Matt's funeral was on a wet Monday morning. Shawn actually closed the shop for the day, and he, Dave and I drove to the crematorium in Dave's car. All the band were there, Kev looking particularly uncomfortable in a dark suit, as well as Liam and a number of Matt's friends. Trish sat with Matt's family, dry-eyed and tight-lipped, during the simple service, just a couple of hymns and a short but surprisingly appropriate eulogy from the priest, which brought me close to tears.

We gathered outside, afterwards, and his parents said awkward 'thank you's to us all. I found myself stood next to Trish while Melissa was talking to Matt's mother, and offered her a tentative smile. She bit her lip, looking away. I ditched the question I really wanted to ask, instead touching her arm lightly, and murmuring "I'm sorry..."

She pulled her arm away, drew in a sharp breath, and for a moment I was afraid she was going to snap at me, but in the end she let it out again with a somewhat tired sigh. "Thanks." Her green eyes were somewhat red-rimme d as she looked back at me. "You're OK. y'know."

I blinked a little, puzzled, then smiled back. "Thanks. If you need someone to talk to..."

She shook her head, firmly. "I'll be fine."

Dave caught my arm. "We're off for an early lunch, sis."

I let him pull me away, but glanced back at Trish. "Want to...?" She shook her head.

We wound up in the Bull, a couple of hundred yards from Star Music - just the rest of the band, me, Dave, Shawn and Liam. Drinks were ordered, and then Kev asked, into the slightly awkward silence, "Do they know what it was yet?"

Paul shook his head. "His parents won't say."

Kev shrugged. "Was probably smack."

There was a muffled sound from Dave, as I protested, "Matt? No!" Naive or not, I knew that wasn't right. It just couldn't be.

"Oh, c'mon." Kev looked over at me. "They found him in the gents with a syringe."

"No..." And then it hit me, and I turned on my brother, "You knew that! You knew about that and you didn't tell me."

He made a helpless gesture with his hands. "I.. I'm sorry, Ali. I didn't think you needed to know that. I was just trying to protect you."

"Protect me?!" Fortunately, the pub was nearly empty, so I didn't draw that much attention as I stood up. "I'm eighteen, David." The only person who called him David was Mum, and only when she was angry with him. "I'm old enough not to need protecting from the fact that the world isn't all My Little Pony and candyfloss." I reached down for my jacket, slung it round my shoulders. "I'm going home. Since that's evidently where you think I belong."

"Ali..."

I wasn't about to wait for another explanation. "I'll walk. Or catch the bus."

Melissa caught up with me about two minutes down the road, leaning against the bus stop and staring into space. The first I knew of it was an arm linking in mine, and a soft, contralto "Hey. You OK?" I looked down at her, and for the first time realised that she'd shed more than a few tears that morning, her makeup all smudged. She smiled, somewhat forlornly, at me. "I miss him too."

I didn't trust myself to speak for a long moment after that. I'd known him for less than a month, and part of me didn't want to let the death of a comparative stranger affect me that badly. But he'd had something in his life that I wanted too, and he'd understood that, and even taken time to involve me in what he did. In the end I just bit my lip and nodded. Her arm eased round my waist. "Dave meant well. He's kinda fond of his little sister."

My throat was dry. "I know. I.. I just get tired of being his little sister sometimes."

She laughed, softly. "Yeah. I think he got that." Melissa waved an arm at the little cafe opposite the bus stop. "C'mon. Lets leave the guys in the pub and get a coffee?"

We talked about all manner of things over coffee and a jacket potato each, and I got to know a little more about the lead singer of Secret Muse, avoiding, by unspoken consent, the question of the future of the band. Her Hispanic looks came from her father, whom she'd never met: an Ibiza holiday romance, and a mother who died when she was fifteen. I understood that all too well - I was seven when Dad died of lung cancer. He'd have been a prime candidate for the latest batch of anti-smoking ads, but it hadn't stopped Dave, though he did at least not smoke anywhere Mum would catch him. Talk eventually turned to lighter things, and we were giggling helplessly over which member of Fleetwood Mac we'd marry, sleep with or push off a cliff (marry John, sleep with Lindsey and push Mick off a cliff, if you must know) when my mobile phone rang.

I glanced down at the display. Oh, crap. "It's Mum. Dave must have got home and found out I'm not there yet." Mum was eventually pacified by reassurances that I'd been having lunch with a friend, and I'd be home on the next bus. I tucked the phone back in my jacket pocket and sighed. "She keeps nagging Dave to move out. Maybe it's time I did, too."

Melissa laughed, not unkindly, as she got to her feet. "Plenty of time for that when you decide what it is you're doing with your gap year. And go easy on Dave. He's probably trying to do the things he figured your dad would."

I paused in the act of standing up to consider that. "I...I guess so." On an impulse, I hugged her. "Thanks. I needed the chat."

She hugged back. "Me too."

I did get an apology from Dave when I got home.

The week passed uneventfully, and the weekend was curiously empty: the band had become enough a part of my life that not going off to a gig with Dave after work on a Saturday felt strange. Instead, I spent the evening up in my room, playing the demo version of 'Winter Rose' over and over till Dave banged on the door and told me to play something different. I turned the light off, and lay there in the dark and the silence.

