The movers pulled up to the new flat and nearly dropped their clipboards when they recognised the woman giving them the keysnone other than the long-lost pop sensation, Lily Starling.
Dave, you see this? grumbled Nigel, squinting at the delivery sheet. A wardrobe, a sofa, two armchairs, and a dining tablefive flights up with no lift! For what theyre paying, they can carry it themselves!
Oh, give over, said Dave, keeping his eyes on the road. Last job of the day, then home. The missus promised shepherds pie.
Your shepherds pies safe, but my back wont be thanking me, Nigel huffed, eyeing the drab brick terraces of the suburban estate. Who in their right mind chooses the top floor? Ground floors where its at.
Better view, though, Dave smirked. No upstairs neighbours stomping about.
Romantic, that, Nigel muttered, then frowned at the paperwork. Whos the client, anyway? A Mrs. Emily Carter. Paid the deposit, balance on delivery. Standard stuff.
The van turned off the high street into a cramped car park, where new-build flats clashed awkwardly with weathered old houses. Dave parked beside a peeling front door.
Here we are. Hope the doorframes are wide, or well be wrestling that wardrobe like its the World Cup.
They unloaded the trolley, and Nigel rang the client.
Hello, Mrs. Carter? Right, delivery from Comfort Furniture. Downstairs now. Brilliant, ta.
Minutes later, a woman in her forties appearedjeans, a loose jumper, hair in a messy bun, barely any makeup. She smiled warmly.
Hello! Come on uptop floor, Im afraid.
As they manoeuvred the sofa through the narrow stairwell, Nigel couldnt shake the feeling hed seen her before. There was something in her voicea familiar lilt, a way of lingering on vowels.
By the fifth floor, Nigel had cursed every architect who ever designed a walk-up, every resident who chose one, and every client who ordered furniture to one. Finally, they reached the flat.
Inside was surprisingly airyknocked-through walls, pale paint, minimal furniture. And in the corner, a piano.
You play? Dave asked, nodding at it as they set the sofa down.
A bit, she said lightly. Just for myself.
Nigel kept sneaking glances at her. Had they moved her before? Or maybe hed seen her at the Tesco?
When they brought up the last itemthe dining tablehe finally blurted, Sorry if this is odd, but do I know you from somewhere?
She paused, then shook her head. No, first time ordering from you. Must be someone else.
Then the radio in the next room crackled to lifean old hit, one that once ruled the charts. A womans voice sang about lost love.
Nigels eyes widened. BlimeyLily Starling! Youre Lily Starling!
Dave nearly dropped the wardrobe door. No way! The Lily Starling? The one who vanished years ago?
The womanLilywent pale but stayed calm. Youve got the wrong person. Just Emily Carter, new to the area.
Come off it! Nigel grinned. I knew all your hits! Dont Go, Last Rain, Starry Skythe wife played them all the time! Then you just disappeared. Papers said youd fled the country, joined a convent, even He caught himself before mentioning the wilder rumours.
Lily sighed and sank onto the new sofa. Fine. Youve found me. But pleasekeep it between us.
But whyd you vanish? Nigel pressed. And why live in a well, normal flat?
She gestured to the chairs. Tea? Might as well explain.
They hesitatedtechnically against company policybut whod refuse tea with a missing legend?
Over biscuits, she told them: vocal cord damage five years ago. Doctors gave her a choicerisky surgery or total rest. No singing, no talking, no stress.
I chose peace, she said. Singing was my life. Losing it entirely? Unthinkable.
But why vanish completely? Dave asked. Couldve told fans you were taking a break.
She smiled ruefully. At first, I planned to. Then I realisedthis was my chance for a real life. Showbiz isnt just glamour. Its pressure, fake smiles, compromising who you are. I was exhausted.
Shed left London for her grans cottage in Cornwallthree years of solitude, books, and sea air. When the world forgot her, she returned, changed her name, and became Emily Carter, a piano teacher.
And you know what? Im happier now. Waking up when I want, popping to the shops without makeup, just being me.
But the money? Nigel frowned. You mustve been loaded.
Spent most of it on gowns and PR, she laughed. Enough left for a quiet life. No more diamonds or Maldives tripsdont miss them.
And family? Dave asked gently.
No time for that before. Always touring, recording. My producer said relationships hurt the brand. She glanced around the flat. Now? Maybe Ill find someone who likes me, not the fame.
Nigel and Dave exchanged looks. Not quite the glittering fantasy theyd imagined.
Always envied celebs, Nigel admitted. Thought you had it made.
Grass isnt always greener, Lily said. Bet your jobs have perks too.
Dave grinned. Free workout, meeting interesting peoplelike ex-pop stars in walk-ups.
As they left, Nigel hesitated. Wont tell a soul, promise. Though the wifell be guttedhuge fan.
Lily smiled. Tell her Lily says hello. Maybe Ill return one dayon my terms, singing what I love.
Outside, Dave shook his head. We just solved a celebrity mystery. Feels like a telly drama.
Except real lifes messier, Nigel said, starting the van. She just wanted out.
As they drove off, a light glowed in Lilys top-floor windowwhere, for the first time in years, she sat at the piano, playing a new song. About losing everything to find yourself.
