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LONDON, 1986

The press conference for Secret Oktober’s surprise announcement is being held in the ballroom of the Savoy hotel, and Cassie sneaks in the back door behind Amelia, after her friend works her usual magic on their security guard.

There are only a few seats left, and they sidle up behind a journalist with a mass of curly hair, hoping that she’ll disguise their presence.

“You sure you want to do this?” Amelia whispers.

Cassie nods as the microphone gets tapped with a dull thud.

“I’d like to thank you all for coming,” comes a voice through the speaker, hushing the crowded room. “May I please ask you to put your hands together and give a warm welcome to Secret Oktober—Luke, Michael, and Ben…”

There’s a smattering of applause and Cassie is grateful for the dimming of the audience lights. It means she can hide for a little while longer, though in any case the spotlight is quickly cast upon the boys as they make their way across the stage.

Cassie knew that seeing Ben would twist a knife deep within her soul, the depth of his and Nicole’s deceit hitting her full in the chest. But it’s the visceral reaction she has upon seeing Michael that takes her unaware. Her mouth dries up and her hands begin to tremble as he looks out across the sea of heads with a smile of self-satisfaction.

“Welcome to the hottest ticket in town,” he says sarcastically as he takes his seat next to Ben behind the table on the stage. The pair of them don’t even look at each other.

“Good to see you all,” says Luke. “We’re excited to be here.”

The questions from the press come thick and fast, mostly about Ben’s supposed indiscretion in America. Watching his face flicker between panic and resignation pulls at the back of Cassie’s throat.

“We won’t be making any comment on what’s gone before,” says Luke.

Ben’s face glazes over, as if he’s a thousand miles away.

“Yeah, this is about new beginnings,” says Michael, smiling like a cat who’s got the cream as he looks along the line at his bandmates without a shred of conscience. “We’re going on tour—the biggest tour the world has ever seen…”

Cassie can’t bear to look at him; even his voice makes her shudder.

“But what about Ben’s drug problem?” calls a journalist. “Shouldn’t he be going to rehab instead of embarking on a world tour?”

“Look, Ben’s addressed his issues and he’s got the help he needed,” says Michael, patting Ben’s back in a manner so condescending that even Luke, normally placid and unbiased, looks on nervously.

“So, the rumors that this press conference was to announce the band’s breakup are unfounded?” asks another journalist.

“Absolutely,” says Michael, before Ben can even open his mouth. “I don’t know where you get these stories from.”

“I heard there was trouble in paradise,” says the journalist. “That you two weren’t getting on so well these days.”

Michael kisses his teeth. “We’re brothers, man. There ain’t nothing that can tear us apart.”

“Not even the fact that Ben is making sweet music with someone else?” pipes up Cassie, earlier than she’d intended. “I can’t imagine you being happy with that.”

The crowd titter at the double entendre, but a hushed silence quickly descends as Michael makes a show of turning to look at Ben, forcing him to respond.

“I can’t say I’m surprised that a tabloid hack is misinformed and barking up the wrong tree,” says Ben dourly. “But once again, you’ve not checked your facts.”

“Oh really ?” says Cassie. “Because I have it on good authority that you’ve recorded tracks with an unknown artist called Nicole Alderton.”

Ben’s jaw twitches as he looks out across the packed ballroom, his silence speaking volumes.

“Is that something you’d care to tell all of us about?” asks Michael, sounding as if he was waiting for a reason to put Ben on the spot.

Cassie smiles to herself, grateful for the helping hand, even if it’s being offered by someone who doesn’t yet know that he stands to lose more than anyone.

“If I choose to collaborate with anyone else, it’s not to the detriment of the band,” says Ben, through gritted teeth. “None of us are contractually obliged. We’re all free to pursue our own individual paths…”

Michael laughs inanely. “If that were the case, I’d be in Guns N’ Roses.” His caustic tone bites through the darkening atmosphere.

Ben throws him a derisory glance, the tension between them palpable.

“What?” Michael snaps, his nostrils flaring. “Do you honestly think I’d be in this shitty band if it weren’t for my loyalty to you and Luke? Though I’m beginning to think that might be misplaced.”

Ben shakes his head. “You are so deluded.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I’m not going to do this here,” says Ben, looking away.

“OK, guys,” says Luke, laughing nervously as Michael agitatedly clenches and unclenches his fists. “Who’s got a question for us about the tour?”

“No, come on!” barks Michael, ignoring his bandmate’s attempt to defuse the situation. “If you’ve got something to say, say it.” He looks at Ben as if daring him to take him up on his challenge.

Ben’s lips pull tight, as if it’s taking all his restraint not to retaliate. “Do you know what?” he says, going to stand up. “I’m done here.”

“You’re done here?” mimics Michael, as he raises himself up to full height. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“It means, I’m done with this—I’m done with you .”

The watching journalists move to the edge of their seats, with poised pens and trigger-happy fingers on cameras, as if waiting for the fight bell to ring.

“You gonna walk out on Secret Oktober, bro?” says Michael, looking to the audience and pulling a face. “ Here , in front of the nation’s press?”

“I’m done with you, and I’m done with the band,” says Ben, turning his back to him.

“What do you think you’re playing at?” yells Michael, as if suddenly sensing that he’s serious. “You don’t quit the band I started, the band that’s made you a global fucking superstar, even with your limited talents.”

“The band we started,” says Ben, correcting him. “See, that’s the problem: Your ego has become so oversized that you don’t even know what’s real anymore. You think this is the Michael fucking Delaney show—that we’re all here to whistle to your tune. Well, guess what? I’m not doing it. You can’t pull that shit with me anymore.”

“If you walk away now, you’re going to regret it,” says Michael, taking hold of Ben’s arm.

“Oh yeah?” Ben laughs acerbically. “What you gonna do?”

“I’m gonna fucking kill you.”

As Michael’s furled fist makes contact with Ben’s jaw, the crack reverberates through the speaker system and the audience gasp, first in shock, then in a panicked rush to gather evidence of what must surely be the biggest band fallout in history; it’s certainly the most public.

But Cassie stays where she is, unable to keep the smile from her face as she watches the fuse she lit explode. That was far easier than she thought it was going to be.