Page 16 of Not Just for Christmas

Dylan agreed and gathered them closer. Hazel opened up the leather phone case, and two credit cards fell out, then she stumbled over the laces of her trainers as she picked them up.

‘Whoops! Shoulda stuck to soda.’ She giggled, taking several pictures, cutting off first their heads, then her daughter.

‘Mom, let me,’ said Adam, taking the phone from her.

Picture taken, Hazel dashed off to post it into her friends’ WhatsApp group. Dylan let out a breath of relief; his face was starting to ache from all the smiling.

‘Sorry about Mom. She’s excited to be here,’ said Angel. ‘This is all new to us.’

‘Support from your family is everything,’ said Dylan, waving away her apology. ‘This industry is crazy, we need our family to remind us of what normal is.’

His mom had come to loads of his gigs in the early days. She was still his biggest fan, but was settled in her Florida retirement village these days, with a social diary which made Dylan’s look sparse. Rachel still came when she could, but since having Lola she wasn’t as free to travel as she used to be. He missed them all.

‘Not sure I’d ever use the word normal to describe Hazel, but we love her,’ said Adam.

‘And we love you too,’ Angel added. ‘None of this would have happened without you. Everything changed for us when you discovered us.’

‘Guys,’ Dylan held up his hands in protest. ‘Your talents got you here. I’m honoured to be a part of your journey.’

He meant this sincerely. He’d come across a video of them on TikTok playing outside a subway station and knew he was listening to something special. He asked Janet to track them down and one thing had led quickly to another.

‘We owe you everything.’ Adam pressed a hand to his chest and dipped his head. ‘Truly.’

‘The pleasure is mine,’ Dylan replied. ‘Somebody helped me out way back when I was starting out like you guys. I’ve never forgotten it. Without him, I wouldn’t have made it to my audition with the record company. He was my guardian angel. Everyone needs a helping hand once in a while, I’m glad I can pay it forward.’

He cast his mind back to his first amazing trip to Devon. Making friends with Jack and Lucy, accepting Jack’s invitation to stay on at the farm for an extra two weeks. Then on his day of departure, getting to London, only to have his rucksack stolen. The sick feeling realising that everything was gone … phone, money, credit card, passport. He hadn’t even had copies of his airline tickets to get home. He’d called Merrydown Farm from a payphone in a panic, not knowing what else to do, and Jack Oakley, a man he’d only known for a few weeks, had stepped in and saved his life.

‘He sounds like a cool guy,’ said Angel, dragging him from his thoughts.

‘He was.’ A lump lodged his Dylan’s throat. ‘Excuse me.’

He said his goodbyes to Dune and for the next few minutes worked the room, thanking his team for their contribution to the show. He finished his beer and headed over to the cooler to fetch a second.

‘Hey Dylan!’ Karl, the boss of Phoenix Records, slung an arm around his neck. ‘How’s the new album coming along? Will says you’re working on a new sound.’

‘I am. Yes. A very new sound.’ Dylan caught sight of his manager’s eye over Karl’s shoulder. Will winced and mouthed his apology.

‘Can’t wait to hear it. Send over what you’ve got.’

‘I’d rather wait until the whole thing is written, you know? I want the album to flow like a story.’

‘A story.’ Karl nodded, brow furrowed. ‘I like it.’

‘You’ll be the first to hear it,’ Dylan promised.

‘I’ll hold you to that.’ Karl pinned him with his piercing grey eyes. ‘I’ve got a good feeling about this.’

‘That’s great news,’ said Dylan, forcing a smile.

He was glad someone felt good about it, because he was struggling like never before in his career. And this wasn’t like him. Music had always been how he made sense of the world, composing, writing lyrics … it had flowed out of him. But then Jack died and he’d held a devastated Lucy in his arms, and tried to find words to console Sam. Since then the world had stopped making sense at all. He’d carried on working of course. It was expected of him. The tour had gone ahead as planned. He’d even written songs for the album. But there was something missing. Something Dylan couldn’t quite put his finger on. And so far he hadn’t been able to fix it. He knew the sort of music he wanted to write: something full of love, hope, joy. All this he knew, but could he sit down and write it? Nope.

‘So … early in the New Year?’ Karl said.

Dylan knew it wasn’t a question. ‘You got it.’

‘Now where are those Dune kids?’ Karl said, half to himself as he strode away. ‘They got potential.’

Dylan took a deep breath and grabbed another beer. The music was louder now, people were having to shout to be heard. Some had started dancing. A delivery of pizzas elicited a loud cheer and someone was restocking the beer cooler. The party was starting to heat up. Gratitude welled up in his chest. Everyone was here for him. To celebrate another successful leg on his tour. All these people employed, in some shape or other, in support of his music. Usually he loved spending time with the crew, but the high he’d felt coming off stage had left him. Maybe it was thinking about Jack, or maybe it was low-level anxiety about the new album, or maybe it was the Amelia-shaped gap in his life. Whatever, what he really wanted to do right now was get into his bed with a hot tea and call his sister.