Page 33 of Tribute Act

“Do you have any music you need to take?” I asked as we headed for the door of the flat, hoping that might give me a clue as to what he planned.

“Nah.”

That was it. Nah.

The thing was, I was nervous for him. I knew he could play. I’d heard him play a lot in the flat by now, but he just tended to noodle around, doing a bit of this or that tune, or working away at a tricky part for ages. He’d never actually straight-out performed anything for me. What if he wasn’t, well, any good? I hated the idea of people talking about him under their breath—Oh my god, who is this guy? I didn’t even know why I felt so protective of him. It was ridiculous.

When we were halfway there, I couldn’t hold back my curiosity any longer.

“So,” I said breezily, “have you decided what you’re going to play?”

He sent me an amused glance. “What do you think?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “I’ve heard you playing all sorts at home—folk, pop, rock.”

“Are you worried?” His grin was teasing now.

“No, of course not. I trust you.”

He laughed.

“What?”

“You know you’re a control freak, don’t you?” he said, but he was smiling at me almost fondly. “Look, why don’t you tell me what you’d like me to play?”

I frowned. “Isn’t it a bit late for that? We’re on our way there now.”

“I’m pretty versatile.”

A double entendre sprang to mind but I managed to leave it unsaid. Instead I said, “Okay, how about Justin Bieber? I’m sure that would go down well.”

He laughed at that. “Touché!”

Weirdly though, that conversation did settle me down. Mack was obviously confident about what he was about to do and didn’t feel out of his depth.

When we got to the café, only about half the tables were occupied, all by regulars. I asked Katie to deal with the customers while I did some paperwork and left Mack to set himself up in the corner. He prompted a few curious glances from the table of young mums who came in around this time every day, but seemed unperturbed by the attention. I sat myself down at the small table nearest the counter with my laptop and a large cappuccino and surreptitiously watched him.

I didn’t know what it was about Mack, but I enjoyed just watching him do stuff. Something about the economical, unhurried way he moved and his calm, unflappable demeanour. From the first he’d struck me as a laid-back guy—the opposite of me, really, and maybe that was part of the attraction. Maybe I was drawn to him because his quietness soothed me. Sitting there, in the corner of Dilly’s, fine-tuning his instrument, he seemed so relaxed, I couldn’t help but smile. I’d been worried he’d be nervous, but no. In fact, I’d never actually seen him look more at home than he did right now. There was a sureness to him when he held his guitar that he didn’t have when his hands were empty.

Katie leaned over the counter. She was only a couple of years older than Rosie but with her willowy height and heavy makeup, she could easily have passed for midtwenties.

“What’s he going to play?” she whispered.

I shrugged. “I have no idea.”

Right then, Mack glanced up. He caught my eye, winked at me, and started to play “Love Yourself,” by Justin Bieber.

And I laughed like an idiot.

It was quite a little gig in the end. After “Love Yourself,” Mack played a whole host of crowd-pleasers: the Beatles, Ed Sheeran, Johnny Cash. We got a few new customers who’d been attracted by the music, and stayed open till five thirty. We didn’t make a whole lot of money, but it was nice to bring people in with something other than the lure of ice cream and to have them sit a bit longer too.

And it was really nice to hear Mack play, his voice low and clean, his hands moving with practiced ease. The small crowd loved him, a few of them talking to him after he finished, and several asking me when he’d be on again.

He was smiling as we walked home.

“You’re very talented,” I told him. “Do you have, you know, plans in that direction?”

He shook his head. “Nah. I’m not ambitious.”