Just Carly
Copyright© 2026 by Marc Nobbs
Chapter 13: Westmouth - 21st January 2014
Instructions for a Nightmare
Tuesday, January 21 2014 · 12:36 p.m. · Westmouth · Private
We’ve sent it.
Somewhere in London, an email now contains what we hope will become a recording here on Thursday. It took most of the morning.
I thought we were nearly ready yesterday. We had the arrangement, Harry’s rough recording and plenty of notes. But there is a difference between having notes we understand and having notes five people who weren’t in the room will understand.
Mine included more here, but not too much.
Ellie asked whether I wanted to be a little more specific.
I knew what I meant, but that didn’t help anybody else.
We went through the song from the beginning, checking the places where things changed and making sure what we’d written matched what Harry had recorded. At one point, it didn’t because we’d changed our minds yesterday and only remembered to change half the things that needed changing.
I’m glad we found that before Roxie did.
Harry made them two versions. One with my rough vocal and one without. I asked whether the second one was so Roxie could practise being me.
“Among other things,” he said.
I hope she enjoys herself.
We’ve included Saturday’s performance as well. There are things in that recording I can’t describe nearly as well as I can point to them and say, “That. Please keep doing that.”
The cello part is only a suggestion in the guide for now. We’ve marked where we want to leave room for it, so nobody learns something wonderful that we then ask them to stop playing on Thursday.
I sang the guide vocal again this morning. Yesterday’s was perfectly understandable, but in a couple of places I’d been concentrating on what Harry was doing and forgot to give the band a useful indication of what I would do.
Also, I disliked hearing myself say, “Hang on, can we go back?” in the middle of it.
That wasn’t part of the arrangement.
By the time everything was ready, I wanted to check it one more time. Harry let me. Then he sent it before I could find a reason to listen a fifth time.
Roxie replied while we decided what to have for lunch.
They’ve got everything. They’re getting together this afternoon to start working through it, and they’ll let us know if anything needs explaining.
Then she wrote, Looking forward to Thursday, babe.
So am I.
I sent Paul a good-luck message this morning. His exam is this afternoon, so I’m trying not to send him anything else until he’s finished. He doesn’t need a detailed account of our email attachments while he’s remembering the law.
Now lunch, then Ellie and I are going to finish our quieter version.
It feels good to have something leave this room. Last week we kept saving things to listen to again tomorrow. Today five other musicians get to hear what we’ve been doing and start doing something with it.
I wonder what they’ll hear first.
London Has Quite Enough Landmarks
Tuesday, January 21 2014 · 5:31 p.m. · Westmouth · Private
The acoustic version has a beginning, an ending and no point in the middle where I stop to apologise.
I’m calling that progress.
Ellie and I spent the first part of the afternoon putting the finishing touches to it. We’d already worked out most of what we wanted yesterday, but I liked a little piano phrase so much that I kept waiting for it instead of carrying on singing.
That is flattering to Ellie and inconvenient for the song.
We worked it out.
This version has more space than I’m used to hearing on a recording. My guitar is very exposed. So is my voice. You can hear the little changes in both, and Harry kept reminding me that I didn’t have to make every verse sound exactly alike.
I know that when I’m performing. Put a microphone in front of me in a studio, and suddenly I want to prove I can repeat myself accurately.
We listened to the whole thing after the last take. Nobody spoke when it finished. For a second I wondered whether I’d missed something terrible.
Then Ellie said, “I think we’ve got it.”
Harry agreed.
I asked to hear the ending again.
We had it.
He still has work to do on the recording, but Ellie and I have finished playing and singing it. I’m pleased with it. I want Mama to hear this one.
Then we went back to “London Calls.” I have apparently written a song about a young woman who arrives in London and attempts to visit every landmark before the second chorus.
Ellie has intervened.
Tower Bridge has gone from one verse. So has a reference to Trafalgar Square that I thought was rather clever. She asked what it told us about the girl in the song.
“That she’s in London.”
“We already know that.”
I pointed out that the title might be helping. She gave me a look, and Harry found something extremely interesting to do on his computer.
The problem is that I’ve loved seeing all these places, and every time I remember another one, I want to put it in. I can hear how much fun some of the names are to sing. But by this afternoon I had so many that the girl herself was disappearing between them.
Ellie asked me what I remembered apart from the buildings.
I told her about trying to follow the Tube map. About people walking so quickly that I felt I ought to apologise for standing still. About hearing voices from everywhere, sometimes several languages in the time it took to cross a street. And about looking up when everybody else was looking ahead.
She made me write that down.
Then she asked what the girl wanted.
To see everything, obviously.
“And?”
I had to think about that longer. I think she wants to feel as though she can belong somewhere that big. She’s excited, but she’s also aware that she doesn’t know how anything works yet. Everybody else seems to have somewhere to go, and she’s still figuring out which direction to walk.
That gave us something more useful than another bridge.
We haven’t made it solemn. It’s still a happy song. There’s still plenty of London in it, too. Ellie has simply prevented me from giving directions to all of it.
We tried the revised verse against the chorus, and I liked how quickly it moved. I liked the girl more as well. She had something to do besides point at things.
I did rescue one landmark Ellie wanted to remove. It belongs in that line. I explained why, and she agreed. A small victory for tourism.
Now I need to go home and get changed. Chloë has reminded me that we’re going out tonight and asked whether I’ll be ready by seven. I said yes before checking what time it was.
I should put this phone away. I have spent all afternoon removing unnecessary destinations from a song. It would be embarrassing to keep everybody waiting because I couldn’t get myself to the next one.
Dinner at the Earl’s Table
Tuesday, January 21 2014 · 11:29 p.m. · Westmouth · Private
That is actually what it’s called. The Earl’s Table at Westmouthshire Hall.
