After much debate with Elliot about what to wear up to London, I decide on a black-and-white stripey top with my black denim dungarees, and my mum’s old battered leather jacket. I leave my long auburn hair loose round my shoulders, only twisting and pinning a few strands of my fringe off my face so I don’t get annoyed. I’ve kept my makeup to a minimum but used a matte red lipstick to add a bit of low-key glam—“It’s only an afternoon date, my love, not a night on the razzle-dazzle,” says Elliot, shimmying towards me with jazz hands—and I’ve painted my nails a coral pink. I wish I hadn’t though, as by the end of the train journey I’ve almost picked it all off.
I keep checking my phone in the taxi, scrolling through the running WhatsApp chat I’m having with Posey, who keeps trying to figure out what I’m up too.
PENNY!! I just googled the place we’re going to and it’s a recording studio?! What am I going to do there?
Wait, how did you find out?
I saw the address on Megan’s phone. Argh, I don’t know if I can do this!
Of course you can!
Well, I don’t have much choice—we’re almost there. See you soon?
See you!
I breathe a sigh of relief that Posey is not bailing on me.
“Here you are, love,” says the Uber driver. My mum had linked her debit card to the app on my phone because she didn’t want me to get lost in the London streets. I thank the driver and step out onto a tree-lined road. It’s eerily quiet and leafy, tucked away from the main London thoroughfares, and the only thing out of place is a long, black stretch limousine parked a little bit farther down the road. Most likely Leah’s ride. Who even drives around in limousines anymore? I guess if anyone does it’s Leah.
I glance up and down the street but there’s no sign of Megan and Posey just yet. I lean up against a low stone wall, enjoying the warm autumn sunshine on my face.
“Penny! There you are!” Megan appears from round the corner, Posey in tow. Posey is wearing dark sunglasses and a cute panama hat pulled down low over her face. Megan is dressed to the absolute nines in a tight minidress and high-heeled boots. It looks more like she’s ready to go clubbing than hang out in a studio.
“Hey, guys!” I say with a wave. Once they’re close enough I give them each a big hug. “Are you ready?” I ask.
Posey lifts her sunglasses up. “I don’t know! We’ll see,” she says. She stares over my shoulder at the door to the studio, and I turn to face it as well. In fact, it looks just like an ordinary London house—or rather, a London mansion: a tall, three-storey, white-painted townhouse standing behind a black cast-iron gate with elegant gold finials. The only indication that it’s a world-class recording studio is the small glass plate inscribed OCTAVE STUDIOS above the push-button bell on one of the gateposts.
I press the button and give my name to the crackly voice that answers: “Penny Porter and friends here. We have an appointment?”
The gate swings open and we walk through and up the steps to the main entrance. The front door opens, and we’re greeted by a girl who doesn’t look much older than us—although she looks much cooler in her worn leather jacket, black vest top and studded jeans. Megan tugs nervously at her hemline.
“Hi, are you Penny?” the girl asks me. I nod. “Great. I’m Alice. I work at the front desk here at Octave. She’s expecting you, but she’s in the studio already, checking the set-up. You can go right on through—it’s just down the stairs and follow the corridor. You can’t miss it.”
“Thanks,” I say with a smile, which I hope makes me look more confident than I feel.
“Wait, are we meeting someone here?” asks Posey. Excitement laces her every word.
“Maybe.” I can’t help the small grin that appears on my face. Once upon a time, the thought of meeting Leah Brown in person would have had me quaking in my boots, but now I just want to jump for joy. Even though she’s always megabusy, she’s become a great friend since the tour. She lives in another world, but she’s never too high and mighty to come back down to earth once in a while.
The stairs down to the main part of the studio are lined with famous faces—including a stunning black-and-white portrait of Leah. I try not to linger on it in case I give everything away.
When we reach the bottom, I recognize Leah’s personal assistant, Talia, who gives me two kisses on the cheek. “Hello, lovely!” she says. I’d briefed her that it was a surprise, so she winks at me. “This way.”
I grab Posey’s hand so that she will be the first person to see it all.
We push through into the studio, and there, behind the glass, singing her heart out, is Leah Brown.
“No. Way,” whispers Posey beside me. Her hand suddenly grips mine so tight I start to lose feeling in my fingers.
Leah, as always, looks amazing. She’s made almost no effort with her appearance (because on recording days there’s no need for her to care about it, only her music)—just thrown her long blonde hair up into a messy bun that still manages to look Instagram-worthy.
As soon as Megan sees, there’s an ear-piercing squeal and she throws her arms round my neck. “This is amazing! Is this really happening? Leah Brown!”
“That’s her!” I say with a laugh. Megan and Posey jump up and down, and I collapse into a fit of giggles.
The commotion attracts Leah’s eye as she finishes her warm-up, and she waves to us. Then she detaches herself from her headphones and makes her way through the soundproof doors towards us.