"So now what the fuck are we gonna do?" said the drummer irritably. "We're kinda screwed without a guitarist."

"Relax" said the singer. "Have a beer."

"You and your fucking beer!" snapped the drummer. "You're a drunk and he's -" he waved his arm angrily towards the end of the street where the guitarist had disappeared in his car moments earlier - "he's always high. No wonder this band's fucking falling apart."

"Who said anything about falling apart?" asked Mal with a tone of surprise and concern in his voice. He turned to the singer. "Didn't you say you had a friend?"

"Yeah, Cally! Just gimme a moment to finish my beer." They waited for all of five seconds: the singer was still carrying the beer he'd started inside the house, and now he knocked back the remainder in one gulp and threw the can in a neighbour's bin. "Let's go!" he said.

The drummer refused to let him drive the van, so instead the singer directed him to a music shop in the city. They found a parking spot and walked in.

A young blonde woman looked up at them from behind the counter. A slightly formal smile flickered across her face when she saw the singer. "Oh, hi Steve" she said.

"Cally, how are you mate?" he said with a big smile on his face. He made as if to hug her but the counter got in the way, so he held his arms out wide in a generally expansive gesture instead.

"Tell your sister she still has a bunch of my C.D.s. I left them there for her to copy when I moved out, but she's had 'em for long enough now."

"Yeah, sure" said the singer, trying to project an image of control and confidence. Behind him Mal and the drummer looked at each other: it was becoming quickly apparent - and not for the first time - that the singer, Steve, had been talking up his relationship with someone.

"Anyway" said Steve. "We need a guitar. Got any you can lend us?"

"You what?"

"Please? It's really important. We've got this big showcase gig coming up in a couple of weeks, and some bastard stole all our guitarist's gear. So we need to borrow a guitar from you. We'll look after it, I promise." Cally looked at him, trying to decide whether this was a winning argument or not. "And I'll get all your stuff back to you from my sister as well. And we'll pay you, so it won't even be like we're borrowing it, more like . . . hiring it."

"Hmm" said Cally, tapping a pencil against her chin in thought. She really did want her stuff back, and she couldn't see how else it was going to happen any time soon. Plus, there was a crappy second-hand guitar that'd been sitting in the back room taking up space for months. "You're not one of those equipment-smashing bands, are you?"

"No, absolutely not!"

"Not on purpose, anyway" muttered the drummer to Mal.

"What was that?" asked Cally suspiciously.

"Nothing, nothing!" laughed the singer. "So . . . Are we sweet?"