Page 52 of The Reboot
He gave her a slow smile. ‘I’ve got plenty of time. Another coffee?’
14
Hi, honey, I’m home!’
Roly looked up as Ella came into the living room. He was sitting on the sofa with his guitar, an A4 pad and pen on the table in front of him. ‘Hi. How was your day?’
‘Good. You’re still writing?’ She nodded to the pad.
Yeah.’
‘Well, don’t let me interrupt. I’ll get started on dinner.’
‘Do you mind? I’m kind of in the zone.’
‘No worries.’
When she’d slung her coat in the bedroom, she went to the kitchen and emptied her shopping bag. She was making fajitas and had bought the ingredients for guacamole on the way home. As she chopped coriander, squeezed limes and pounded avocados and garlic, the sounds of softly strummed guitar and Roly’s sweet, husky voice drifted into the kitchen in intermittent bursts, as he repeated chords and snatches of melody. She’d never heard him sing like this before, solo and acoustic, and she was surprised by the deep, rich tone of his voice. She was annoyed when she started cooking and he was drowned out by the sizzle of peppers and onions in the pan and the roar of the extractor fan.
When she’d finished cooking, she popped back into the living room. ‘Are you ready for dinner?’ she asked. ‘It can wait if not.’ She didn’t want to interrupt his creative flow.
‘Yeah, I’m done. What are we having?’ He sniffed the air. ‘Smells great.’
‘Fajitas. I just have to microwave the tortillas.’
‘Are we allowed tortillas?’
‘Just one each?’
‘Great.’ He licked his lips. ‘But do you want to hear this song first?’
‘You’ve finished already? That was quick.’
He shrugged. ‘It’s been going around in my head all week, so it was mostly already there. It just needed some tweaking.’
‘I’d love to hear it, if that’s okay.’ She sat beside him on the sofa and he began playing. Even though she knew he’d been used to playing giant stadiums, she was still surprised how unselfconscious he was about singing to her like this, especially something he’d written himself. It felt so intimate and personal. She admired his confidence. More than that, there was something very appealing about it – sexy, even.
And the song was a revelation. She’d expected something simple and generic with a bouncy chorus and silly rhymes, but it was slow and gentle, with a lovely stripped-back melody and poetic, insightful lyrics. It was utterly unlike the insipid bubblegum pop of Oh Boy! She clapped when he finished.
‘So, what do you think?’
‘Wow! It’s gorgeous, Roly. I love it.’
‘You don’t have to say that, just because I’m your landlord.’
‘I’m not! I mean it. It’s really, really good.’
He beamed. ‘Thanks. I’m pretty happy with it myself.’
‘You should be. It’s amazing!’
‘You don’t have to sound so surprised.’
‘I’m not! It’s just … very different to what I expected.’
‘Yeah, well, it’s pretty raw at the moment, obviously. But I’m sure a good producer could do something with it.’
‘Do something?’
