A Healing Love
Copyright© 2025 by Marc Nobbs
Chapter 36: Food for the Soul
Coming of Age Sex Story: Chapter 36: Food for the Soul - Paul Robertson's journey continues as his past and present collide at a star-studded movie premiere, where a connection that once terrified him reignites with passion that threatens to consume them both. Fighting to forge a new future for himself and stop drifting, Paul must finally become the man he’s always been afraid to be. A beautiful, bittersweet exploration of grief, social responsibility, the healing power of love, and learning that sometimes loving someone means letting them go.
Caution: This Coming of Age Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Consensual Romantic Heterosexual Fiction
“Planning on performing any more new songs tonight?”
Carly shrugged. “Maybe.” She grinned. “You’ll just have to wait and see, won’t you?”
It was Saturday morning, and we were waiting for our breakfast orders to be taken at Jak’s before heading to the Arts Centre on campus for the ‘surprise visit’ to the WMPAT groups that Carly had agreed to on Wednesday. Alistair Wood had been in contact since then via Chrissy, who had given him my number, to clarify the details. We decided to get there earlier, at ten rather than eleven, and then Carly could drop in on both the Training Orchestra, who were preparing a version of ‘A Woman’s Work,’ and the Senior Youth Orchestra, which was made up of the oldest and most accomplished young musicians.
After Carly’s visit to WMPAT, we’d be heading to London again, this time for the whole weekend. Carly was performing at Troxy that evening, a former cinema in Stepney in the East End. With a capacity of just over three thousand, it was going to be the biggest venue Carly had performed at on this ‘mini-tour.’
And as the BAFTAs ceremony was on Sunday night, we decided to stay overnight on Saturday rather than travel to London and back on consecutive days.
I’d hired a minibus to take us to London just after lunch. By ‘us,’ I mean me and Carly, obviously, but also Lana and the other three members of her String Quartet. They were going to preview the unique performance of ‘A Woman’s Work’ that they’d prepared for the BAFTAs ceremony at the end of Saturday’s show.
They were calling it a dress rehearsal.
I’d booked hotel rooms for us all, although only Lana knew I was paying for them. The rest of the Quartet thought the record company was paying.
Well, I suppose ‘technically’ the record company was paying, because I planned to pay for both the minibus and the hotel rooms through Wintersmith Media and charge it to Kayla’s album budget.
“The usual, Paul?” Jak said as soon as she appeared next to our table.
“You don’t serve anything else, do you?” I replied with a grin.
Jak rolled her eyes and turned to Carly. “And for Miss Valentine?” She dramatically put her hand to her mouth to shield her stage whisper from Carly and, looking sideways at me, said, “Marie told me.” She nodded and winked.
This was the first time I’d brought Carly to the café.
“Oh, I really don’t know,” Carly said. “My favourite breakfast back home is blueberry pancakes, but y’all don’t have them on the menu. And I’ve seen the breakfast Paul orders, and I don’t think I could eat all that.”
“Well, if you like pancakes, how about some crumpets? They are the same sort of thing. And I’m sure I’ve got some blueberry jam, but if not, then I’ve definitely got strawberry. How does that sound? Some lovely, toasted crumpets smothered in butter and jam?”
Carly grinned. “Sounds perfect.”
“Excellent. I’ll bring your coffee over in a sec, then get on with your order.”
Jak bustled away, Carly smiling at her as she went. Then she looked back at me, still smiling, and reached her hand out across the table towards mine. I smiled back and took her hand.
She squeezed my hand tightly, and her smile faded. She suddenly looked quite sad. The fire that was usually in her eyes dulled.
“Paul?” The catch in her voice made me apprehensive.
I nodded. “Yeah?”
“Do you...” She looked down at the table, then back up at me. “Do you remember when you first asked me how long it would take to record the album?”
I nodded.
“And I said, it could take a couple of weeks, or it could take a couple of months or maybe even longer—it all depends on how well it goes. Do you remember that?”
I nodded again. “I remember.”
“Well, Paul, the thing is...” She looked close to tears as she looked down at the table again.
“Carly,” I said softly. She didn’t respond. “Carly, look at me.”
Slowly, she lifted her head until her eyes met mine.
“I’m not blind,” I said. “I can see how creative you’ve been since ... What? Since that show at The Empire?”
She nodded. “The first week or so was really hard. I was learning about how Harry and Ellie like to work, and they were learning about me. But after that show for Luke and Blake with Roxie and the guys...” She shrugged. “It all started to fall into place. We found the sound we wanted and...” She sighed. “Ellie and I are working so well together right now. We’re writing in the mornings, and we’ve written, like, a dozen songs in the last couple of weeks. Not all of them are good enough for the album, you know, but that’s not the point. The point is that we’re writing together really easily. And then in the afternoons, we’re recording, and Harry knows exactly what we want and how to achieve it. It’s incredible.”
She looked down at the table again. “We’ve got five and a half songs ready to go for CD one.”
“Five and a half? How can you have half a song?”
She looked up and smiled. “The recording is done, but Harry hasn’t finished mixing it together yet. He’s doing it this weekend.”
I nodded. Took a deep breath and asked, “And how many more do you think you need to record? How many do you want on the album?”
“I’m not sure. I had fifteen on my last two, but I’m thinking that twelve—or maybe even ten—might be enough for this one because of the second CD with the covers on. We’re nearly done with that, by the way. We’re up to eight covers. That’s the easy bit, really—the songs are already there, I just have to sing them.”
I nodded again. “When do I get to hear them all?”
