aTRACKion

Chapter Twelve

Since returning back from Ibiza a few days ago, I've lived and breathed Hear The Chant. I've been playing around with the vocals, trying to find the right tone and pitch. I think it's really starting to come together. The more I practice, the more I can't wait for Doug to have a listen. And yes, I can't wait to see him as well.

While I'm jotting down a few notes on my song sheet, I can hear my mum's very distinctive and dainty little tap on my door. "I've just made you a sandwich, love." She's peeping in, checking that I'm not just about to record anything. Once she realises that I'm not, she fully opens the door and strolls in with a carefree smile. "How's it coming along?" She asks, putting the plate down onto my work desk.

Happily fiddling with the pen between my fingers, it's pretty obvious that the song is coming along nicely. Smiling, I look at my very interested mum. "Really good. I'm pleased with what I've got so far."

Mum smiles again. "Can I have a sneaky little listen?" Her blue eyes are brightly glistening, all twinkly with azuline anticipation.

Mum used to sing in a band in her early twenties, and her love for singing continues into her fifties. "Okay." I say, leaning over to press play on what I have already recorded.

As the intro starts, I look down at my tuna salad sandwich and decide to eat while both mum and I listen to Hear The Chant. Taking small bites after another, I watch my mum while she attentively listens to Doug's perfect production skills and my increasingly confident vocals. She's staring out at nothing, her head tilted with a smile that keeps fluctuating in size. And I suddenly feel a rush of pure gratefulness towards her. Both of my parents have always been so supportive of me. They have done absolutely everything that they could do, to help me succeed in what I choose to do in my life. Not all parents are like that, and I know that both me and my younger brother are incredibly lucky to have Geraldine and Roger Fenner for our mum and dad.

Even my lovely room, is down to my kind and giving parents. With the instability of an income from my singing and only having time to do bank support work, there was no way in hell I would ever be able to afford the driving up London rents and unattainable mortgages, so mum and dad decided to convert their double garage next to their beloved three bedded house in Peckham, into a self contained little studio flat for me. Everything I need is fully integrated into what space I do have—an equipped kitchen, my singing gear, a double bed and wardrobe, a living area with a small sofa and chunky coffee table and finally a shower room with pretty mosaic mirrored tiles—I absolutely love it.

And best of all, mum and dad don't charge me to live here.

All that they ask, is that I look after it, contribute towards food and the electricity and water bills. And my brother Terence, aka Tezzer, did alright out of the conversion as well, because mum and dad used my old bedroom to turn two bedrooms into one big massive bedroom for him.

"What do you think?" I ask, my mouth impolitely still a little too full of my tuna salad sandwich.

Mum warmly looks my way, her eyes so full of motherly pride. "You sound amazing, love...absolutely amazing." Her cheeks looks slightly flushed with joy and delight. "The melody on this is just so touching, isn't it? I know that it's supposed to still be a dance song, but when you listen beyond the beats, there's definitely a distant heartache in there."

As I switch it off, I am nodding slowly. The more times I sing Hear The Chant, the more the lyrics become engraved in me. My mum is so right, there is heartache braided between the beats and the melodies. Between my breathy tones and my seamless vibrato, I often get overcome by the song. I sometimes get totally swept up with the haunting emotion of it. "I know what you mean. It sometimes gets to me right in here." My hand is on my stomach, showing my mum where the effect of the track often starts its emotional journey within me.