The waiter led them to a table for two in a secluded alcove at the back of the restaurant. Lights shimmered on the ceiling and picture windows overlooked a leafy view of Central Park. Over lemon sole and wood-fired tiger prawns, she told him about the cities where she had lived and worked: London, Paris, Milan, New York. She kept him amused between courses with gossipy, witty anecdotes about the celebrities she had met on various film sets. Jake suspected she had told the same stories many times but he was content to listen and be entertained by her. The relief of not talking about business was overwhelming. Reality was outside, clawing to get back in but for these few hours he would keep it at bay.

Earlier today, shell-shocked and furious, he had gone straight from STRUM’s headquarters to his hotel and tried to ring Nadine. Only she would understand the enormity of what had occurred. Her mobile phone had been switched off. Tõnality was closed for the night and the house phone remained unanswered. He had ordered a whiskey at the hotel bar when his mobile bleeped and a text arrived. He checked the ID screen, expecting to see Nadine’s name but only a number was displayed, an unfamiliar one with a New York prefix.

You were a blast from the past, Jake Saunders, he read. Good to see you again. Hope all went well at your business meeting today. Best for now, Karin.

He had forgotten her in the turmoil of the day but her text nudged him briefly from his misery.

Difficult meeting, he replied. But it was worth the trip to see you again.

He could have stopped it there and then. Instead, he added a question that sought an answer. How are you?

I’m good, she texted back. But you sound like you’re having a rough time. New York can be a bruising bitch. Anything I can do to help? K.

The decision to ask her out for a meal was the easiest one he had made all day. The alternative was to find a bar with photos of faded movie stars on the walls and spend the night drinking himself into oblivion. It was the thing to do in New York… to do anywhere… when a momentous decision was delivered with a one-punch knock-out body blow.

He was getting ready to meet her when Nadine finally contacted him. Her worried intake of breath, the pitch of her voice crashed him back to earth. He resisted the urge to hang up. To shut down the worry and the guilt and sink, instead, into amnesia, even if only for a few hours. He should have mentioned meeting Karin. They were best friends once yet Nadine never spoke about their friendship, never mentioned her name. Throughout that holiday in Monsheelagh they had seemed inseparable but, two years later, when he and Nadine exchanged sultry glances of recognition through the slash of lasers and dazzling strobes, she told him their friendship was over. She had gone backstage with Jenny to see him after the gig and made it clear that she had no intention of discussing Karin Moylan.

‘But I thought the two of you were best mates,’ he said. ‘What happened?’

‘I don’t want to talk about her.’ Her voice had been clipped and hard. ‘Not now, not ever.’

Over the years that followed she remained true to her word, which was hardly surprising when he thought about how their holiday ended. The memory would be indelible, especially for Karin, but throughout the meal she never once referred to Nadine or that summer.

‘Do you ever regret leaving Shard?’ she asked when they returned to the bar for an after dinner drink. ‘You were going stratosphere in those days. What was it the media called you? Ireland’s answer to… Metallica?’

‘It was actually Guns n’ Roses,’ he admitted, modestly. He admired the perfect curves of her knees as she crossed her legs. Was she wearing tights or stockings with lace tops, he wondered. Was there a smooth, silken gap of skin between her thighs and the line of her panties? He was familiar with female underwear, the frippery and the functional, hanging on clotheslines, drying over radiators, knickers, thongs, tights and bras tumbling from the hot press when he was searching for socks in the mornings. But this was an alluring fantasy and very different from the detritus of family living.

‘Of course it was,’ she said. ‘Guns n’ Roses… my goodness. How life changes. Selling musical instruments instead of playing them must have been quite a difficult transition for you.’

Was she mocking him? He flattened his anger. These days it lay dangerously close to the surface.

Nadine had asked him once, soon after Shard broke up in a storm of recriminations and accusations, if the band had seen her as a Yoko Ono, responsible for causing friction between them. It was a grandiose comparison yet, in her own way, she had upset the agreement that parents or girlfriends should not interfere with Shard’s upward projection and ambitions. He had assured her she was not to blame. Ultimately, it all came down to his inept use of a condom. Such inattention to detail altered everything.

‘Circumstances change,’ he said.

‘Sacrifices. We all make them sooner or later.’ Karin lifted a tiny umbrella from her cocktail glass and twirled it between her thumb and index finger. ‘Do you ever think about reforming the band?’

‘Occasionally.’ He shrugged. ‘But then I think about walking on the moon. We all have our dreams.’

‘But why is it a dream? Bands are always making comebacks these days. Shard had a brilliant reputation.’

‘You’re talking a long time ago. Who do you think remembers us now?’

‘You’d be surprised. It’s a new era. Social media. Facebook. YouTube. You could get the message out quickly enough.’

He shook his head. ‘If only it was so easy. Tõnality takes all my time these days.’

‘You’d another life before Tõnality.’

‘I never had a chance to have another life.’ It came out unintentionally, the resentment he usually managed to hide and Karin, aware that she had touched a nerve, drew back slightly.

‘Sorry. I’m being intrusive.’

‘It’s okay. It’s just… it’s a while since I’ve talked to anyone about Shard.’

‘Are you still in touch with the band?’

‘I meet Daryl occasionally, but I haven’t seen the others for years. Reedy is the only one still professionally involved in music. Twenty-five years is a long time to keep a dream going but he’s managed it.’

‘Twenty-five years?’

‘Since we did our first gig.’

‘You should do a reunion gig.’ She twirled the cocktail umbrella one last time and placed it back in the glass, signalled to the barman for a refill. ‘Think how wonderful that would be. All those fans dying for an excuse to organise babysitters and relive their youth. You owe it to them.’

He shook his head. ‘It’s a wonderful idea but impossible. I’ve more than enough going on in my life at the moment.’

‘Be warned, Jake Saunders. To squander our creativity is to displease the gods. Nothing is impossible if we decide otherwise.’ She trailed her middle finger lightly along the back of his hand. ‘Will you tell Nadine we met tonight?’

‘I suspect not…’

‘Don’t you think she’d understand? Two old friends catching up on the past.’

‘Is that what tonight is?’ His skin tingled at her touch, the slow, deliberate stroke that was almost an itch and the urge to draw her hand downwards, not to tease but to hold him, the hard width of him, aroused and wanting, blinded him to everything that was going on around them.

‘It’s whatever you want it to be,’ she said. ‘Like that night in Barney’s Bar. Do you remember?’ She paused and waited for him to fill the silence.

‘Yes, I remember.’ The shock of that memory jolted him from his fantasy. ‘It must have been a heartbreaking time for you.’

‘I’m talking about us, Jake,’ she interrupted him, her voice quickening. ‘Just the two of us together in that little snug. Things could have been so different, if only…’ Her features tautened as if she, like him, was picturing the small harbour bar in Monsheelagh, its whitewashed walls and black wooden beams. Noisy, smoky, crowded with jostling young people who had come from the holiday homes and caravans to hear the band. He had signed his name on her honey-tanned skin and she had kissed him for good luck in the tiny, old-fashioned snug before the gig began. Later, she had stepped onto the makeshift stage and lifted a tambourine from one of the amplifiers. Nothing waifish about her then as she raised it above her head, her slight body swaying, the swing of her long, blonde hair…and afterwards when everything fell apart, the panic she must she have felt as the storm raged around her.