By the time I reach the boys’ hideout, it’s already past 9am.

Someone’s gonna be sooo pissed.

A mental image of Felix impatiently sitting on the steps outside the front door with a scowl plastered on his face pops into my mind, and I find it oddly satisfying.

Let him wait. I’m not his slave.

But as I leave the forest and walk across the clearing towards the cabin, I can see that the steps are empty. He’s not waiting.

Maybe he forgot.

I’m glad to finally be finished the long walk – I bought my guitar along in its case today, and it gets surprisingly heavy after almost an hour of carrying it.

I pause at the foot of the steps, looking up at the carpet of brilliant red roses clinging to the front of the cabin.

As the princess lay slumbering, around the castle there began to grow a hedge of thorns, which every year became higher, and at last grew close-up round the castle and all over it, so that there was nothing of it to be seen.

My gran’s bedtime story voice echoes through memories made long ago.

Bea said that gran helped her with the cabin. The stained glass windows, the paintings on the walls, the carved wooden furniture – it’s all her. Could she have planted this rose too? Is that why I feel so connected to this place?

I climb the steps, and stop before the front door. I’m about to knock when I hear voices through the stained glass. Voices coming from inside.

“What are you waiting for? Just ask her, you dolt,” Alastaire says. Or at least, I think it’s Alastaire. The sound is muffled, but the poshly accented British drawl sounds like his.

“Easy for yer ter say,” Lyall says. “She’ll think… yer know…”

“So what?” Ben says, his Canadian accent instantly recognizable. “C’mon, just be a man, ask her. She’ll be here soon.”

“She’s going ter say no,” Lyall says. “It’ll be right embarrassin’.”

OMG. It can’t be what I’m thinking. No freaking way. That’s impossible. Calm down Ashling. Calm the hell down. I should wait outside for a few minutes. I’ll wait for them to stop speaking or something. Then I’ll just knock, and they’ll let me in, and they’ll never know I heard.

“Thank god,” a voice rings out behind me, causing me to jump about a foot into the air in shock. “Finally.”

Kitty is struggling up the steps to the cabin with about ten grocery bags in each hand. Each bag looks stuffed to the brim. It’s a miracle she made it this far. Once she reaches the porch, she lowers the bags down, grimacing in pain as she flexes her fingers and then flops onto the floor.

“Dammit that’s painful,” she says, clenching her hands into fists.

She looks me up and down, as if noticing me for the first time since arriving. “Why are you hanging around outside the door?” She asks.

“Umm, that’s sort of...” I stumble over my words, not wanting to admit that I was eavesdropping. “It just sort of… happened.”

“Okay,” Kitty says, sounding unconvinced. “Well, do you mind calling the boys out for me? My arms are about to break off, and some of this stuff needs to get in the freezer before it melts.”

Kitty stretches her long legs, sprawling out along the wooden porch like a lazy sunbathing cat, knocking over a bottle in one of the grocery bags.

She yawns and closes her eyes, muttering about having to play housemaid because the boys can’t be seen in public.

Surrounded by groceries and bathed in the mid-morning light beneath the twisting roses, she looks almost like some weird modern day Sleeping Beauty.

“Get to it Ash,” she says. “The rocky road’s going to melt.”

“Sure,” I say, wondering when she started calling me Ash. It’s Ashling, I want to say. But I don’t. I knock on the door, then turn the handle and step into the cabin.

I walk into the living room to find a shirtless Ben draped across the sofa, while Alastaire, Lyall and Elliot sit at the kitchen counter on bar stools. Lyall and Elliot are drinking what I assume is coffee out of large colorfully-painted mugs. Alastaire’s sipping sparkling golden liquid out of a champagne flute. The empty bottle of Moët & Chandon next to him confirms my suspicions.

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It’s not even 10am. Sheesh.

Felix is nowhere to be seen.

“Mornin’ Ash,” Lyall says. His face looks slightly flushed, and he stares at me a moment too long. What were they talking about before I came in?

“Did everything work out ok?” Elliot asks, his brow creasing slightly in concern. “Felix said you had some sort of trouble at home yesterday.”

Before I can answer, Alastaire’s curling his index finger, gesturing for me to come over to him.

“Just in time, Cupcake,” Alastaire says, running his fingers lazily through his messy blonde hair. “Care for a morning apéritif?”

He holds his champagne glass up high, and winks at me with a devilish smile.

“I wouldn’t if I were you, Ash,” Ben says, sliding off the sofa and wandering over to the kitchen counter. “Alcoholism's all fun and games until you wake up in bed with the prime minister’s wife, and half of Scotland Yard after you for driving a Porsche through the window at Harrods.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Alastaire says airily, taking a smooth gulp of his champagne.

“Kitty’s outside,” I say. “She got groceries. She said the ice cream’s going to melt.”

