I listen to the telephone ring, ring, ring, ring.

"Come on, pick up, Skylar," I mutter, lightly kicking the edge of the metal booth. The tinny, recorded voice of the operator comes on the line telling me so sorry! better luck next time! you'll be lucky if she's ever home again, you overeager twat!

As I hang up, my eyes are drawn to a massive heart that's been crudely etched into the wall, the names Ethan and Penny scrawled inside. I wonder idly how in love you have to be to necessitate defacing a telephone booth at a motorway service area. Because, if that's true love, then I've most certainly never felt that way.

Stepping out of the booth, I see Brian sitting on the curb poking the ground with a small stick that he's found. I motion to him that it's his turn to use the telephone.

"No luck?" he asks as he ambles over, his large hands rifling through his pockets for change.

"Nah, I'll try again in London." I've been trying to get in touch with Skylar to sort out a time to meet up, hopefully for more than coffee. Ever since she started working shifts at the hospital, our schedules are opposite to one another.

Well, that's what she says, anyway. With my luck, she's met another bloke and they're halfway to getting married by now. I'll just have to figure out a plan to win her over once we're in the same city again.

**

Three nights later: the four of us are in the dressing room of The Odeon, waiting for the second gig of the night. We're knackered. These double-headers are the worst: you go on at 6pm and give the audience everything that you got. Then, two hours later, you have to do it all over again.

So, we're sitting in the cramped room, each of us doing what we can to recharge our weary bodies. I'm stretching out my back and shoulders, Freddie is sipping hot lemon water whilst chatting with Mary, Brian is reading a thick book... and Deaks, well, he's the cleverest of us all, as he's passed out dead asleep across a row of three chairs.

As I stretch my arms high over my head and lean to the left, my mind shifts to Skylar. I've gotten so used to chatting with her before shows that it feels a bit weird not to. I still haven't been able to reach her, and it's driving me a bit mad. I plan to casually stop by her flat tomorrow before she goes to work. The lads, who think this whole situation is hilarious, have assured me that it's a totally normal thing to do. Allegedly, she won't think that I'm a creeper, but I have my doubts.

I like Skylar. Not in a googly-eyed way; I haven't gone all soppy quite yet. I've still had my fun while we're on the road. But she intrigues me. Sure, it helps that she's fucking gorgeous, but it's her mind that really turns me on.

At first, I hadn't been certain if she actually enjoyed our chats or was just humoring me. It could have gone either way, really. But then one evening, in the middle of a fierce debate about The Kinks, I'd run out of coins for the telephone box. I started to say goodbye, but she offered to phone me back so that we could continue. So, either she's a Ray Davies fanatic or she's into me.

"You still want to close with 'Big Spender'?" Brian looks up from his book to ask Freddie, who is whispering sweet-nothings to Mary over by the illuminated mirror.

"Let's not fix what ain't broke," Freddie responds in a bloody terrible attempt at an American accent. He's been practicing ever since our manager floated the idea of joining Mott on their tour of North America in a few months.

"Stick with your normal voice, Fred," I say with a smirk, lightly poking his ribs as I pass to grab my embroidered jacket from the chair behind him. Shrugging it on over my bare chest, I walk over to the mirror and pick up the kohl pencil.

"Boys, let's go," our tour manager calls from the open door. I can hear rhythmic clapping in the distance, which gets louder as we walk down the long, concrete corridor towards the stage door. Freddie jumps up and down a few times as he walks, psyching himself up for the performance. We collectively are a bundle of nerves in the few minutes before every show, but as soon as we walk onto the stage, the anxiety disappears and is replaced with the most immense burst of adrenaline that you've ever imagined.

Tonight we're greeted by nearly 4,000 screaming fans, one of the largest crowds we've ever performed for. I climb onto the drum riser in the pitch black and get settled behind the kit. Brian plays the opening chords of 'Procession,' and off we go. As nervous as I was about us harnessing the same energy as the earlier show, we really outdo ourselves the second time around. Although I know that my back will be a wreck, Bri and Deaks' hands will be bruised, and Freddie will barely be able to talk tomorrow--it's worth it to hear the audience singing along to our songs.

If only Skylar could have been here tonight to see us.

Too soon, it's over. I jump off the riser and run to the front of the stage, throwing my arm around Freddie's shoulder and waving. I hesitate to throw my drum sticks into the crowd. I know it's expected, but I'm always a little nervous that I'll accidentally blind someone. I give a huge wave and throw the sticks into the first few rows, praying that no one's eye is poked out. After another wave and massive grins on all our faces, we exit the stage. The drummer from Mott clasps my forearm as I walk past, giving me a thumbs up.

Twenty minutes later, I'm back in the dressing room, showered, and slightly buzzed. Mott's set is almost finished, so the usual people have started to crowd into the room. Mary and Veronica are giggling in the corner about something that John has said. There's a knock on the door, and a gaggle of groupies makes their way in, heading straight for Brian and me. A few more hangers-on come through behind them, leaving the door wide open.

