E-Girl Unplugged: A Fast-Paced British Crime Thriller by Adi Flynn

Author:Adi Flynn [Flynn, Adi]
Language: eng
Format: epub

chapter twenty-three

Four Months Earlier

The days became weeks and then months. She’d got used to the routine and the regime and resigned herself to it. Having Leah to focus on helped break the monotony. Leah was still a puppy and prone to eating chair legs, but was now fully house-trained. Emefa hadn’t let on, in case it resulted in her freedom to go out into the garden whenever she pleased to be curtailed in some way.

It had been a slow start, but Emefa had to admit that they were getting somewhere with her music. What had begun as a battle of wills, trying to force inspiration whilst imprisoned by her producer, was now delivering results. She was literally singing for her supper and, quite frankly, enjoying it. They had six tracks locked, and the bare bones of five more in various states of undress. When completed, it would be enough for her comeback album. The material was good. Really good. She was still missing a title track for the album, but that would come, she was sure of it.

Despite the circumstances, she was happy to be writing the songs she wanted to write. He was there to bounce ideas off of and to try things out on, but he never overstepped his role as producer. He was honest about her lyrics, encouraging when she was despondent, and responsive to her suggestions regarding the backing track. He even fulfilled his promise to be her spirit guide wherever she veered towards trite or derivative. He was a skilled musician and competent sound engineer, and he genuinely allowed her to find her voice again. As much as it pained her to admit it, in terms of a professional partnership, it worked.

She’d resisted at first, but after months of clean living and productive days in the studio, she had begun to look back on her time before… that night. If she was honest, she hadn’t been living her best life, despite the Insta posts to the contrary. Marcus had been steering her music in a direction she hadn’t wanted it to go. Her life was micromanaged by an army of fixers, assistants, accountants, and tour managers. Ghostwriters had been brought in, without her consent, to help modify her lyrics to fit the market. She had, in a way, been a prisoner to the label. Maybe more subtle than a cattle prod, but the net result was the same.

“You’ve come a long way since that night in Liverpool,” he said, pulling her from her thoughts. “Unrecognisable almost.”

“Were you there? At the gig?”

He nodded, the disappointment showing in the way he couldn’t keep eye contact with her.

“How bad was it?” Emefa asked as she rubbed the back of Leah’s head with her knuckles.

“You really don’t remember?”

“Honestly. No.” Emefa could only recall snippets of her last gig. Feelings and snapshots rather than what could be called memories. “I remember going out on stage and the first track. Then nothing.”

He put down his cutlery and folded his arms across his chest.

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