“Ice cream?” Alastaire says. “Good god woman, why didn’t you say something earlier?”

All the boys are up in a flash and out the door to help bring in the shopping.

After the final bag is inside, Elliot carries in Kitty, bridal style, before dumping her unceremoniously on the sofa.

“I think I might have broken all my fingers,” Kitty says.

“Don’t expect us to feel sorry for you, Miss I Can Do It Myself,” Ben says between mouthfuls, scooping up ice cream and eating it straight from the tub.

“Yeah, we offered ter help,” Lyall says. “Just let us go into town with yer next time.”

“That defeats the whole purpose of us being out here,” Kitty says. “Are you really that desperate to get spotted?”

“We could try disguises,” Ben says thoughtfully.

“Not a chance,” Kitty says. “I’ll think of something. Just try make this stuff last. I’m not doing this again tomorrow.”

“Aye aye captain,” says Ben.

Even with all the commotion, there’s still one person missing.

“Where’s Felix?” I ask, trying to sound like I don’t really care.

“Oh, Grumps is down in the basement, probably sitting alone in a dark corner or something,” Alastaire says.

“He’s in the recording room,” Elliot says, ignoring Alastaire. “I told him we’d come down once you got here.”

Yikes. I wonder if he’s been there since nine on the dot. Scary.

“Ready to join him?” Elliot asks.

“Lead the way,” Ben says, following Elliot out of the room with the whole tub of ice cream still in his hand.

“You kids have fun,” Kitty says, lying back on the sofa. “I’m getting some beauty sleep.”

I pick up my guitar and follow the boys through the entrance hall and into a room at the back of the cabin.

It looks like a perfectly innocent study, with a carved wooden desk and an old fashioned Art Deco-style reading lamp. Now that I know my gran helped with the furnishings, I’m seeing her taste everywhere. It’s as if she’s here, in every nook and cranny of the place. From the bright jewel colors to the ornately carved finishes – every detail screams her name, and gives me a dull ache of longing in my chest.

I miss her so much.

Golden green light streaming in through the stained glass windows illuminates a massive bookshelf stacked with a rainbow of books. They all look ancient, worn and tattered, and they smell amazing.

For a book lover like me, the whiff of old books is like opium to a drug addict.

I want to stop a while and explore the bookshelf, but Lyall is pulling me over to the far end of the room.

A faded tapestry hangs from a rail on the wall. On it, there’s some sort of medieval scene, showing a dark forest with thin shafts of starlight shining between the trees. Other than that, there’s nothing. No figures, no focal point, nothing in particular to draw the eye.

Something about that seems strange, and I’m about to say so, before Elliot pulls back the tapestry to reveal a vividly purple door behind it.

The door is slightly ajar.

Elliot pushes it open and goes down first, followed by Ben and Alastaire and Lyall, and finally me at the end. Overhead lights softly illuminate the narrow passage, but it’s still gloomy, and I’m grateful for the handrail.

I count twenty-seven steps all in all by the time we reach the recording studio. We step out into a wide, modern control room, fitted with mixing tables and workstations. Behind a glass window, there’s a smaller room with a drum kit, amps, guitars and a few chairs. Felix is sitting on the floor against a wall in the smaller room, writing something in a book. He glances up as I approach the window, and says something, totally inaudible through the glass.

I can tell what he said from his ticked-off expression.

You’re late.

“This place is amazing,” I say, turning my back to the glass.

“Yeah, the old duck who owns the place says she bought in Geoff Harley himself to design it,” Alastaire says. He waits for my reaction, and when I stare at him blankly, he continues. “Geoff Harley is practically the godfather of modern sound recording. He’s a master acoustician.”

“Can’t have been cheap,” Ben says.

Who knew Bea had so much money. Or such good connections. She’s full of surprises.

“Look at this Ash,” Lyall says, ushering me over to a guest book lying open on a small table in the corner of the room. “See any names yer recognize?”

Oh my god.

I take in name after name, feeling my heart beat faster with every one.

“Bea and Immy – it was magic. We’ll be back soon.” - Janis, 1st October 1968

“Thanks for everything.” - Kurt, 22nd February 1991

Kurt? As in Kurt Cobain? I really don’t belong here. I’m about to play acoustic guitar for a group of guys who just recently got inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, in a recording studio which has been blessed by literal gods of rock. I’m not good enough.

As if sensing my thoughts, Elliot places a steadying hand on my shoulder.

“You’ll be fine,” he says. “We wouldn’t have chosen you if we didn’t think so.”

He’s right. Even if I don’t trust myself, I should at least trust them. They know what they're doing. They chose me to help them for a reason. Better not make them regret it.

So I take a deep breath, muster up all my courage, and follow Elliot into the recording room.