‘The house,’ Billy said. ‘Pretty cool, huh?’
‘Oh, yes!’ I agreed. ‘Yes, it’s lovely. Is it true Kate Bush lives next door?’
Billy laughed at that. ‘No, she’s way over the other side, on the cliffs,’ he said. ‘Why?’
‘Mum told me,’ I said. ‘She saw something on TV about you and Kate being neighbours.’
‘No, not me,’ Billy said. ‘But Steve Rider lives over that way, I believe.’
‘Sorry, who?’
‘Sports presenter,’ Billy said. ‘So how is she? Your mum?’
‘She’s fine,’ I said. ‘She had cancer, but she’s OK now.’ I wondered why I’d told him that, and then regretted that I had. It seemed unfaithful to have told Billy something Rob wasn’t allowed to know.
‘Cancer or heart trouble,’ Billy said. ‘It’s always one or the other that gets you in the end.’
‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘Maybe. But in Mum’s case, not quite yet, thank God.’
There was an uncomfortable silence at that point, so I filled in with, ‘Mum was worried you’d have to put up with Kate Bush singing. She thought you might be able to hear her from your place.’
‘No,’ Billy said. ‘Luckily not.’
‘I always liked her myself.’
‘Yeah, well, your musical tastes were always dodgy,’ Billy said, handing me my completed mug of tea. ‘Come,’ he said. ‘I’ll give you the tour.’
I slopped some of the tea into the sink so that I could carry it without spillage and followed Billy out the door. I noticed that my mug was emblazoned with the album cover ofEars, Nose, Arseand wondered if he’d had it made himself or if it had been a gift from the record company.
Billy led the way to the lower floor, which was only a few feet above the waterline.
‘So this is my music room,’ he said, pushing open a door.
Once again, the far wall was glass, and because we were lower the view was even more impressive. Rippling reflections of light dappled the ceiling. It felt like being on a boat.
‘Wow,’ I said.
‘Yeah,’ Billy agreed. ‘I still say that every time I step in here. It’s crazy, huh?’
There was a full-sized drum kit and a keyboard, and four guitars hanging on the walls.
‘It reminds me of your garage,’ I said.
Billy nodded and scanned the room as if he was looking at it for the first time. ‘Maybe,’ he said. ‘Better gear though. That one’s a Fender ’57.’
‘Sorry,’ I said, ‘what is?’
‘The guitar,’ Billy said, nodding. ‘It’s worth about ten grand.’
‘Oh,’ I said. ‘Nice.’
‘I’ve got a Moog, too,’ Billy said. ‘One of the original ones. But it’s in storage. No room here, not with the drum kit.’
‘Of course,’ I said, though I had no idea what a Moog was.
Because Billy was slowly edging towards me, I crossed to the other side and made a point of examining his framed platinum discs. There were six of them on the wall.
‘I really liked that one,’ I said, pointing.
