“Like hell we’re not! So, I would like to restate my previous question, who the feck are you?”
“I’m Ellie Wrigley,” I say. “Nina is my sister.”
Ian narrows his eyes. I hold out her passport.
Kitten Pajamas takes it, holds it up to his face. He looks at the picture, then at me, then at the picture, almost like he doesn’t believe it. “This is really her.” And then nods some more. “Peter, you want to see this.” He holds the passport out to the guy on the couch. Peter’s the one who had his arm around Nina in the picture.
“Well, would you have a look at that,” Peter says. He puts his bowl of cereal down on the floor and holds the passport with two hands. “Jaysus.” He shakes his head. His mouth drops open a little bit. He was in love with her. I can tell just from looking at his face.
“You alright?” Milk Mustache says. He wipes the mustache off his face.
“How’s she doing?” Peter looks up at me.
“I don’t know,” I say. “I haven’t seen her in two years, which is why I’m here.”
Peter just shakes his head.
“So you guys did know her then,” I say. “And you knew her pretty well?”
“Not as well as he would have liked,” says Ian.
“I knew her,” Peter says. “Or at least I thought I did.” He looks up at me. There’s tension around his eyes, like he’s in pain but trying not to show it. “So she’s your own sister and you don’t know where she is then?”
“She disappeared two years ago,” I tell them.
“We kind of figured something was up with that girl,” Ian says. “Why’d she go?”
“Don’t know,” I say. “I’m looking for her now. And I saw a photograph of you all standing with her at Bijoux Ink, or, well, I stole it actually. And then I saw a drawing she did that someone told me is going to be on your new album.”
“And whoever told you that?” Ian asks. But he looks amused, not annoyed.
“A really big fan of yours,” I say. “Well, two actually.”
And Ian just shakes his head smiling. “Ah, the mad redheads, I presume?”
I nod.
“Well, that’s not a surprise, I don’t suppose, although I have a hard time imagining you associating with the likes of them. Then again, now what’s this you said about stealing from Bijoux?”
“Um.” I look down at the floor. Perhaps I shouldn’t have mentioned this part, but it’s too late now. “The woman who worked there said she didn’t even know Nina, but I could tell that she did and then I got into the back room and when I saw the picture of you guys with my sister…I just took it and hid it under my shirt and snuck out.”
Ian looks at me, and then at his bandmates, and they all burst out laughing. “Good on ya then,” Ian says. “God love her but Eden deserves something like that, now and again. Ah, Bijoux,” Ian smiles. “Favorite tattoo place in our old hometown, well, our second hometown after Galway, Ireland. Bijoux is the site of my greatest shame.” He stands up. “I bet Peter and Marc here I could toss eight balled-up napkins in the trash without missing one. I was sure I could do it!” He pulls his kitten pajamas down slightly; there on his stomach is a picture of the two other guys’ faces, inked in black. “Turns out I couldn’t.”
“Now whenever a young lady so happens to be spending time down there,” Milk Mustache, aka Marc, grins, “she’s staring me and Peter in the face!”
“So far I haven’t had any complaints,” Ian says.
“Well why would you?” Marc lifts his cereal bowl to his lips and drains the last of the milk. “We’re gorgeous!”
Ian adjusts his pajama pants. “If I won, they were going to have to get my face on their arses.”
“You should consider yourself lucky to have that,” Peter says, and then looks at me. “Your sister was a genius. A true artist.”
“Nina was only in Denver for a couple of weeks,” Marc says. “But poor Peter fell in love with your sister straight away. Wrote a song about her and everything, but never had the balls to tell the girl.”
“He’s shy,” says Ian.
“We were younger then and he didn’t yet realize that being a big famous rock star means you can have any girl you want,” Marc says.
“That’s enough, boys,” Peter says, shaking his head. “She just wasn’t interested, alright?” He looks down at his lap. It’s sort of insane to think that this is the same guy who was doing handstands on stage only a few minutes ago.
“I think she had a boyfriend,” I say. “I thought maybe she left with him.”
“Well, not when we knew her she didn’t.” Ian says. “Or if she did, he certainly wasn’t with her when she left with us.”
“What do you mean?”
“She hitched a ride with us out of Denver. Poor Peter was so excited when she asked if she could come.” Ian sits down cross-legged on the floor, staring at the kittens dancing on his knees. “She was only with us for a few days, though. She left us when we got to Big Sur.”