"You were great tonight, Roger," a pretty brunette says as she slinks her arm around my neck. We've met a few times before, and I'm sure that she has high expectations for the evening. She presses her mouth close to my ear and starts to whisper some naughty somethings into my ear. Her free hand makes its way to my chest, caressing the bare skin that's visible above my half-buttoned shirt.

"Don't even bother, darling, he's practically a monk these days," Freddie calls over with a sly grin. I roll my eyes. I wouldn't go so far as to say that I've been celibate, but it's true that I've slowed down over the past few weeks.

Speaking of which, I'm not feeling it tonight. I'm sure that... Chelsea? Kelsey?... is a lovely girl, but her arm is too close to my crotch for comfort. I'm about to remove her hand when I see a blur of motion through the open door. I glance over quickly and then do a double-take. I could have sworn that I had seen Skylar, but when I look back, all I see is the bloke from EMI.

"I've got to start getting ready for the party," I say gently to the brunette, quickly standing her on her feet. She looks disappointed, but quickly redirects her attention to Brian, who is fending off quite a few women of his own. Unlike me, he's been a bit better about staying virtuous for his girl, but it does help that he and Jenny are in an actual relationship.

Looking into the mirror, I poke at my hair to ensure that it's just right. I take another sip of my beer and plop down in the chair, watching the hustle and bustle going on around me. Mary bumps into me, laughing at something that Deaky said.

"Oh, shit-- sorry," she says with a little laugh, putting her arm lightly on my shoulder to help right herself. "Where's Skylar?"

I furrow my brow. "Skylar?"

"Yeah, where is she?"

Confused, I eye the empty glass in her hand. Mary's not usually a big drinker, so it wouldn't shock me if she's already trollied after having one or two drinks. Because, otherwise, she's not making much sense.

"I've no idea where she is, Mary. I assume at work."

"Work?" she screeches. Okay, yes, she's definitely had a few.

"Yeah, she had a night shift--"

"Rog, she was here! I spotted her in the audience and went to say hi after the set. She was pretty far back, though, so no wonder you couldn't see her from behind your kit."

I blinked rapidly, trying to process what was happening. Skylar had been at the gig? What the fuck?

"W- Where is she now, then?" I asked. Admittedly, I'm sort of drunk, and beyond tired, so my brain isn't running at top speed.

"That's what I asked you!" Mary giggles.

"Where was she when you last saw her?" I ask slowly, enunciating each word.

"Well, I brought her backstage with me since she didn't have a pass--" Mary pauses and waves to someone across the room, smiling brightly. I put a hand on her arm, gently redirecting her attention back to the matter at hand.

"So you brought her backstage with you, and then..." I gesture for her to continue the narrative.

"Oh, we got separated right after we got inside. Those fucking awful slags cut us off--" she pauses again to glare at the two groupies remaining in the room before continuing. "And then I nipped off to the loo and haven't seen her since... You mean she never came in here?"

I sit back in the seat, willing my brain to please, for the love of God, please put two-and-two together. Mary leans over to give me a friendly kiss on the head and then trips back over to put a hand around Freddie's waist. He wraps his arm around her and gives her a little squeeze. God, they're so annoyingly cute sometimes. A loud laugh distracts me, and I look over to the corner to see the brunette from earlier, who's laughing at something Brian said.

Then it clicks. I had seen Skylar at the door. But, if that was her, then... Oh, fuck. She must have come backstage and seen me lording it up with a scantily-clad woman sitting on my lap, practically with her hands down my trousers.

Fuck.

Jumping up, I start for the door, but my foot is stuck under the leg of the chair, and I end up sprawled on the floor. Fucking great, just great. I can feel the eyes of everyone in the room on me, and there's a short lull in the conversation.

"He's fine, lovies, he's fine," Freddie croons loudly as he saunters over to me, offering me a hand to haul me up. Once I'm upright, everyone returns to whatever they were doing before I fell flat on my face.

"Thanks, mate," I say, grabbing my coat from the table nearby.

"Uh, where are you going?"

"I have somewhere to be," I mumble, eager to get the fuck out of here and find Skylar.

"Not so fast, Rog," he says, jumping in front of my trajectory out the door.

"Move." I try to push my way past him, but his slim body is deceptively solid.

"We have to go to the party," he says.

"No one will miss me. Now move." I once again try, but fail, to make a run for it.

"Ah, ah, ah," he tuts. "I think a few people might miss you, darling, notably the fuckers from EMI who told us that we all had to be there with bells on. With bells on, Rog."

I pause. Fuck. Yeah, Fred's right. I have to go.

"It starts at 11?" I ask. Freddie nods and takes a sip of his drink. I nod and move past him, heading for the door.

"For fuck's sake, Roger, I just said--"

"I'm just going to find a telephone, I'll be back," I reply already half out the door. Maybe Skylar will finally pick up. Because, if not, I have zero hesitations about showing up at her door.