A Dreamers Dream

InterContinental Hotel. Greenwich, London, England

The journey back to the hotel is a complete blur. I barely register the tourists with their oversized backpacks, or commuters engrossed in their mobile phones swirling around me as I clamber on and off the tubes. Trying to ignore the throbbing in my swollen hand.

It's not until I reach North Greenwich Station and step outside that I realise that it's raining and that my clothes are practically soaked through.

When did that happen? I wonder to myself as I hoist my guitar over my shoulder with my good hand and start the short walk to the InterContinental hotel where the crew are all staying tonight. At least I don't have to worry about running into Harry there. As his house is close to the venue, he'll be staying there tonight.

I can feel the dull vibration of my phone in my pocket as what seems to be a hundred messages come through now that I've got signal again and shift myself slightly so I can pull it out. Four missed calls and five texts. Dammit.

The missed calls are, predictably, all from Harry and there is a voicemail too which I don't bother listening to as I keep my head firmly down against the rain and make my way along by the river. Three of the texts seem to be from Harry too, for fuck's sake.

I clear the missed calls and decide to check the other two texts first, wanting to prolong the moment that I have to speak to Harry for as long as possible. What on earth am I going to say to him? 'Thanks for setting up the meeting with the massive pervert Harry, being sexually assaulted was at the top of my to-do list this week?' Argh but that's not fair, from what Novak told me, he doesn't even know Harry.

Suddenly, a horrible thought hits me square in the chest, and I feel my blood run cold. What if Harry knew what would be expected of me at this interview?

Novak sure as hell thought I had slept my way into his office. What if that's just standard practice in the music industry and I was just too naïve to realise? What if... what if Harry will be expecting me to repay him for setting this up? Just like Novak said?

The more rational part of my brain is telling me that the man who embellishes his merchandise with the words 'Treat People with Kindness' and has been nothing but sweet to me since the day I met him, isn't anything like Mr Novak. That he would never expect the kinds of things that he did. But unfortunately, right now, I am too shaken to be rational. All I want to do is get to the hotel and curl up in a ball under the covers of my tiny bed and sleep until my hand stops throbbing.

Trying to distract myself, I flick open my messages. The first is from Sammy, asking if I'll be heading back to the hotel or going straight to the venue this afternoon. The second is from my brother, asking how the interview went. God, I didn't even think about what I'm going to tell Michael. Why did I have to tell so many people about this fucking interview? I scold myself, and without thinking, I flick open the texts from Harry.

Harry:
How did it go? H x"

The curiosity is killing me here, Trouble! Give me a call when you can! H x

Ok, I'm assuming you've forgotten to take your phone off silent... call me. H x

The messages all seem innocent enough. Of course, he's going to want to know how I got on, he's just being a good friend checking in.

Isn't he? "Shit, I can't deal with this right now", I mutter under my breath as the hotel finally comes into view through the sheets of ice-cold rain which seem to be coming down even harder now. I shove my phone back into my pocket as I make my way into the lobby. Silently praying that Sammy has slunk off for an afternoon rendezvous with Freddie and that I'll have some peace and quiet for a little while.