‘You can really play.’
‘I can,’ she said, finishing on a slide that sounded impressive but was easy.
She unstrapped the guitar and handed it back to him.
‘What’s your name?’
‘Myles,’ he said scraping his foot on the rug.
Flora’s imaginary friend was real, she thought, and he looked tired and sullen.
‘That’s a much better name than Shitty.’
He didn’t smile.
‘Myles.’ She paused. ‘It’s nice to meet you and thanks for letting me play your guitar; it’s a good instrument, but I’m begging you to please use headphones so I can sleep. You need sleep. We all need sleep. Also, it scares the crap out of me when it wakes me up.’
He snarled at her. ‘Why should I?’
She peered closely at him. ‘Because you’re a human being who needs to have empathy and respect for other people, otherwise the world is going to make your life very hard.’
‘It’s already crap,’ he said. ‘Can’t be any worse.’
He meant what he’d said, she realised. This wasn’t the self-indulgent moaning of a teen.
She thought of her brothers. They could be moody but not like this. Something else was at play and it was more than teenage moodiness.
‘I’m really sorry to hear that, Myles,’ she said. ‘Life can be tough sometimes, but there’s always someone to talk to, and I think there’s a solution for every problem. You just have to ask for help.’
He looked up at her. He didn’t look anything like Edward, or Flora, who had her father’s strong features. Or even like Hilditch. So how did he fit in?
‘That’s total bullshit,’ he said with a sneer.
‘No, it’s not,’ she answered calmly.
‘Maybe in your life your problems are easily fixed but not here.’
‘Why don’t you tell me one and I can try and help? Sometimes a problem shared is a problem halved.’
As she said the words, she wondered when she’d turned into her mother. Donna always had a saying for moments like this.
‘You’re weird,’ he said.
‘I’m not weird, I just remember being your age and people my age not wanting to listen.’
‘Seriously, I’m not talking to you or anyone,’ he said and walked away from her to the other side of the room in the tower.
And then she got it. He was Amber’s son. She could see the fine shape of his nose and the honey-coloured hair.
No wonder he was angry with life. He was locked up in the tower. His mother had run away and everyone in the house spoke of him as though he was imaginary. Poor kid, she thought.
‘Listen, I’m helping Edward with his next book. I’m here from the publishing house. I don’t want to be here any more than you want me to be here, but I have a job to do. So, if you can meet me halfway and at least stop playing after midnight, that would be great.’
Myles strummed a few bars of ‘After Midnight’ by Eric Clapton and Eve laughed in spite of her tired frustration.
‘Very clever,’ she said and she went to the door to go back down to her room.
‘If you ever want to talk, I’m downstairs. I’m going to use the snug as my office while I’m here. Although Flora has set up a doll hospital in it.’ She smiled.
