“Little-known fact”, “ambition”, “what you may be surprised to hear is that”, “if I can do it”, “hard knocks”.
It was hard to breathe in this room. It smelled of musky perfume and new carpet. She tried to stay calm.
Leaning into her brother, she whispered, “I don’t think I can do this.” “What?” “I think I’m having a panic attack.”
He looked at her, smiling, but with a toughness in his eyes she remembered from a different life,
when she’d had a panic attack before one of their early gigs with The Labyrinths at a pub in Bedford.
“You’ll be fine.” “I don’t know if I can do this. I’ve gone blank.” “You’re overthinking it.”
“I have anxiety. I have no other type of thinking available. Come on. Don’t let us down.” Don’t let us down.
“But—” She tried to think of music. Thinking of music had always calmed her down. A tune came to her.
She was slightly embarrassed, even within herself, to realise the song in her head was “Beautiful Sky”.
A happy, hopeful song that she hadn’t sung in a long time.
“The sky grows dark I The black over blue I Yet the stars still dare I To shine for—”
But then the person Nora was sitting next to – a smartly dressed business woman in her fifties,
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