5As Queens of the Stone Age might have said, the fun machine had taken a s**t and died.
In his head, Ross had imagined the journey to the studio, wherever it was, would be a gas. The three of them laughing and joking, congratulating each other on their success and enjoying a party atmosphere punctuated with the fleshy slap of many a high five and the constant crystal clink of champagne flute toasts.
Of course, that had been before his good mood had taken a kicking in the Inverclyde Royal ICU ward that afternoon. And before Luce had told them about what had happened to Remember May last night, not to mention her wavering on the cusp of backing out of the whole shebang.
As it is, with the car rolling smoothly along the M8, rather than the three of them pishing glitter, the feeling in the
