𝐀𝐩𝐡𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐚. ⁽⁽⁽ᵐᵃᵗᵗʸ ʰᵉᵃˡʸ⁾⁾⁾

Governors Ball.

(Preoccupations - Silhouettes)

(Martin Dupont - Inside Out)

Somebody Else

PART TWO.

May.

I'd always loved long-haul flights, even the crappy food in economy, but most of all I loved the concept of such enormous distance, being catapulted slowly across continents, squinting at the stratosphere and knowing that I was skimming the edge of earth. Helen snorted with amusement as I gawped at the sunset over the Atlantic, snapping a couple of photos for posterity on her new hobby camera, a ridiculously expensive Leica that was worth about two months' rent.

'Will you stop that and just look?' I nudged her knee with mine. 'I think I see Nova Scotia.'

'Mm, gorgeous. We've got about an hour 'til we land.'

'I saw a documentary about it when I was fourteen that made it look heavenly. I wonder if there's any convincing Dean to let us cross into Canada...'

She ploughed on, ignoring my ambitions to see forests and lakes and bears. 'He's set us up in the most insane hotel on the Lower East side. I am definitely getting a swim in the pool before we head to the festival.'

'I didn't pack a bikini,' I sighed distractedly.

'Hardly your priority, mate. What you should be asking yourself is, what the hell will I wear onstage at Gov Ball... because once again, I am sorted, but you need a showstopper item.'

'Do you reckon we'll be able to catch Rolling Blackouts? I've had the worst luck with their sets, they always clash with someone massive.'

'I'm optimistic,' Helen shrugged, burying her nose in a book again.

Governors Ball in New York would kick off our East Coast tour, a festival I had been longing to play since I realised my music could make money and maybe even take me places. Helen was breezily confident, as ever, but I was bricking it, despite the enthusiastic reactions to last month's show at Heaven. Restricting live dates at home, as Dean had advised, was paying off. Demand for us was becoming fiercer, and the single was attaining surprising streaming numbers. The sheer force of momentum was surreal, and I didn't feel entirely in control; it was starting to feel rather like sitting on a rollercoaster after being strapped in, helpless to do anything but cling on and thrive off the adrenaline as you were thrown about.

The lineup was glorious, dozens of bands I'd have given anything to play alongside only a year ago, but my nerves were exacerbated by one large, numerical name at the top of the poster. And just typical, playing the same day as us, later in the evening. I couldn't see how it would be possible to avoid Matty, but his curt reply to my message the morning after the show spoke for itself; there was nothing left to say.

I still wasn't sure how I felt about this. I cursed myself for not being able to verbalise the tangled knot in my head, which I could barely tease apart myself, let alone express succinctly to someone else. Every time I tried to imagine a hypothetical situation where we crossed paths, I drew a blank - it was impossible to know how he would react, since his own feelings were a mystery to me. I hadn't exactly moped, but I'd been jittery over the last few weeks, and found it hard to write. Helen had given up after a couple of pep talks, encouraging me to visit my parents in Bristol.

I needed the break away from London, it turned out, and it was grounding - touching, even - to sleep in my teenage bedroom again, and to join my dad on a drive to the coast, sitting in the car eating chips and watching the seagulls dive-bomb people with ice-creams, laughing along to Radio Four comedy, dragging my mum to the pub for a shandy ('lots of lemonade, mind, and just a drop of bitter, Joanna'). They were proud of me, but as far as they were concerned, I would always be the twenty-year-old tearing her hair out over her dissertation and living off cream crackers.