Judging the room as a stranger would, she’s troubled. White sofas, pale grey rugs, all spotless to a fault. The art, the flowers, every object strikes a harmonious note. Everything looks perfect. Too perfect. Eve checks her watch – and only thirty minutes to go.  

Her first target is the magazine pile on the oversized coffee table. It’s easy and rather satisfying to knock it out-of-shape, scatter a few open copies on side tables. Those plumped-up, carefully mis-matched cushions need the wind taken out of them. She slumps across one of the sofas hoping to leave an imprint though, back on her feet, it’s hard to discern where she’d lain. If she had a magic wand, she’d shrink things down to less remarkable proportions.

            And it’s not just this room she’s worried about. Marching into the kitchen, her fears are fully realised – it’s immaculate. Eve opens a few cupboards, their contents all carefully arranged. She grabs a cereal box, then a bowl that will need to look casually abandoned. In half a minute she’s created a tableau with an empty mug and a breakfast bowl in which a few lost shreddies are swimming in a pool of milk, the spoon handle sticking up like a paddle. Seizing a chopping board, she hacks away at a random selection of fruits and then leaves the evidence centre stage. Still life with a vengeance.

            Like an intruder on a mission, she rushes through the whole house adding signs of casual abandonment here and there. She’s tempted to scatter some of their dirty linen on the bedroom floor, but that seems a step too far. 

Less than fifteen minutes now. Where the hell’s Nick got to? Two people could mess this place up much quicker than one. If he’s late for this, she’ll never forgive him.

Leanora seems an unlikely name for the middle-aged, poker-faced woman sitting opposite them. She’d waved away their offer of tea and cake. ‘Oh – not for me, thank you all the same.’ And then patting an approximation of where her waistline ought to be, ‘Have to be careful.’ Thankfully, she doesn’t elaborate. 

Each time Leanora asks a question, she tilts her head a fraction to one side putting Eve in mind of a curious woodpigeon. Although the woman is recording their conversation, from time-to-time she jots a note on the little pad in her lap. It’s hard to work out why these particular utterances should merit a specific aide memoir. Belt and braces no doubt.

            To begin with, Leanora – she can’t get over her exotic name – had been sitting upright, her stout legs in their heavy denier tights crossed at the ankle. Charm at full strength, Nick has succeeded in softening her up a bit; in the last half hour, Leanora’s shoulders have lost their stiffness and she’s now leaning forward, attentive to what he’s saying. 

‘Tell me about how the two of you met.’ This one is aimed squarely at Nick. In anticipation, Leanora’s features form themselves into a coquettish smile.

‘It’s a complicated story,’ he says. ‘Would you like the long or the shorter version?’

The woman’s eyes dart to her wristwatch and back. ‘Oh, I think there’s time for the longer version.’ Her pen is poised.

He begins with how he’d first noticed Eve in the school refectory all those years ago. Sounding a bit too much like a stalker, he goes on to describe how, during previous walk-bys, he’d identified her street and then narrowed it down to her front door. ‘Number twenty-one. And that door colour – so defiantly bright compared to the drab shades of all the rest. This may sound a bit fanciful, but it felt to me like a sign that the people inside were different – exceptional.’ He turns to look into Eve’s eyes. ‘Which is absolutely true, of course.’

Blushing a little, Eve says, ‘Yellow was actually my mum’s choice. I remember her saying it was the colour of liquid sunshine and we all needed more of that in our lives. Mum was an artist; a professional one, though she never made a huge amount of money out of it. That picture over there is one of hers.’

‘Really?’ Following her line of sight, Leanora gives her mother’s work a cursory appraisal. Her silence makes it obvious the style doesn’t accord with her taste. ‘And now both your parents are deceased, as I understand it?’

Too many memories stirred, Eve can only nod.

Searching her notes, the woman’s face clouds. ‘Ah yes. And in such tragic circumstances.’

Nick loudly clears his throat. ‘Anyway, as I was saying, I found myself drawn to Eve’s front door like it was some sort of homing beacon. Had to be a two-mile walk from my house at least and all the way there I’d build up this steady rhythm telling myself I’d do it, I’d knock this time. But then, I’d bottle it.’ 

Nick begins to tap one thigh to a beat. He’s brushed back his hair to reveal more of his face than she’s used to, paler edges where the sun hasn’t reached. Odd to see him in chinos instead of scruffy denims. The blue shirt she’d left out looks good on him. Plus, the sleeves hide some of his more elaborate tattoos. 