She smiled. “Any time you want. It’s your money, so really, if you wanted to just show up to the studio and demand to hear—”
“I wouldn’t do that. I promised not to interfere.”
“That’s not interfering. That’s ‘taking an interest.’” She grinned. “I’ll play you what we’ve got any time you want. I’ll even sing them to you now if you want me to.” She paused. “Paul ... It’s ... It’s the Oscars in two weeks, and they have asked me to perform at the ceremony.”
I nodded. “Quite right. So, they should.”
“But ... I mean...” She put her head down again. And though she didn’t actually start crying, she was close to it.
“You’re not coming back here after that, are you?”
Still looking at the table, she shook her head, then quietly said, “Not if the album’s finished. No.”
“And will it be?”
She slowly lifted her head. Looked me in the eye even as tears pooled in hers. “Yes, I think it will be.”
Two weeks.
That was all I had left with Carly. With my dear, sweet, Alabama Songbird. My Alabama Sweetheart.
Two weeks.
I guess we’d better make the most of it.
I should ask her to stay. Ask her to come back to Westmouth and stay with me. Lana had told me she thought Carly would do that if I asked her to. That she’d give it all up to stay with me.
I should ask her to stay.
But I couldn’t.
I couldn’t do that to her. I couldn’t ask her to give up stardom and the stellar career ahead of her just because I selfishly wanted to keep her all to myself. That wouldn’t be fair. It wouldn’t be fair to her, to deny her the success she deserved. And it wouldn’t be fair to the world to deny everyone her special talent.
I couldn’t do that.
I should go with her. Fuck being a lawyer—I didn’t need to do that. Fuck Wintersmith and Altruistic Capitalism. Fuck The Clarissa Trust and The Clarissa Award. Fuck it all. I should go with her. Give it all up for her like she would for me if I asked.
I should go with her.
But I couldn’t.
People were relying on me. The staff at JMS Westmouth—what would happen to them if I walked away? And Mark and Imogen and Emily and Lisa and Vanessa ... If I walked away bang goes our student housing business. I couldn’t let them down like that.
Fuck.
Two weeks.
We’d better make the most of it.
As agreed, Alistair Wood was waiting for us in the foyer of the Arts Centre when we arrived.
“Thank you so much for doing this, Kayla,” he said. “It will mean the world to our young musicians, it really will.”
“Oh, it’s my pleasure, Mr Wood, it really is.”
“Oh, please, there’s no need for formality. Call me Alistair.” He clapped his hands together. “I thought we’d start by visiting the Senior Youth Orchestra, as they rehearse up here, in the main theatre. They should be just about to set up after their sectionals.” I must have looked completely lost, because he added, “They work in groups by instrument for the first hour—cellos together, first violins, second violins. You get the idea. Then they all come together as an orchestra for the next couple of hours, so they should be assembling on the stage about now.”
He extended his arm, pointing deeper into the building. “This way.”
As we walked, he asked Kayla how she wanted to handle the visit.
“Oh, I’ll be led by you, Alistair. Whatever you think is best.”
“Well, I’m sure many of them will want to get their photos taken with you. So, how about you stand in the conductor’s spot and say something to them all? Something inspirational. And after that, you can go around to their chairs for anyone who wants a photo, and then they will perform something for you.”
She smiled. “Sounds good. Although I have no idea what to say.”
“Oh, just something about what making music means to you and how it has affected your life to be able to do what you do for a living. That sort of thing.”
We entered the auditorium through the stage door, and Alistair led us onto the stage from one of the wings. The orchestra was arranged as it would be for a concert—in a semi-circle around the conductor’s stand, which was at the front of the stage in the centre. This meant that as we walked onto the stage, about a third of the musicians had their backs to us, about a third were side-on to us and facing the front, and about a third were facing us, although they were the furthest away.
As soon as Kayla stepped onto the stage, the jaws of the people facing us dropped, and a hum of excited whispering began. Carly had dressed very much as ‘Kayla’ for this visit, wearing a short denim skirt, knee-high cowboy boots, and a black and red plaid shirt which she’d tied in a knot just beneath her breasts to expose her flat, taut tummy. She had her hair pulled back off her face in a loosely tied ponytail.
The whispering spread, and those side-on to us turned to look, their jaws dropping too. Finally, the violin section, the ones with their backs to us, began to turn around, and they too looked shocked.
The conductor, who clearly knew we were coming, looked across at us and said, “Ah, good, our guest has arrived. Please, come and join us.”
Carly looked at me with that apprehensive, vulnerable look in her eyes again. But I smiled, nodded and said, “Go on. Knock ‘em dead, Kayla. They’ll love you. Everyone always does.”
She smiled back and, as if someone had flicked a switch, Carly morphed into Kayla, who strode to the front of the stage, waving and smiling at the young musicians, to join the conductor. When she got there, she smiled at the young people assembled in front of her, looking up at her in wonder, and said, “Hey y’all!”
“She’s a very special young lady,” Alistair said as we watched from the side of the stage as Kayla went around the orchestra posing for selfies with anyone who wanted one.
“I know,” I said, smiling and not able to take my eyes off her.
She had handled being in front of the orchestra with aplomb. The conductor had helped—he asked her why she was there and, through some clever questions, led her to talk about how important music was to her, how it had changed her life, and how writing and performing were such a privilege that provided her opportunities she never dreamed she’d have while growing up. She praised the members of the orchestra for being able to play the instruments they did, even being a little self-deprecating about ‘only’ being able to play the guitar and piano. And she encouraged them to keep making music for the rest of their lives.
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