The song I’d carefully chosen to sing for him was called ‘By Myself’ (a song I’d written about the very first break-up I’d experienced but he didn’t need to know that) and I’d picked it out from my humble collection knowing the deep rhythm and sultry lyrics would be just enough to get his attention.

As the final pluck of the guitar strings echoed around us in the little room, I waited for his reaction. I looked up slowly, half closed my eyes and, when I opened them, I realized my hands were shaking.

‘I can’t believe I remembered the words,’ I said, a string of apologies going through my head for making his ears bleed, but I was worrying in vain because when I looked in his direction, he didn’t look disappointed or bored at all. He was, in fact, wide-eyed in awe, shaking his head, looking at my face, then at my hands, then at my mouth, and back to my eyes.

‘Wow,’ he said eventually, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, and then he applauded slowly. ‘I mean wow! I’m literally drooling here! That, young lady, was bloody awesome!’

We laughed in relief – at exactly the same time. And then we stopped laughing in disbelief – at exactly the same time. Matthew was not laughing.

‘Matthew Taylor, what the hell!’ said Tom. ‘Your little sister has absolute, magic in her words and melodies! Seriously!’

I smirked at Matthew, feeling his pain and discomfort at the tangible harmony and the intense meeting of minds that had beautifully backfired on him.

‘Well, I’m – I’m glad you think so,’ stuttered Matthew. ‘But you should try living with her. She’s—’

‘She’s incredible,’ Tom said, and I fleetingly felt sorry for Matthew who was so removed from this moment between us. ‘Matt, you told me she could sing but you didn’t tell me we’d the next Stevie Nicks on our hands! She even looks like her, too. And as for those lyrics! Did you write that, Charlie? Really?’

He called me Charlie again.

‘Yes, I wrote it. All of me, all by myself,’ I said to him, quoting my very own lyrics. I sat up straight and put down my guitar then flicked back my hair. It’s wonderful how a quick wash, a lick of mascara, a spray of perfume and a change of clothing can help up your game, plus I was feeding off his hunger and energy. ‘Oh, and Stevie Nicks? I’ll take that. Thank you, Tom.’

I should say that I absolutely loved that he called me Charlie and that I loved saying his name too. Tom. It was manly enough to make me flutter inside and if I was Stevie Nicks to him, to me he was a scruffy, unkempt young Bradley Cooper. Those eyes could stop the world.