to think the best of everyone. Why couldn’t he see this? “It’s not about Jake, it’s about Jonas. I don’t trust him.” She pinched Rand’s arm as he stepped ahead of her.
“Ow! Jonas is fine. He understands, he’s promised to—”
“He’s a junkie and you believe his promises.”
Rand stopped. He rubbed his forearm where she’d pinched. “I don’t think it’s that bad.” He considered. “If I thought it was that bad, I’d have him out of here in thirty seconds.”
Rielle stepped past him. “It’d better be all right.”
“You’re the one who’s not all right, Rie. I’m more worried about you than Jonas.”
She turned back, looking down on him. She shrugged. “I blew it last night. I beat myself up. I’m okay now. It’ll be easier from here. It was just first night jitters.”
He came up one step, almost meeting her eye to eye. He so wasn’t buying. “You beat yourself up worse than normal and you’ve never given yourself the excuse of first night jitters in your life.”
“Shut up, Rand.”
He stepped past her and called over his shoulder. “Yeah, that’ll fix everything.”
After a good fifteen hours sleep, Jake had a clear head but a cloudy conscience. He woke early and went for a run, hoping that pounding the pavement might help him forget what he’d said to Rielle. He could blame the Zanect, but it hadn’t made a liar of him. He did think she was a terrible fake. There was nothing real about her—not even that moment at the beach when she’d seemed vulnerable. It was all an act. Problem was, it was none of his business, and it’d been stupid, and hideously unprofessional to let her goad him into making those comments.
It was already hot and threatened to be a stinker by the time he got back to the hotel. He showered, dressed and was early to meet with Sharon, whose efficiency succeeded in making him as redundant as he’d known he’d be for the next couple of days.
If he’d had Bonne he could have taken off. Ridden out to the Margaret River and visited some wineries or taken a jaunt out to Wave Rock just for the pleasure of riding through kilometres of red dust. This unplanned leisure time weighed on him. He did a venue visit with Sharon, had lunch with the Perth-based concert promoter, took a taxi out to Cottesloe Beach for a swim, even read most of Brendan Cowell’s How it Feels.
He swam with Rand in the hotel pool. Had a drink at the bar with Roley, How, Stu and Ceedee, and then talked himself into taking care of some long overdue personal business. He didn’t see Rielle which was better and worse. Ceedee said she was hanging out with Jonathan, which was no surprise. By the time he’d see her at the stage inspection it would be three days since the argument on the plane. The thought of apologising made him want to eat his own tongue. He preferred the idea she might simply go cold on him, look through him like a sheet of glass. She had form. He could only hope.
Rand studied the list of names of the television production crew who’d be joining them in Perth and travelling through to Sydney, making a Behind the Scenes documentary on the concert for broadcast on one of the digital music channels.
The name Harry Young jumped out at him. No good reason, it was a common enough name, and it was a pretty sure bet the Harry Young listed as the producer would be male; probably smoked like a chimney, swore like a wharfie and had a beer gut. The Harry Young Rand remembered didn’t let anyone else call her Harry except Rand. She was Harriet to the rest of the world, pretty, blonde, shy and plagued with a determined stutter. She had bony elbows, skinny legs and a fringe that constantly fell in her eyes. She’d been too scared to get her ears pierced and to kiss him with her braces on, but for that once when he’d asked her to the school dance, the year end formal. She’d been excited then, got all flushed and kissed him back a bit too hard.
Rand never got to see Harry in her first formal dress. He never made it to the school dance. He’d spent the night moving between Maggie and Rielle’s rooms in the hospital, propping up Ben, and trying to take in what the doctors were saying. He’d called Harry to apologise, and