obvious he was stalling. Rick had seemed sharp on the phone, the sort to see through people’s masks. He wanted to be on top form when he sat down with Rick for the first time.
Violet tilted her head to the left, listening to the music, he presumed. ‘This is usually his last number. He’ll be off stage soon and still on that performance high. It’s a good time to meet him if you want him to like you.’
‘And do you want him to like me?’ Tom asked. It seemed strange that she would, given everything.
A look of annoyance flashed across Violet’s face, as if she weren’t used to being asked this many questions about her motives and feelings. Maybe she wasn’t. ‘Yes.’
Tom couldn’t resist. ‘Why?’
‘Does it matter?’ Violet tossed her hair back over her shoulder as the last chord rang out from the stage. ‘We’re going to miss him.’
‘You haven’t answered my question.’ Tom folded his arms, leant back against the car and waited.
With an impatient huff, Violet grabbed his hand and started dragging him towards the stage. Tom didn’t budge until she started talking.
‘Because Dad makes up his mind about people and things in an instant, and that’s it. You’re here; you’re going to be writing about him and us. If he likes you, he’ll show you his best side, the stuff I want you to be writing about. If he takes a dislike to you...’
‘Things could get messy?’ Tom guessed.
Violet sighed as they reached the edge of the stage area. Even though the party was obviously filled with friends and family, the cheering as the band came off stage was still as loud as Tom had heard in any stadium.
‘Let’s just say this whole experience will be a lot less fun. For all of us.’
Suddenly, the familiar craggy face of Rick Cross appeared at the top of the stage steps, mouth open and laughing at something his band mate was saying behind him.
‘Showtime,’ Tom whispered, and Violet flashed him a quick grin—the first honest smile he’d seen from her.
Tom took a breath. Time to meet the parents.
VIOLET HID A grin at the slightly shell-shocked look on Tom’s face as Dad and the boys traipsed down the temporary stairs at the side of the stage set, all laughing, chatting and still clearly caught up in their own world—a world that consisted of music, noise and melodies.
She knew the kind of impact they could have, just off stage. When she was younger, just old enough to be allowed to stay up to watch the occasional gig from the wings, she and Rose had found it hard to understand this part—when Dad wasn’t Dad, just for a moment. He was all Rick Cross, rock star, right now. And that was a sight to behold.
The adrenaline would wear off soon enough, Violet knew. He’d come down, hug his wife, ask for a drink, and before too long he’d be heading to bed to sleep it off. Well, maybe after a little more time with his closest friends—drinking and talking and probably singing.
Right now, in this moment, he was exactly who Tom Buckley had come here to interview. She hadn’t lied when she said that this was the best time for Tom to make a good impression with her father. But it was also the best time to remind Tom that this wasn’t just anybody he’d come here to write about.
The press could publish all the stories they liked about her and her sisters—and heaven knew they would. But they couldn’t touch her parents. Rick and Sherry were rock royalty, beyond reproach. There were no affairs, no addictions, no mistakes made—nothing to latch on to and use to make their lives hell. It might have been different back in the day, but not any more.
Now they were national treasures, and Violet was unbearably proud of them for it.
‘Mr Cross.’ Stepping forward, Tom stuck out his hand, smiling warmly. Violet had to give him credit—if he hadn’t been slumped over in her passenger seat for the last forty-five minutes, she’d never have known he was utterly exhausted. He looked professional, ready to do a great job.
She just hoped that Dad’s idea of a good job and Tom’s meshed.
‘Mr Buckley, I presume!’ Rick’s famous smile spread across his face. ‘Great to have you here.’ He shook Tom’s hand with what looked like painful enthusiasm. ‘Boys, this is the guy I’ve invited over to write our musical life story.’
‘And your family’s,’ Tom put in. Violet rolled her eyes. As if any of them would forget that he was here to expose all their private lives as well as their public personas.
‘Oh, he’s here for the dirt, Rick.’ Jez—Uncle Jez to the girls—the band’s lead guitarist and Rick’s best man, elbowed his friend in the ribs. ‘Time to hide those skeletons in better closets!’
Rick laughed, his head tipped back in pure amusement and joy. Violet bit the inside of her cheek and just prayed there wasn’t anything hidden there that she didn’t know about. She couldn’t imagine how there could be, given how closely she’d been involved in her parents’ lives and work since she’d moved back home eight years ago.
But you could never be too careful when it came to the press. And if Dad had any secrets, Uncle Jez would be the one to know them.
‘Trust me, I’m just here to write the best, most honest story I can for your legion of fans. They’re only interested in the truth.’ Unlike Tom, presumably.
‘And that’s just what you’ll get.’ Rick clapped a hand on Tom’s back, and Violet knew the reporter had passed some test that no one but her father would ever understand. ‘The complete unvarnished truth, ready to be written down for posterity.’
Relief warred with apprehension inside her, and Violet clenched her fists so tightly her nails bit into the palms of her hands. On the one hand, the fact that her dad liked Tom would make the interviews go more smoothly, reducing the chances of a story about a recalcitrant, difficult star. On the other, it opened up the opportunity that Rick would get too close to Tom. As much as he talked about the unvarnished truth, surely her father realised there were some parts of their family lives, and history, that none of them wanted shared with the world. For the umpteenth time in some cases.
Well, there was nothing for it now but to see how things went. And try and keep tabs on both Tom and Rick, so she could try and head off any prospective trouble before it turned up in the papers this time.
‘Darlings, you were brilliant as always.’ Sherry floated up to them, kissing each of the band members on the cheek before planting a rather more thorough kiss on her husband. Tom, Violet noticed, was politely staring at the floor. Everyone else was too used to it to even bother.
‘Mum, this is Tom Buckley,’ Violet said once the public display of affection was over. Might as well get all the introductions over in one go. ‘He’s the writer Dad—’
‘The writer who’s going to tell our little story! Of course.’ Sherry held out a hand, although whether she intended it to be kissed or shaken Violet wasn’t sure.
Tom went for the handshake. Not fully
