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“OK, this is the last song of the night,” says Nicole, as she stares past the spotlights into the thinning crowd at Dallinger’s. Being last on the bill means she’s often playing to an empty room, the couples having long since retired to bed and the bigger groups having moved on to somewhere livelier. She doesn’t mind, though—she’d only be singing to herself in her bedroom otherwise, and at least this place gives her a hot meal at the end of her set, which is more than she gets when she’s at home.

“This is a song that’s been in my head for a long time, but I’ve only recently got it down on paper. It’s about the woman I love most in the world—and it means even more to me now than I could have ever thought possible.” Her voice cracks on the last word, and she struggles to compose herself. “This is called ‘I Would Die for You.’”

As soon as she starts singing, the emotion that had almost caught her out is swept up into the melody as she loses herself in it.

“ There are things I could never teach you, no matter how hard I try

Because only you can decide how high you fly…

I can set you on your way and catch you if you fall

But only you will know…”

It’s somehow a lot easier to sing your sorrow than speak it. And when Nicole strums the final chords on her guitar, a lone round of applause ripples through the darkness.

“Thanks,” she says, smiling, always grateful for any appreciation shown, especially for a song that means so much.

“That was quite something,” comes a voice out of the shadows.

Nicole holds a hand up to shield her eyes from the bright stage lights, but it doesn’t help her much. “Thanks,” she says, making her way down the steps to the floor. She gets ready with her excuse for what she fears is coming.

“Would you care to join me for a drink at the bar?” the man asks.

“I’m sorry,” she says, without even looking in his direction. “I’ve been on my feet all day.”

“We can sit,” he says.

If she wasn’t so tired, she’d smile. She hadn’t heard that one before.

“I have to be up early,” she says, hoping he doesn’t have another suitable retort.

“ I have to be on a 5 a.m. flight to Munich,” he says, the amusement as prevalent in his voice as the sarcasm. “Where do you have to be?”

“Look, I don’t mean to be rude—” she starts, stopping dead when she turns to face him.

His grimace seems to preempt her reaction, as if he’s apologizing for the assumptions she’s about to make. He has no idea.

“ You? ” she cries, her eyes widening in disbelief.

“OK, can we skip the part where you think you might know me, and throw any preconceived ideas you may have in the bin?”

Nicole goes to tell him that she does know him, that she’s greeted by his face every time she goes into Cassie’s bedroom, but that’s more than she’d care to admit.

“That was a really beautiful song,” he says.

She shrugs her shoulders, as if what he thinks means nothing to her, but she can’t help but feel flattered. He may well be the latest teen-idol offering on the hit factory conveyor belt, but he’s still the lead singer of the biggest band in the country right now.

“I guess it’s about your mum?”

His recognition of the woman behind the melody takes Nicole by surprise and makes her feel suddenly vulnerable. But then, sharing your innermost thoughts with a roomful of strangers has a habit of doing that.

“Like you listened to the words…” she says, her need to let him off the hook before he embarrasses both himself, and her, ever present—at least when it comes to her songwriting.

“ If you ever loved someone as much as I love you, you’d know there is nothing I wouldn’t do…” His a capella voice flows like liquid gold, rendering Nicole speechless and inexplicably close to tears.

“Is that you talking to your mum or her talking to you?” he asks.

“I-I…” she stutters, struggling to regain her composure. “I’d always imagined it was a conversation between us…”

“I bet she sings her lines even louder than you sing yours,” he says, his eyes seemingly burrowing deep into her soul.

“Well, thanks for the feedback,” she says, reaching behind the bar to grab her bag, if only to distract herself from the pull at the back of her throat.

“Have you ever thought about recording it?” he asks solemnly.

She laughs, like really laughs, while he stands there with a questioning expression, waiting for her to finish. “Look,” she says eventually, “while you may think that every musician has access to a recording studio, I’m afraid most of us will never get to see the inside of one.”

“I might be able to help you with that,” he says, sounding surprisingly sincere.

“Does this chat-up line usually work?” asks Nicole, with wry amusement.

“When the offer of a drink is refused, then yes,” he says, his eyes smiling.

“And when the promise to make me a star still falls short?” says Nicole, raising her eyebrows playfully.

“Well, then I’d have to cut my losses and ask that if it doesn’t work out for you over the next twenty years, that you meet me in Los Angeles in 2006.”

Nicole laughs out loud. “Why Los Angeles?” she asks.

“Because that’s where I intend to hang up my boots,” he says, looking at her as if he means it.

“Well, until then,” she says, turning to walk out.

“Wait!” he says, putting out a hand to grab hold of her arm. “Will you please just think about it? You can’t be happy singing in here every night for the rest of your life.”

She goes to tell him he’s wrong, but only a fool would do that.

“Take my card,” he says, rummaging around in the pocket of his chained cargo pants. “And if you change your mind, give me a call.”

Nicole absently takes it, as if it means nothing, but it feels like it’s burning a hole in the palm of her hand.

Despite her protestations, Ben accompanies her out of the club and onto the street. “Hey, Larry,” she says to the disheveled man who’s getting ready to move into the sheltered doorway. He manages a toothy grin as he pulls the shopping trolley that contains his entire existence closer to him.

“What you got for me tonight, missy?” Larry says, holding out his hand.

Nicole reaches into the bag that’s hooked over her shoulder and pulls out a foil-wrapped parcel. “You got lucky: the kitchen put too many sausages on and were about to throw them out.”

She says the same thing every night; the pair of them have an unspoken agreement to pretend that she doesn’t pay for the food she takes away, even though they both know that she does.

“That’ll keep the dragon at bay,” he says, referencing the heroin he’s always chasing.

“Well, try and hold him off for as long as you can,” says Nicole, knowing that in an hour or so Larry will be barely conscious, having satiated himself with food and the potent drug.

“Which way are you heading?” Ben asks as they stand in the middle of the alley, each of them pondering their next move.

“The opposite way as you,” says Nicole.

“Wow,” says Ben, smirking and shaking his head. “You really don’t like me, do you?”

She considers him, deep in thought as she taps her fingers on the outer edge of the card he’s given her.

“Can I ask you something?” she says, her head cocked to the side and her eyes narrowed. “How come you’re playing a sell-out Wembley Arena one week and in this shitty bar on the wrong side of town the next?”

He chews his lip, contemplating the answer. “Because I guess, sometimes, what you thought you wanted doesn’t make you quite as happy as what you once had.”