Just Carly
Copyright© 2026 by Marc Nobbs
Chapter 15: Westmouth - 24th January 2014
A Very Slow Start
Friday, January 24 · 11:52 A.M. · Westmouth · Private
We have made it downstairs. I feel this deserves recording because, for quite a while, it looked doubtful.
I woke with Paul’s arms around me, and every time one of us suggested getting out of bed, the other found a fairly persuasive reason to stay. Eventually, I pointed out that neither of us had anywhere pressing to be, so we decided to stay in bed a little longer.
After three evenings apart, I wanted this. Time with him when I wasn’t watching the clock, thinking about what he needed to study, or wondering whether I ought to let him sleep.
I like the sleepy version of Paul. His voice is lower, his hair is a mess, and if I kiss him, he smiles before he’s properly opened his eyes. I also like discovering that I can make him forget whatever he was about to say.
We’re going to the studio this afternoon to hear the finished versions. Harry and Ellie have been working while I’ve been doing absolutely nothing useful, although I suppose they weren’t the ones running around a stage last night.
I’m still thinking about that.
Little bits keep coming back. Roxie’s face when I went over during the guitar solo. The crowd catching what we were doing with Sweet Home Alabama. Looking down at Paul during Always.
I wouldn’t mind doing something like that again.
Possibly after a little more rehearsal. Possibly with exactly the same amount.
But today I want to hear the cello properly mixed into the song. Yesterday it was exciting simply because Alannah was playing it and we could hear the idea becoming real. Today we get to find out whether the whole recording works the way we hoped.
I think it will.
Paul asked whether I was ready to go downstairs about ten minutes before we actually did. I said yes. Then I kissed him again. There may be a difference between being ready to get up and being willing.
We’re Keeping The Cello
Friday, January 24 · 4:26 P.M. · Westmouth · Private
We listened to all three new versions of the song. The acoustic recording first. My guitar, my voice, Ellie’s piano. I’m proud of that one. It has so much room that I can hear little things in my singing I’d probably have tried to tidy away a few months ago. A breath. A word that catches slightly. Things that belong to the person singing, not just the melody.
And Ellie’s piano is beautiful. She knows when to come forward and when to leave me alone.
Then Harry played the band recording without the cello. That sounded wonderful too. Yesterday I was listening for things we still needed to do. Today I could sit beside Paul and hear a finished song. Sarah and Roxie’s guitars, the rhythm underneath, those little phrases we’d spent so long making room for. Everything sounded connected.
Then we heard Alannah.
And I knew.
It isn’t playing all the time. That’s part of why it works. You hear the band, you hear the voice, and then this lovely, warm sound comes through and gives the passage something extra.
There was a moment toward the end when I looked at Ellie, and she was already looking at me, and we both knew.
Harry preferred it too.
So, we’re keeping the cello.
I wish Alannah had been there to hear us agree. Yesterday she was so pleased just to have recorded it, and I want her to know we chose it because the song sounds better with her on it.
Harry is arranging to release both new versions on Monday.
Monday!
We’ve spent days talking about what this album might become, and now something we made here is actually going out into the world.
I don’t know which version people will prefer. I don’t know whether country radio back home will play either of them. The acoustic one probably has the better chance, but I’d love them to hear what we’ve done with the band. There’s still plenty of Alabama in that recording. I can hear myself in it.
Harry burned copies onto CDs for Paul—one to keep and one for Alannah. We tried taking hers over, but she was practising at the Arts Centre, and apparently, wanting to deliver good news doesn’t get you through a locked university door.
We couldn’t reach her on the phone either, so we’ll try again tomorrow.
For now, I’m going to enjoy having something finished. Two things finished. That feels very good.
Tomorrow Afternoon Is A Very Good Arrangement
Friday, January 24 · 11:43 p.m. · Westmouth · Private
We went to the cinema tonight. A proper evening out together, followed by coming back to the same house. My bag is upstairs. My things are in his room. I don’t have to work out when to say good night and leave.
I’m enjoying that more than I can adequately explain.
Alannah finally saw Paul’s message while we were on our way to the cinema. She’d been working on a tricky piece with the quartet and hadn’t been looking at her phone. That makes sense. I wouldn’t want somebody interrupting me halfway through trying to get something right either.
