Just Carly
Copyright© 2026 by Marc Nobbs
Chapter 7: Micester and Westmouth
That photograph again
Sunday, January 12 2014 · 8:56am · Westmouth · Private
Somebody sent me a link to an article about last night. The big picture is the one of me and Chloë with our ridiculous cocktails. I liked that picture yesterday.
The writer has used our pub and London photos too, then found pictures other people took of me kissing Paul and sitting on his lap. According to him, I’m here for famous friends, free drinks and a handsome tour guide. Apparently I may also get around to singing.
I showed Chloë over breakfast. She read the headline, saw the name Glenn Fielding and called him ‘pond scum.’ Then she said “The Spotlight” was pathetic and only losers read it.
I pointed out that I’d just read it.
“You know what I mean,” she said, and took my phone away long enough to put more toast on my plate.
I do know. I still wish I hadn’t opened the link.
Outside the studio
Sunday, January 12 2014 · 9:52am · Westmouth · Private
I’ve got my folder of half-finished songs, my phone full of ideas, and approximately one hour with Harry and Ellie to work out where we begin.
I know them already because of “A Woman’s Work.” I know they want to make this album with me. I also know they’ll hear things I’ve been keeping unfinished because I couldn’t decide what to do with them.
The article is still bothering me. Which is irritating, because this meeting matters far more than Glenn Fielding’s opinion of my Saturday night.
Ellie’s just waved me in.
All right. Album three. Let’s start.
River Bank
Sunday, January 12 2014 · 11:14am · Westmouth · Private
We stayed almost exactly an hour, and I want another three.
Harry and Ellie asked what I’ve been listening to, which of my unfinished songs I keep coming back to, and what I liked about singing “A Woman’s Work” with only my guitar. I played them a couple of rough ideas from my phone. One recording has somebody closing a kitchen cupboard halfway through it. Ellie asked me to send that one anyway.
We’ve agreed when to start working properly. I’m to bring the folder, even the pages I think are useless.
I told them I don’t want to decide in advance that every song has to sound like the last two albums. Harry said we can hear what’s in the songs before we decide what to build around them.
I left feeling eager to get my guitar out.
That’s a good way to leave a first meeting.
I should have stopped scrolling
Sunday, January 12 2014 · 11:37am · Westmouth · Private
I went back to the article to see what people had said.
The paid members’ comments are at the top. They’ve decided I haven’t worked a day in my life, that Chloë pays for everything, and that I’m hanging on to Paul because he might be rich. One of them called the picture of me on his lap “classy.” Somebody else made a remark about what he’d like to do with me.
That picture wasn’t one I shared. Neither was the one of us kissing.
There are people saying they heard me sing and people who were at the club saying we danced downstairs with everybody. They’re being voted down. I wanted to thank one of them, but then I’d be there, answering strangers while they made up another version of me.
I’m going to leave it alone.
It hurts more than I want to admit. I was having such a good night in those photographs.
Sunday lunch
Sunday, January 12 2014 · 12:06pm · Micester · Private
Paul’s coming to collect me, Chloë and Adam for lunch at his sister’s restaurant.
He was so enthusiastic about the roast potatoes last night that I’m holding him personally responsible if they’re disappointing. Chloë says I won’t have cause to complain.
I haven’t told Paul about the article. He may have seen it already; those pictures of us are hard to miss. I hope he hasn’t read the comments.
For now I’ve put my phone away from The Spotlight and sent Mama a message saying the studio meeting went well. It did. Harry and Ellie are expecting me back, and I’m excited to begin.
And in a little while Paul will be at the door.
I think I’ll go downstairs early again.
Yorkshires
Sunday, January 12 2014 · 2:18 p.m. · Micester · Private
Paul’s sister Vicky carved my beef, and then Paul pointed me toward a mountain of things he said I had to try. I took two Yorkshire puddings because one looked lonely. I understand them now. I may never forgive anybody for keeping them from me for twenty-one years.
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