Evie | H.S |

120. Tumbleweed

"It's going to sweat off my makeup...I fucking hate this thing."

My voice was muffled as I held my vocal mist nebuliser over my mouth. Matina's brown eyes side-eyed me. Night two and she was already over my shit.

"Just because Ross couldn't make it, doesn't mean I'm going to cut you slack" she laughed, pressing her neon-yellow short manicured fingers to the little machine, keeping it sealed firmly around my mouth and nose.

"I miss Ross" I groaned playfully.

She shook her head and sat back down on the grey suede chaise lounge, her laptop still balancing on one arm. "Yeah, well you're stuck with me, bub. Suck it up" she chuckled with a wink. "Maybe if you quit smoking you wouldn't need that thing before every show."

"Never" I spat back, twisting in my seat to face the lit-up vanity mirror once again.

Matina was great. She was a firey, barely 5 ft brunette who worked for Columbia and it was obvious why she'd wound up working for them. I'd first met her at the dinner the label hosted for my signing. With Ross back in Australia with other commitments, she'd been helping out with much of my management under his guidance and was coming along on this tour with me and I was grateful for that. She was so fucking organised and top of things. She knew where I had to be and when and same went for my new band. Every little detail she was well versed in and for the first time in my career I was happy to loosen my grip on the reigns and let someone else worry about the logistical stuff so I could just do what I do best.

The previous night I'd played to a sold-out (!!!) Cambridge Corn Exchange and I felt good about it. Like, really, really good.

I was a bit nervous, not only because it was my first little overseas tour but also my first show with this new band and this new music. I knew the band would be tight because when you're relying on well-paid session artists, you know they're going to deliver and be professional about it all. My producer Grant had helped put the label in touch with a guitarist, keys player, drummer and bass player who he totally vouched for and they were great. We did great and I think we were finding our groove together. I was utterly over the moon.

Alex and I were on speaking terms but that was the extent of it so far. There was no real reunion and I'd told him I needed time and a bit of distance, so he wasn't coming to any of the out of town shows as planned. I got what I deserved, yes, but it still pissed me off. It didn't hurt as such, it just angered me - and that was only because I'd had him emotionally at arms length; my downfall actually working in my favour for a change.

"If I go get a feed, do you promise to keep using that thing?"

Matina stood behind me now, pulling her AirPods case from the pocket of her black low-slung vintage Levi's jeans. She wore on her top half what was a new era of Evie merch - a navy T-shirt with the Rolling Stones-esque 'WHO THE FUCK IS EVIE MAY?' slogan printed on it in a white boxy font. My idea, of course.

"I'll even do a warm up after I'm done" I spoke into the mouthpiece. It fogged up with condensation.

"Good lass" she laughed, squeezing my shoulders. "Oh, and..." she quickly diverted, picking back up her silver MacBook. "...guest list...anyone else I need to add?"

"Uh, no" I pulled the nebuliser from my face. I'd pulled Alex from the list and had only one other request. "There shouldn't be anyone but that music blogger you mentioned and Rob."

"You mean your plug?"

"He's my friend" I lied. We both knew he was coming to deliver and not for the show.

"If I was your business manager...I swear to God..." she trailed off in a mutter, somewhat choosing to turn a blind eye. She hummed inaudibly while her eyes ran down her screen. "Yeah, so just those two. And Harry, plus one."