She saw the scruffy, hunched form of her brother’s friend – and their own former bandmate – Ravi by the music mags, engrossed in an article.
She stood there for a fraction too long, because when she walked away she heard him say, “Nora?”
“Ravi, hi. I hear Joe was in Bedford the other day?” A small nod. “Yeah.”
“Did he, um, did you see him?” “I did actually.” A silence Nora felt as pain.
“He didn’t tell me he was coming.” “Was just a fly-by.” “Is he okay?”
Ravi paused. Nora had once liked him, and he’d been a loyal friend to her brother.
But, as with Joe, there was a barrier between them. They hadn’t parted on the best of terms.
He’d thrown his drumsticks on the floor of a rehearsal room and stropped out when Nora told him she was out of the band.
“I think he’s depressed.” Nora’s mind grew heavier at the idea her brother might feel like she did.
He’s not himself,Ravi went on, anger in his voice.He’s going to have to move out of his shoebox in Shepherd’s Bush.
What with him not being able to play lead guitar in a successful rock band. Mind you, I’ve got no money either.
Pub gigs don’t pay these days. Even when you agree to clean the toilets. Ever cleaned pub toilets, Nora?”
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