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‘Watch the roads, in case it’s icy out there, okay?’

Frankie nodded and Jay went back into Ivy Cottage, hands thrust into the pockets of his jeans as he loped up the steps.

Cole came over to Frankie before she had a chance to put her window up again.

‘It was lovely to meet you,’ Cole said. ‘And good to finally put the name to the legend.’

Frankie wasn’t sure what to make of that.

Cole looked toward the cottage for a moment before turning back to Frankie. ‘I’m glad Jay came back here. I know he missed everything and everyone and always wished he could come back.’

Frankie looked at Cole in puzzlement. ‘He was the one who wanted to cut all ties.’

Cole took a deep breath. ‘He didn’t have a choice, Frankie. It wasn’t what he wanted.’

Frankie stared at Cole, waiting for him to explain but all he said was, ‘He needs this. He needs you,’ before patting her door and following Jay into the warmth.

Frankie pulled away, wondering what Cole meant by that. If it hadn’t been Jay’s decision to leave, whose was it? The record company? But just because they might have suggested it, why did Jay go along with it? And also, why did Cole think Jay needed her? And what was all that about rehab?

Frankie drove home slowly, her mind and emotions in turmoil, watching out for patches of ice on the road, the words drive with care, going round in her head.

CHAPTER 25

ROCCO

Rocco stood back and surveyed the bedroom.

The grey silk damask duvet cover was opulent but not overkill. The extra cushions, as well as being decorative were also practical, if Valentina wanted to prop herself up in bed. The Jo Malone candle gave off a lovely spa smell that Rocco hoped wouldn’t be too overpowering. The scent profile continued in the en suite with the matching toiletries. The towels were fluffy and warmed nicely thanks to the heated rail. Everything was ready for Valentina’s arrival.

Spoiling the visuals, however, was the bulky Amazon box which contained the cot bed their dad had brought over from Valentina’s. Rocco decided to move it to one of the other spare rooms, sure he and their dad would be able to make it up quickly whenever it was needed. He slid it along the hall to the smallest of the spare rooms and propped it against the wall.

Next to his guitar.

The Fender American Performer telecaster.

It had been a present from his parents for his eighteenth birthday. Even though the rosewood could do with a gentle dusting, it was still a beautiful piece of kit.

Rocco hadn’t thought of playing for years.

Yet now, he had a sudden pang of longing to feel the steel strings under his finger pads. Did he even still have plectrums? He scoured the bookcase on the other side of the room until he found the box file he was after. Pulling it out from between some books he opened it. Scattered inside were pieces of random sheet music, a notebook, some Rizla cigarette papers and a few plectrums. He took out a plectrum then opened the notebook. The first page contained some woefully cringeworthy song lyrics he had no recollection of writing. By the state of his handwriting and atrocious spelling Rocco figured he must have been in his early teens when he’d penned it. He flicked on a few pages and the handwriting morphed into slightly slanted writing. He remembered how he’d tried various styles in a bid to look cool and more mature. It was a shame he hadn’t made the same effort with his songwriting, which still sat somewhere between Stock Aitken and Waterman, and cheesy greetings cards. There were a couple of ripped out pages; Jesus! They must have been really bad, then in handwriting very like his own now, there were some slightly better lyrics and pages of chord structures, arrows pointing to hooks and choruses along with more squiggles in a different handwriting; Jay’s.

Rocco propped the notebook open and picked up the guitar, enjoying the familiar weight in his hands. Sitting on the upended Amazon box, he ran his left hand up and down the guitar’s neck, letting the bottom of the instrument rest on his thighs. He played a few chords, wincing at how out of tune it was. Regardless, Rocco continued following the scribbles of chords and abbreviations to work out the rough tunes. Even with there being no depth to the guitar sound as it was unplugged, Rocco recognised that some of the songs weren’t half bad, with properly catchy hooks. He hummed a slightly broken melody as it slowly came back to him.

Then he flipped over the page. The top was marked “Twisted Serenade” with an asterisk beside it and in Rocco’s handwriting, our first number one hit! Lines Rocco had penned had been scored out with Jay’s handwriting overlaying the top of them. Better, far more poetic lyrics, if Rocco was being honest. Jay had also added more detailed notes, underlining some of the more complicated chord progressions in pen. Rocco realised that Jay’s musicality, even then, had been far more sophisticated than Rocco’s was or ever would be.

Rocco had normally played guitar, but “Twisted Serenade” was the song that Jay and Rocco had swapped instruments on, with Rocco picking up Jay’s bass guitar to play the solid, but more basic riff, allowing Jay to let rip with the flair of the lead guitar.

Without thinking, Rocco started singing along, his fingers moving slowly and hesitantly over the strings. He still struggled with the complexity.

He got to the end and then played it again, wishing he could perform it with the dextrous speed Jay had managed.

It was, and always would be, a great song.

And it had been a hit.

Just one that Rocco had not been a part of.

CHAPTER 26