to find Matty leaning against the wall and looking morose, his crisp yellow shirt now creased and wrinkled, his patterned tie askew. 'Are you kidding me? Really?'

'I have your scarf,' he said weakly, holding it aloft. It was the one I wrapped around him in Granary Square.

'Right. Thanks.' Useless in this climate, I thought to myself, but I took it anyway, ignoring the pang as my hand brushed against his, and stared at him expectantly.

'I need to talk to you,' he insisted, his voice rough and pleading. 'Please, Jo. Can I come in?'

I narrowed my eyes, making a pretence of considering his question so that I didn't appear too easily swayed. 'Fine.'

He followed me into the room, pausing in the middle of the carpet as I leaned against the edge of the small sofa. He glanced down at his shoes, perhaps wondering if they would mark the cream carpet, but we both knew that if he removed them, it would signal an intent to stay.

'Go on then,' I nodded, and he kicked them off against the wall. I wasn't sure what sort of impression I was trying to exude - irritable that he had bothered me? Dismissive even? No, I couldn't fake that even at the best of times, let alone exhausted at two in the morning after a festival. 'Alright. What did you need to talk about?'

'I'm sorry if I overstepped, coming onstage with you today,' he edged towards the bed, sitting on the end of it innocuously. 'I was right there at the side, I just... couldn't watch you panic. So I thought, you know, since there was something I could do...'

'You didn't overstep,' I sighed, letting my tone become warmer. 'It was weird, I don't know why you followed me around. But I'm glad you did, in the end.'