I feel those names ought to be announced by somebody holding a trumpet.
Chloë took me there for dinner tonight. Just the two of us. Cassie helped me decide what to wear, then waved us off with instructions to enjoy ourselves and bring back a full report on dessert.
I wore my little black dress. Chloë approved, Cassie adjusted my necklace, and for a few minutes getting ready felt like part of the evening rather than something I needed to hurry through.
There was a car waiting outside. Chloë said she intended to have wine and had no intention of arguing with me about who would drive. I hadn’t been preparing an argument. I’m still not sure I could drive through one of those villages without putting us in a hedge.
It didn’t take very long to get there, although once we’d left the lights of Westmouth behind, I had very little idea where we were. Then we reached gates, somebody checked who we were, and we drove up toward a great big house with nearly every window glowing.
Chloë told me it used to be the Earl of Westmouth’s family home.
I asked whether he still ate at his table.
She said she’d enquire.
Inside, there were flowers, thick carpets and paintings of people who looked as though they had strong opinions about inheritance. Somebody took our coats. Somebody else seemed to know exactly where Chloë wanted to sit.
Our table was beside a fireplace. There were only a few other diners, and the room was quiet enough that we could talk without leaning across the table or raising our voices.
I liked it immediately.
Then I opened the menu.
I recognised most of the ingredients. Some had acquired rather elaborate names for what had been done to them. Chloë recommended the scallops and told me to ask about anything I wasn’t sure of. So I did. The waiter explained everything very nicely, and I ordered scallops followed by venison.
First, however, we were given something neither of us had ordered. A tiny tart with whipped goat’s cheese and beetroot.
One bite. A very good bite. I could happily have eaten several more, but apparently its job was to introduce the rest of dinner.
The scallops came with cauliflower purée, little pieces of crisp bacon and brown butter. I took the first mouthful while Chloë was asking me something and entirely forgot to answer her.
“That good?”
I nodded.
She looked pleased with herself.
I told her about finishing the acoustic recording this afternoon. She wanted to know whether I felt differently singing something written by Harry and Ellie while they were right there listening.
Sometimes I do. I worry they can hear where I’m getting it wrong before I can.
“And can they?”
“Occasionally.”
“Do they tell you?”
“Always.”
“Then you’re in rather good hands.”
I told her about “London Calls” and Ellie removing half the buildings from it. Chloë laughed and asked whether I’d left the Shard in. I said I wasn’t giving her advance approval of the sightseeing itinerary.
She said that sounded fair.
My venison was pink in the middle and so tender. There was a dark, glossy sauce, celeriac purée and a neat little stack of thin potato slices that were crisp at the edges. I had intended to eat slowly and appreciate everything.
I managed the appreciating part.
Chloë let me taste her fish, and I let her try the venison. Then we discussed whether ordering another portion of those potatoes would be unreasonable.
We ordered them anyway.
This is one of the things I like about her.
We talked about Adam. I asked whether it felt different being engaged after they’d already been together so long. She looked down at her ring before answering.
“A little. Mostly when I catch sight of this.”
Then she told me about something very ordinary he’d done that morning, and the way she smiled while telling it made me understand more than the ring did.
I asked whether she’d thought about getting married at the Hall.
She has. She likes the grounds, and she likes knowing they could have their guests there without worrying about strangers turning up with cameras. Nothing is decided yet. Apparently deciding you want a summer wedding is much easier than finding a summer date that works for everybody.
She asked whether I’d come if I could.
“Of course.”
I answered before she’d finished asking.
That seemed to please her too.
Over dessert, we talked about our families.
Mine was a warm chocolate fondant with cherries and vanilla ice cream. I need to mention that before I get distracted, because Cassie will ask.
Chloë told me a little about growing up working. About liking the acting itself but having adults decide so much around it. Her parents wanted her to succeed, and she did too, but she doesn’t remember having much opportunity to work out what she wanted away from a set.
University mattered to her for that reason.
I’d known she went. I hadn’t really understood how much it meant that she’d chosen to.
I told her about Mama and Pappy and Meemaw, and leaving Alabama for Nashville. About being certain I wanted to sing and considerably less certain how I was going to pay rent while I found somebody willing to listen.
She asked whether coming here had felt like starting again.
“A little.”
“Good or frightening?”
“Both.”
She nodded as though that was a perfectly reasonable answer.
I told her how happy I’d been these last few days. Then, because she was listening so carefully, I admitted that being happy with Paul frightens me sometimes because I remember what it felt like when he left.
She didn’t tell me I was being silly. She didn’t promise he would never hurt me.
She asked whether I’d told him.
Some of it, I said. More on Saturday morning.
“Then keep talking to him.”
I looked down at my plate. There was melted chocolate spreading into the ice cream, and I spent a moment pushing it around with my spoon.
“I don’t want to spoil this by worrying about it,” I’d said.
“You can tell someone you’re frightened without accusing them of anything.”
I think I needed to hear that.
We kept talking over coffee until I realised I’d stopped noticing the room. Earlier I’d been looking at the paintings, the flowers, the silver on the table. By then I was simply having dinner with Chloë, asking her questions and telling her things.
On the way home, she asked what Cassie’s dessert report would say.
“Excellent. Further investigation recommended.”
She laughed and said we could probably arrange that.
Paul sent a message saying he felt reasonably good about today’s exam. He has another tomorrow morning, so we only exchanged a few messages before saying goodnight.
I’ve hung my dress up. I’ve told Cassie about the chocolate.
And I’ve just realised that somewhere between the extra potatoes and the coffee, I asked Chloë if I could take her out for dinner one evening.
She said yes.
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