The air smelled clean. She was surprised, expecting it to be musty and old, but there were new lights that ran along the stairs, showing the way upwards.
Finally, she came to the top of the stairs and a small oak door. Her hand touched the brass handle and she twisted it slowly and, to her surprise and fear, it opened easily.
The light was bright and it took her eyes a moment to adjust, and then she heard a voice.
‘Who the fuck are you and why the hell are you in my room?’
12
A boy of about fourteen or fifteen stood facing Eve. He was wearing a beanie pulled down low on his head, and a scowl on his young face.
‘I’m Eve,’ she answered.
She glanced around the tower room. A microphone and guitars of varying types were leaning on stands or against the walls. Amplifiers were littered about the room, along with a collection of plates and cutlery and glasses. Poor Hilditch was obviously not welcome up here as often as she would have liked.
‘And you are?’ she prompted.
‘Shitty,’ he answered.
She didn’t miss a beat. ‘Hi, Shitty, nice to meet you.’
‘I told Edward I don’t want anyone up here.’
The boy had a strong Californian accent and the pallor of someone who didn’t spend any time outside.
‘The thing is…’ Eve said, ‘…you’re playing or screaming, not sure which it is, is waking me up.’
‘So?’ The boy shrugged. ‘Not my problem.’
Eve nodded. ‘No, it’s not your problem but you could be more aware and perhaps more considerate of the others in the house.’
‘Get some earplugs,’ he said, and to prove his point he picked up his guitar and played loudly.
She laughed, not meanly but like when you laugh with a child who is attempting to learn how to do a cartwheel.
‘If you want to learn how to shred that Fender Stratocaster like Jimi Hendrix, you need to slow down and practise with a metronome until you get it right. And I suggest practising picking so you can go faster – it will make the transitions smoother.’
He stared at her; his mouth opened in shock.
It wasn’t the first time Eve had elicited this response when she spoke about her knowledge of guitar.
When she told people she had once been in a punk band and had shaved her head, they were even more shocked. Little Eve Pilkins could shred and scream up the stage as well as Siouxsie Sioux when she was in her final year of school, but those days were over.
Except for when she played her guitar at home and used her headphones so her flatmates couldn’t hear her. She still rocked out and then went to bed and read a book. It was a nice balance.
‘Here,’ she instructed. ‘Let me show you.’ She put her hand out for the guitar.
The boy handed her the guitar, mostly out of shock, she thought, and she adjusted the straps and got the feel for the instrument. It was an expensive model, good enough for any professional musician. She started to play a riff and felt her head nod as she fell into the groove as she played.
‘Hey, that’s Daft Punk,’ he said.
‘Played by the incredible Nile Rodgers, the Master of Funk, who also played with Bowie and Madonna, Lady Gaga, so many people. You know his work?’
He shook his head.
‘You should.’
She played some Eddie Van Halen riffs and watched his eyes bulge.