I just couldn't believe that Matthew Gray died of an overdose, be it heroin, cocaine or whatever. I replayed in my mind everything he'd ever said, everything he'd done, searching for something I'd missed that would point to that being true, and I couldn't find it. Perhaps I was being naive, but that wasn't the man I'd come to know and like.

In the end, I cried myself quietly to sleep around 3am.

Another Monday at the shop, and another batch of new deliveries. Dave and I went through the half dozen starter guitars, assorted effects pedals and cables, and then he grinned, directing me to the last box. "You can deal with that one. It's right up your street."

He wasn't kidding. Brand new, so new the music magazines only reviewed it last month, top-of-the range Roland workstation synth, fully weighted keys, the works. He must have heard my squeal from out front, judging by the laughter that drifted back to me.

We were quite busy for a Monday, so it wasn't until nearly 2pm that Dave took half an hour off for lunch, leaving me in charge. I got the Roland up on one of our display stands, hooked it up to an amp, and broke out the manual. For the next twenty minutes, I was engrossed in the inner workings of the new synth, justifying it to myself with the thought that if I had to demonstrate it to a prospective customer, I'd need to know what it was capable of. Finally, I got it figured out enough to create a new performance setup for myself, a delicate piano patch with a synthesised string sound overlaid in the left hand. Still no customers, so I set the manual aside, and lost myself in music for a few moments. My fingers found their way to the intro to 'Winter Rose', trying to phrase it the way Matt used to, that deft lightness of touch he had.

And nearly jumped out of my skin when a soft, husky voice behind me began, right on cue, "Snow falling from a cloudless sky..."

I froze. This was wrong, in so many ways. I really didn't want her to think...

"Go on..." she coaxed, one hand light on my shoulder. "It's all right. Play it." Quietly. "Please."

She was hard to refuse. I took a deep, shaky breath, and started again, wordlessly. As much of it as I could manage, faking the bits Matt had promised to show me the next time we met. We made it through almost to the end of the second verse, and Melissa's voice faltered, cracked and broke on "Tread softly where I lie / deep down under the snow..." Her hands went to her face, shoulders shaking with silent sobs, and I clumsily put arms round her, blinking back my own tears, repeating "I'm so sorry.." over and over.

At length she lifted her head, wiped a hand across her eyes, and managed a wan smile. I bit my lip, swallowing, uncertainly. "I.. You weren't supposed to hear that. It..."

She placed a finger on my lips. "I know. It's fine."

"It's not," I protested. "He.. he's only been gone a fortnight." How had I not heard the shop doorbell?

Melissa fumbled for a tissue and dabbed at her eyes. "Ali. You didn't know I was here."

"How...?"

Laughter, as she pocketed the tissue. "If you open the door slowly enough..." She poked me, playfully, in the ribs. "You were lost in your own little world."

I felt my cheeks redden. "Uh. Yeah. I get like that sometimes." I took a deep breath. "Ok. Um." Leaning across, I reached round the back of the new synth and flicked off the power with a decisive click, then turned back to her with my best bright, sunny, vapid salesgirl smile. "Can I help you?"

She giggled. "Not really. I was passing, so I thought I'd drop by to see how you were."

"I'm fine."

I doubt that either of us believed that, but we were saved from arguing about it by the ring of the shop bell, and Dave's cheery and slightly surprised, "Oh! Hi, Melissa. How's it going?" He was followed in by a potential customer, so I left them to chat while I dealt with the query (four sets of bass strings and a new strap).

They were deep in a low-voiced conversation when I finished, so I cleared up the packaging and the manual for the new synth and took it out back, out of the way. When I came back, Melissa smiled at me. "I have to go. Talk to you later?"

"Uh... sure."

I shot my older brother a puzzled look as she left, but he just shrugged back, and grinned. "What do you think to the Roland?"

He chuckled as I cast a covetous glace its way. "Want one."

I was upstairs in my room, mid-evening, noodling aimlessly on my piano and wishing it was a better instrument, when my mobile rang. A glance at the number didn't reveal it to be one I knew. "Hi?"

"Ali? It's Melissa."

My heart skipped a beat. "Hiya."

"Hi. Listen... what are you doing Wednesday evening?"

Be cool. "Uh... not a lot. Why?"

I could hear the smile in her voice. "We'd like you to come and audition for us. Can you learn the three tracks on the demo by then?"

"I..." Oh, God. "I..." Damn. I was going to cry again.

"Ali?"

I sniffled, brushed my free hand across my eyes and drew a long breath. "Yeah... yeah. I think I can. Where?"

She chuckled. "Dave said he'll give you a lift. And I made him promise he'd go away again while you auditioned."

Oh. "Thanks." A thought struck me. "Melissa?"

"Mmm?"

"You... you do know I wasn't trying to..."

"I know," she soothed. "Don't worry about it. Just do the best you can, and I'll see you Wednedsday."

After she'd rung off, I stared at the phone for a long time, before saving her number in its memory.