She wanted to hear the recording straight away. Asked whether we could go over or she could come here.
Paul told her we were out and suggested tomorrow afternoon.
I was reading over his shoulder and very much approved of the word afternoon.
She also asked whether they’d used her playing. She’d guessed they must have, since we wanted her to hear it, but seeing the question written down made me want to tell her myself.
Yes, honey. We used it. And you sound beautiful.
Paul said it sounded great, which will have to do until tomorrow.
I admitted I’d been hoping for another morning like this morning. He said he’d been hoping for that too. And Sunday. And Monday, although he’ll need to study on Monday because he has another exam on Tuesday. I’ll be back in the studio then anyway.
But tomorrow and Sunday are ours.
I know being here with him doesn’t make everything simple. I still have work to do, and he still has a whole life that was happening before I turned up at that party. Tonight, though, he was talking about the next few mornings as if, of course, I would be in them.
I liked hearing that.
I liked sitting beside him in the cinema and taking his hand without having to think about it.
And I liked coming home with him afterward.
He’s getting ready for bed. I’m going to put the phone away and do the same.
Strong Coffee, Eventually
Saturday, January 25 · 11:37 a.m. · Westmouth · Private
Breakfast at eleven. We are getting very good at this weekend business.
There was a moment this morning when Paul put his hand against my face and looked at me, and I wanted to ask him what he was thinking.
I didn’t.
I kissed him instead.
Sometimes I worry that I’m reading too much into the way he looks at me. That I want something so much I’ll find evidence for it anywhere. But it’s harder to doubt him when I’m actually here.
He reaches for me without thinking. If I move away, his hand follows. This morning, after we’d finally settled down again, he brushed my hair out of my face and just stayed there looking at me.
I felt loved.
I’m allowed to write that down, even if I haven’t asked him to explain it.
We eventually showered and came downstairs, and now he’s making a call about his business. Marie is coming over after lunch with some designs he needs to look at.
Alannah is coming this afternoon too, although I don’t think we’ve given her an actual time. I’m looking forward to hearing what she thinks of the recording. I hope she’ll be able to listen without spending the whole time judging her own playing. Musicians can be terrible at enjoying something once they know exactly which bits of it they performed.
I certainly can.
There’s probably a guitar part on my first album that nobody else has ever thought about, while I still remember how many attempts it took and the noise my finger made moving between two chords.
But I want her to hear what we heard yesterday. I’d also like to talk to her properly. At the studio there were always other people around, or somebody was waiting to play something, or we were trying to finish the session.
She seems lovely. Thoughtful. And funny when she relaxes. And I like the way she talks about music.
Anyway. Coffee first.
I can hear Paul still on the phone, so I may have to make this one myself.
A Cellist, A Blog, And A Second Opinion
Saturday, January 25 · 3:54 p.m. · Westmouth · Private
Alannah prefers the acoustic version.
Her own cello is on the other one, and she still prefers the acoustic.
I rather like that about her.
We played both in the kitchen. Marie arrived almost at the same time as she did, and after introductions and a small amount of confusion about who knew whom, we finally got everyone listening. Imogen had to rescue the drinks. Paul had volunteered to make them and then became distracted by approximately everything.
Alannah, Marie and I all take our coffee strong and sweet. Paul looked slightly bewildered by this discovery. We all look alike too. Blonde. Blue-eyed. Similar heights. Funny that.
Marie recognised me once he introduced me properly. She said she’d thought I looked like Kayla Valentine but couldn’t work out why I’d be standing in Paul’s kitchen.
I was standing in Paul’s kitchen because I like Paul. I didn’t say that, but I should have. I was also there because that’s where the coffee was supposed to be happening.
Marie loves A Woman’s Work, though, and she was excited about hearing the new recordings. She and Paul preferred the band version with the cello. Mark and Imogen preferred the acoustic one, as did Alannah.
That doesn’t bother me. Actually, I’m rather pleased.
I don’t need everyone to choose the same thing. If somebody wants the quieter recording and somebody else wants the band, they can both have a version they enjoy.
Alannah had already heard me sing the acoustic arrangement in the video from the party at The Shard in London.
Somewhere in that conversation she also discovered that Paul knows Chloë. She seemed to think this was information he might reasonably have mentioned before.
I can see her point.