It really was the stuff of dreams, or at least nightmares. I was sitting in a formica cocoon, the air stale with old smoke and hippy-sweat. Mass-produced Chinese food lay heavily in my poor, abused stomach, and I was drinking domestic champagne from a plastic cup.

What the hell had I been thinking, offering to come to this mud-strewn hell? Why hadn't I listened to my brother?

I tried to distract my self-flagellation by considering where I might procure a bottle of decent amontillado. I ignored the voice in my head which absently replied, 'Seattle', and instead, wondered whether Pete might allow me to sit on my own underneath his synthesiser, for a while.

The fizz was soon helping to cloud the painful clarity of my thoughts. After a few cups' worth, my sense of taste had been eroded sufficiently for me to begin to enjoy the sensation. Daphne departed the 'drawing room' with her brother after a short while, no doubt to make some overdue apologies for the afternoon. As she left, so too departed the reason which had fastened this granite mask of stoicism over my features.

I gave in, sunk my head to the table and closed my eyes, hiding from the world.

"Niles?"

I opened my eyes and stared at the plastic surface, unwilling to face anybody.

"Niles!"

There was a warm hand suddenly grasping my arm and shaking it. I groaned and sat up, rubbing my hands over my face. Maggie had scooted around the table to sit beside me, and was looking concerned.

"Niles, are you all right?"

"No."

"Well, want to give me a clue?"

"No."

"Niles, stop being childish and talk to me like an adult!"

I bit my tongue on the response, and saved Maggie from ever hearing the words, 'Oh, so says Little Miss Groupie!', for which, in retrospect, I am grateful. "Sorry Maggie," I apologised. "I really don't want to talk about this." I glanced around the table. Pete and Graham were conversing across from us in a manner which reeked suspiciously of 'we-know-there's-stuff-going-on-but-we're-going-to-pretend-otherwise'. With false cheer, I added, "Come on, this is supposed to be a party!"

"Is this about Daphne?" Maggie persisted, in a low voice.

I picked up my plastic cup and drained the contents, hiding the acidic wind it gave me with practised discretion. I knew I was a little drunk. Perhaps that's what made me surrender.

"Yes, it's ablout Daphne!" My words were too loud and I was vaguely aware of the insertion of an occasional supplementary consonant. "You know ... maybe I'm out of line here, spoiling a perrrfectly nice weekend in this perrrfectly nice field, by being so upset about a trivee-yality like ... like the way my heart has just breen torn to sheds!" I gave a theatrical sigh. "I'm being shelfish. I'm sorry. Let's have another drink of this delicious champagne!"

Maggie snatched the plastic cup I had begun to wave enthusiastically, and set it down, then coaxed my hands to stillness.

"This is all because of what I told you?"

My animation left me as soon as it had stirred, and I slumped in my seat. "No, as if that wasn't enough." Maggie frowned at me. "Don't you get it? She overheard me talking to you, that's what made her run away before."

Understanding dawned. Maggie sighed. "Oh."

"And she asked me about it."

"What did you say?"

"That I was making it up." Maggie arched her eyebrows. "Don't look at me like that, what was I supposed to say?"

"You should have told her the truth."

"Why? She doesn't feel the same way. She doesn't even care for my company!"

Maggie pinched her lips together until they were squeezed white. I was beginning to feel really dizzy. The trailer was starting to spin. I looked around to see if Mr Herbal Remedies had come in, but there was no sign of Reggie.

"Niles." I turned back to Maggie and tried to adopt an expression of attention and interest. I intended to prop my chin on my hand, but I managed somehow to miss and narrowly avoided cracking my jaw against the table's edge. "I know this is going to sound like I'm singing two different tunes -"

"That's okay. I feel like I've spent most of the afternoon *listening* to two different tunes." I glanced over at Pete and waved my hands at him. "Not you, not you - the other bands."

"Niles." Maggie yanked me around to look at her. "If Daphne is *really* so indifferent to you, why would she have reacted so badly when she heard how you feel?"

I drew breath to reply, then let it out. I was confused, though that was nothing new, after the afternoon I'd had.

"Then why did she say what she said to Michael?" I asked.

"Maybe she was ... whatsit. Protesting too much."

"Ooh, clever!" I applauded. Then I considered. My thoughts were sluggish, but my head was beginning to clear. "You think it's possible?"

"I think you and she need to have a talk."

At that moment, we all turned to the back of the trailer, because the sound of Daphne's raised voice was drifting down the hall. Whatever it was that she was discussing with Michael, it had her quite worked up.

I looked back at Maggie. "Go," she encouraged. And she gave me a little nudge in the direction of the narrow passageway, which somehow managed to dislodge me from my position on the bench and left me sprawled across the floor.

I bounced up again without missing a beat.

"Okay."

I paused to steady myself, then headed down the hallway to the door of Michael's bedroom, and peered through the gap. Michael sat facing Daphne, who was on her feet and waving her arms. I listened shamelessly.

"Fine," Michael was saying. "But is your relationship likely to improve, any time soon, if you're still so busy lying to each other?"

Did he mean Daphne and I? He had to. There was nobody else they could be discussing.

"I told you!" Daphne shouted back. Her face was flushed with confrontation and her eyes could have pierced lead. In that moment, as I saw her in all her passionate glory, I don't think I'd ever wanted her more. "Niles Crane is no liar!"

Well, she had that wrong. I spoke up.

"Yes I am."

Daphne gasped, and spun around to face me. Michael reacted with less shock, and simply stood up, then stepped over to the door and opened it fully. He stood aside to invite me in, and once I'd walked past him, he left the room silently, closing the door behind him.

So there we were.

What was I saying about the stuff of nightmares? Daphne and I were alone together in a fibreglass soundbox furnished with two narrow bunks, fifteen feet away from an audience which included her older brother. I was more drunk than sober, and we were about to have the most important talk we would ever have.

Who says romance is dead?