The movers lugged the furniture into the new flat and nearly dropped it when they recognised the homeownera vanished pop star.
“Dave, did you see what we’re hauling? A wardrobe, a sofa, two armchairs, and a table! Fifth floor, no lift! For what they’re paying, Steve can carry it himself!” Colin tossed the delivery note onto the truck dashboard, scowling.
“Come off it, Col,” Dave replied calmly, eyes on the road. “Last job today, then home. The wifes making beef stew.”
“Your stews safe, but my back wont thank me,” Colin sighed, staring at the drab council blocks outside. “Why do people even want a fifth-floor flat? Ground floors good enough for normal folk.”
“Better view,” Dave chuckled. “And no upstairs neighbours stomping about.”
“Romantic, that. Whos the client, anyway?” Colin finally picked up the note, squinting at the small print. “An Emily Clarke. Phone, address Paid the deposit, balance on delivery. Standard.”
The truck turned off the high street into a cramped car park. New builds stood awkwardly beside ageing brick terraces. Dave parked near a peeling front door.
“Here we are. That entrancehope the doorways are wide, or this wardrobell be hell.”
They unloaded the trolley, and Colin rang the client.
“Hello, Ms. Clarke? Delivery from Comfort Furniture. Were downstairs. Right, well wait.”
Minutes later, a woman in her forties appearedjeans, a loose jumper, hair in a messy bun, barely any makeup. She smiled warmly.
“Hello, come in. Flats on the top floor.”
They started loading the sofa onto the trolley.
“Wait, Ill help,” she offered as they struggled in the narrow hall.
“Dont trouble yourself, Ms. Clarke,” Dave said. “This is our job.”
“Still,” she insisted, steadying a corner. “These turns are tricky if you dont know them.”
Her voice nagged at Colinfamiliar, but he couldnt place it. The way she stretched certain words
The fifth floor was brutal. By the time they reached the door, Colin had cursed every architect whod ever skipped installing lifts. The flat was surprisingly spaciousminimalist, pale walls, a piano in the corner.
“You play?” Dave nodded at it as they set the sofa down.
“A bit,” she said vaguely. “Just for myself.”
Back for the rest, Colin kept sneaking glances. Where had he seen her?
When they brought the last piecethe tablehe finally asked, “Sorry if this is odd, but have we met? You look familiar.”
She paused, weighing her answer. “No, first time ordering from you. Must be a coincidence.”
As she turned to fetch her purse, an old hit played softly from the next rooma womans voice singing about lost love.
Colin froze. “Emily Starling! Youre Emily Starling!”
Dave nearly dropped the wardrobe door. “Blimey! The Emily Starling? The one who vanished years ago?”
She paled but stayed composed. “Youre mistaken. Im Emily Clarke. Just moved here.”
“Dont give me that!” Colins voice jumped. “I knew every one of your songs! ‘Dont Walk Away,’ ‘Last Rain,’ ‘Starry Sky’ My wife was mad for them! Then you just disappeared!”
“Rumours said you went abroad,” Dave added. “Or a convent. Some even said you” He cut himself off.
Emily sighed and sat on the new sofa. “Fine. Youve found me. But Id appreciate it staying between us.”
“Youre really her?” Colin stared. “Why vanish? And why live in a” He glanced around. “Normal flat?”
“Sit,” she said suddenly. “Tea? Since you know, I might as well explain.”
They hesitated. Tea with clients wasnt company policybut with a vanished legend?
“Any more jobs today?” Colin asked Dave.
“Last one,” Dave said, eyes locked on her. “Whos to stop us? Jobs done.”
While she made tea, they whispered.
“Saw her concert ten years back,” Dave said. “Front row. Glittering dress, voice like angels.”
“I collected all her CDs,” Colin admitted. “Got an autograph once. Thenpoof. Gone.”
She returned with tea and biscuits.
“Youre wondering why a pop star lives like this,” she said. “Simple story, though not happy.”
She sipped her tea. “Five years ago, vocal cord damage. Doctors said surgery or complete rest. No singing, no talking much.”
“So you chose rest,” Dave guessed.
“Yes. Singing was my life. Losing my voice? Unthinkable. Cancelled everything.”
“But why disappear?” Colin asked. “Couldve told fans you were taking a break.”
She smiled thinly. “At first, I planned to. Then I realisedthis was my chance to start over. Showbiz isnt just fame. Its pressure, fake smiles, endless compromises. I was tired. Tired of being a brand, a product.”
“But you had money, fans,” Dave said.
“And no happiness. These five years, Ive learned real life is in small things. Waking without schedules. Shopping without makeup. Just being menot a magazine cover.”
“Dont you miss performing?” Colin asked.
“Sometimes. The energy of live shows. But I teach music now, write songs anonymously. The pianos been with me through everything.”
“Whereve you been all this time?”
“A village at first. Three years of quietno internet, just books. When the world forgot me, I came back. Changed my name, my style. Became plain Emily Clarke.”
She sipped again. “And for the first time in years, Im happy. Not at firstit was hard adjusting. But then freedom. No more being a prisoner of fame.”
“What about money?” Dave asked.
She laughed. “I earned plentyand spent it on image, clothes, appearances. Saved enough for a quiet life. No designer dresses or diamonds anymore. Dont want them.”
“Family? Friends?” Colin ventured.
“Real friends are rare in showbiz. When I left, they moved on to new stars. As for family Never had time for it. Always touring, recording.” She glanced around. “Now? Maybe Ill meet someone who loves menot my fame.”
Colin and Dave exchanged looks.
“Always envied celebs,” Colin mused. “Fancy lives, money, adoration. Turns out its not so simple.”
“Every job has its ups and downs,” Emily said. “Even yours.”
“Oh aye,” Dave grinned. “Free workout, meeting interesting folk.”
They finished their tea.
“We should go,” Colin said. “Thanks for the chat. Dont worrywe wont tell a soul. Though my wifell be guttedshe adored you.”
“Send her my regards,” Emily smiled. “Tell her Emily Starling remembers her fans. Maybe Ill return one dayon my terms, singing what I love.”
They left, still stunned.
“Imagine, Col,” Dave said on the stairs. “We just solved a mystery. Like some telly drama.”
“Right,” Colin snorted. ‘Two movers crack celebrity disappearance.’ But real lifes simpler and messier. She just wanted out.”
Outside, dusk fell. A warm light glowed in Emilys fifth-floor window.
“You know,” Colin said, starting the engine, “I might stop envying celebs. Weve got it goodyoull go home to stew, kids hugging you. Shes up there alone with her piano.”
“But shes doing what she loves,” Dave said. “Her music. Not like us hauling boxes.”
“Who says I dont love hauling boxes?” Colin grinned. “Saw how she looked at that sofa? Like she was dreaming.”
“Of a new song, maybe,” Dave said.
They drove off, two ordinary movers whod brushed against fame and learned its hidden truthsometimes, losing it all is how you find yourself.
Upstairs, Emily Clarkeonce Emily Starlingsat at her piano and, for the first time in years, began a new melody. A song about how losing everything can help you find who you really are.
