‘A tin?’ Ali glanced enquiringly at Jake.

‘The shipping container,’ he said.

He was unable to banish an image of corrugated steel walls and condensation but Ali assured him Nadine’s new home was extremely comfortable.

‘It’s actually quite a cosy tin,’ said Ali and grinned when Eleanor snorted. ‘I’ll bring you to see it when you’re better. You’ll have to come to my play, as well. I’ll organise the best seat in the theatre for you and Cora.’

Such an event would probably precipitate another stroke, Jake thought, but wisely stayed silent. He would never come to terms with The Arboretum Affair. To his amazement the play was still running and had received favourable reviews. Critics could write what they liked about the protest language of movement but it was not their daughter on stage protesting in a body stocking.

‘I’m meeting Peter Brennan for a meal,’ Ali said when they left the hospital. ‘Why not join us? You look like you could do with some cheering up.’

‘I’ll only be in the way.’

‘Oh, for goodness sake, Dad, it’s just Peter. It’s not a date. He won’t mind.’

‘You married him once.’

‘I was five at the time.’ She grinned. ‘Grounds for an annulment, don’t you think.’

Their wedding had been held in Brennan’s garden shed with Brian, wrapped in a bath towel, solemnly performing the ceremony. Afterwards, Ali admitted she had only accepted Peter’s proposal so that she could wear her princess dress. Jake wished they were still in love. Boy next door and happy ever after. Jake sighed. He and Nadine had had conversations about Mark Brewer. Initially, Jake thought the idea too preposterous to even consider. But Nadine assured him it was a serious relationship that was bound to break Ali’s heart.

A slight shadow of disappointment crossed Peter’s face when he saw Jake. Ali was oblivious of it. She ordered chicken masala and ate about three spoonfuls. She drank only iced water. She was probably developing an eating disorder as well as exposing her heart to a man who was going to destroy it, Jake reflected gloomily.

‘Sylph-responsibility,’ she said. ‘It never stops.’

Peter said she must forget all about sylph-responsibility or any other kind of responsibility when they met in London. He was flying over for his friend’s birthday party in July and planned to spend a day with Ali.

‘Can you believe it? He’s celebrating his twenty-fifth birthday?’ He splayed his hands in amazement and laughed when Jake suggested a Zimmer frame would an appropriate birthday present.

Age and its relentless passage… was he crazy trying to relive his youth through Shard? Was it his love of music or, as Ali believed, a mid-life crisis that had him posturing on a roof? He expressed this thought aloud but, to his surprise, both Ali and Peter disagreed. Peter said Collapsing the Stone was one of the strongest musical statements to come out of the recession.

He felt his mood lift. In a fortnight’s time he was heading to the UK with Shard on their first tour abroad. The venues were small, mainly clubs and pubs but Mik Abel had promised more high profile venues the next time.

Eleanor was home from hospital and in the care of Cora when Jake drove the band members onto the ferry at Larne. Karin’s text arrived as he was about to go on stage in Glasgow. The eagerness with which he once received them had been replaced by dread. Not that there was anything threatening about her texts. Nothing he could hand to the police and claim he was being harassed. He looked out on a mass of indistinguishable faces and was unable to see her anywhere. Another text wishing him luck came before the Carlisle gig. Break a leg, she texted before he want on stage in Newcastle. They stopped when he changed his phone number in Leeds.

The days passed in a blur of motorways and fleeting glimpses of cities before driving on to their next destination. London with their final gig. Dee Street on the Kings Road was small – Reedy compared it to a dog kennel with strobes – but it had hidden crannies and long passages at the back of the building that soon filled with young people. Jake heard Irish accents, the new diaspora had turned out in force to hear them. Ali had rung with apologies. Sylph-duty. Jake knew better than to protest or, as she would claim, lay a guilt trip on her.

Nadine arrived about an hour after the gig started. She looked slim and leggy in jeans and ankle boots, her hair more tousled than he remembered, its coppery sheen enhanced by the spotlights. She stopped in front of the stage to acknowledge him then disappeared with a glass of wine into an alcove. The heat in the club was intense. He gulped water and wiped perspiration from his neck, relieved when it was time for a break.

A tray of drinks had been set up at the bar for the band. Still water for Hart and for Feral, who, much to the band’s astonishment, had recently announced that she was pregnant. There was also Guinness for Daryl, a shandy for Reedy and a pint of Budweiser for Jake.

‘Thanks for the drinks.’ He sat beside Nadine and took a long swig of beer. ‘I needed that.’

He had a sudden urge to lift the weight of hair from her shoulders and press his lips against her neck. Was she still in touch with Daveth Carew? Her life was a mystery to him and he realised, painfully, that he would never have a chance to unravel it. Why now, he thought, when it was too late for old passions to flare and they had squandered what they once shared.

‘Don’t thank me,’ she said. ‘I didn’t order it. How’s the tour going?’

‘Oh, you know… it’s a start. The lads are happy enough.’

‘Shard sound amazing. It’s a really tight sound. I love the harmonies.’

‘Thanks.’

‘I read about Feral on Facebook.’

‘Ah, yes.’

‘Any idea how… who?’

‘No. Nor have I any intention of asking. All I know is she and Maggie are thrilled.’

‘I must congratulate her.’ She walked over to Feral, who was talking to Reedy at the bar, and hugged her. Daryl rushed over to greet Nadine and show her the latest video of Jasmine tottering in her mother’s high heels. The band break was short. Soon they would be back on stage. By the time Nadine returned to the table they only had time for a brief conversation.

‘Have you heard anything from her since you changed your number?’ she asked and twisted a tendril of hair around her index finger.

‘Nothing.’

Reedy entered the alcove. ‘Time to go back on stage, Jake.’

‘I’m heading off now.’ Nadine also stood. ‘I’ve an early start in the morning.’

‘I was hoping you’d stay until the end.’ He touched her arm. ‘We’ll be finished in another hour. We could go somewhere afterwards, have a bite to eat.’

‘She’s the only thing on our minds. I refuse to give her that space.’

‘Talking about her is the last thing I want to do. Please, Nadine, stay.’

‘All right.’ She shrugged. ‘Go on. I’ll be here when you finish.’

He was singing ‘Fly by Night’ when the green and purple lasers slashed into blue. Could he have imagined that glimpse of Karin Moylan within the mass of distorted limbs and lurid faces raised towards the stage? He forgot the words. Daryl shot a sideways glance at him and sang the lead line until Jake recovered. The energy had gone from the song. He could see her clearly now. Her glittery dress sparked off the lasers and gave it the appearance of armour. She danced hard, hands high, her eyes as bold and compelling as he remembered. He looked beyond her to Nadine. She too had seen Karin. Jolted by her anger the dancers parted before her then closed ranks as she headed towards the exit. Karin Moylan had also disappeared. Was she a chameleon, capable of blending into her surroundings, shadowy and insubstantial until she decided to step into the spotlight.