September 16th, 1970

    We had slept in a hotel in Leer after the performance there last night, opting to use today’s day off to travel to Dortmund. The band would play there tomorrow, then in Düsseldorf before the final German date in Cologne on the twentieth.
    In the hotel lobby, as we took turns checking in, something caught my eye. I walked over to the stand, covered in pamphlets and brochures about the area’s tourist attractions, and picked up one of the magazines. I laughed to myself and tucked it under my arm before following Cameron to our room.
    I entered the room feeling grateful; it was more presentable than the last one we’d been in and had clearly just been visited by the cleaning staff. I placed my handbag beside the door and tossed the magazine onto the bed.
    “What’s that?” Cameron asked while he took his shoes off.
    “Rock Galaxie,” I answered. I sat on the bed and read directly from the cover. “Features an exclusive backstage interview with Amoeba!”
    “They’ve printed it?”
    I nodded. “It was downstairs, by the brochures for Dortmund Zoo,” I explained.
    Cameron walked over to me and gave me a kiss. “I’ll be in the shower.”
    “Don’t use all the hot water,” I joked. He smiled at me and headed into the bathroom, so I flipped through the magazine until I saw a familiar logo and began to read.


    When I finished reading, I shut the magazine and tossed it onto my bag. I was laying on my back and Cameron startled me when he walked out of the bathroom and asked how it had been.
    “Thoroughly entertaining,” I quipped. “How was the shower?”
    “Thoroughly warm,” came his mocking reply. He smirked and lay on the bed beside me. “What are you thinking about?” he asked softly after a moment.
    I turned towards him. “How do you know I’m thinking?”
    “It’s the look on your face,” he explained. “Your eyes are far from here.”
    I moved closer to him and kissed his shoulder lightly. “I’m thinking of all kinds of things,” I confessed.
    “What’s one of them? The first that comes to your lips,” he said.
    “Who did you write that song for? The one you were working on in London.” My words surprised even me; I hadn’t realized that had been one of the things on my mind.
    “An old friend,” Cameron answered. “James Wyle. We used to play together in a band called Seven By Eight maybe seven years ago.”
    “When did you start performing?” I asked curiously.
    “Nearly nine years ago,” he spoke. “James lives in Ireland now. He sings in his own band now, Starbeam.”
    “Not a bad band,” I noted. “Why did he ask you to write a ballad?”
    “When we were in Seven by Eight, we would write the lyrics together. I suppose he just needed a favour from Camera Tonks.”
    “Camera Tonks?” I asked dubiously. “What, is that your real name?” I smirked.
    “Yes,” Cameron answered, mocking sincerity. “I’ve never told you,” he began dramatically, “but my real parents were Polaroids.”
    We both laughed, the sound filling the room, until Cameron pulled me into an embrace.
    “You’ve been too good to me, Emily,” he murmured. “Given me so much.”
    I kissed his chest softly as he lifted my hand to his lips.
    “A hand to hold,” he whispered, kissing my palm. “A heart to keep safe.”
    Another light kiss, this time on my knuckles.
    “I love you more every day.”