All that tapping might make him seem a bit too wired. She puts her hand over his to stop him and he takes the hint. ‘Every flipping time, I’d be standing right there on her doorstep and I’d lose my nerve.’ Eve’s never heard him use the word flipping before.

Leanora’s eyes can’t quite disguise her mounting excitement. ‘And so that’s when you wrote Yellow, Yellow Door?’

‘Well, not straight away.’ Another charming smile. ‘It was actually a couple of years later. By then Eve was away at uni and I’d moved to London. I’d been doing bar work while knocking around on the edges of the music scene. Not having much luck until Javier – Javier Holden that is – came into the pub one night.’ (Eve shudders at this namedrop.) ‘We got chatting and Jav told me Twin Barrels were looking for a bass guitarist. I auditioned and then I joined the band.’ He gives her the full crinkle-eyed smile. ‘Yellow, Yellow Door was a real departure in style for them, but it became our international breakthrough single.’

Leanora looks smitten. ‘And such a romantic song.’ 

Eve takes over. ‘All the way through school I’d had the hots for Nick, but I had no idea – never would have guessed – he felt the same way about me. Then someone played that song to me at a party because it had my name in it. I’m not sure what made Nick used my, um, full name – Genevieve.’

He laughs. ‘It worked better with the beat.’ 

‘And then there was the door colour – that seemed way too much of a coincidence. It didn’t take me too long to discover Nick had written it.’

For a moment Eve is back at that party, in the very moment when, besides the driving beat, the words of the song began to permeate her booze-soaked brain.   

Just a yellow, yellow door

between me and the girl

I a-a-a adore,

She’d shouted into Sarah’s ear, ‘This song – I think it might actually be about me.’ 

Her friend shook her head. She read her lips, ‘Can’t hear you.’ And then there it was again, her name: Genevieve. She’d stopped dancing, overwhelmed with the realisation that someone had written a song about her and not just any song but a passionate love song. All that time she’d been someone special to them without even knowing it. In her drunken state, she was convinced the universe had conspired to get his message to her. The cosmos had spoken.

Eve leans into Nick’s body, into his familiar smell and the conviction that is still there – this was always meant to be. 

‘I was thrilled and a bit overwhelmed when Eve got in touch through a mutual friend,’ Nick says. ‘And the rest, as they say, is history.’ He slaps his thigh like he’s delivered a killer punchline instead of a cliché. 

‘Well not exactly history,’ Eve feels the need to add. ‘History sounds like it’s all over and done with. I mean, that phrase – it implies the past. But, as you can see, we’re still very much together; and we’re both absolutely ready for this next exciting chapter of our lives.’ To emphasise her point, she holds up Nick’s hand – their intertwined fingers. 

They move on. Eve wishes she could tell him to stop raking back his hair like he keeps doing. Such an obvious nervous tic. ‘I guess I should address the, um, obvious elephant in the room.’ Nick looks straight at Leanora. ‘The whole fame thing – it wouldn’t be an issue. Mean to say, it doesn’t impinge on our lives here. Things are a lot different for Leon – being the band’s frontman he’s recognised everywhere he goes. On stage or off, the focus is very much on him; not that he doesn’t enjoy all the attention.’  

Dropping the grin, Nick clears his throat. ‘People hardly ever recognise me – not out of context, as it were. I’m not saying they don’t occasionally look twice because maybe I seem a bit familiar. They probably assume they’ve seen me down the pub or wherever. Don’t get me wrong, I never mind being asked for my autograph, but it only happens once in a while. It’s never been an issue off-stage and certainly not down here in deepest Somerset.’ That said, he exhales. ‘So, you see we lead a pretty normal life.’

Leaning forward, Eve gives Leanora what she hopes is a confident smile. ‘The people in the village know who we are, but, to them, we’re just plain old Nick and Eve. They never treat us like a celebrity couple or anything like that. I’m afraid we’re far too boring to sustain much local interest.’ 

Leanora scans her notes. ‘And your family, Nick? I understand your parents divorced when you were twelve.’

‘Mum left us – ran off with a bloke from work.’ He shrugs. ‘My dad became a single parent overnight. Did a pretty good job, though it must have been a struggle at times. My older brother, Pete, manages a vineyard in the Yarra Valley northeast of Melbourne. Haven’t seen him since Dad’s funeral three years back.’ 

‘And your mother?’

‘Didn’t want to know. Sent us birthday cards with vouchers until we were eighteen.’ A forced laugh. ‘Must have decided that was the limit of her parental responsibility.’

‘I see.’ Leanora decides not to comment further. She gathers her things together, done with them for now at least. ‘Right, well, thank you both for answering my questions and for showing me around your, um, very lovely home. I think I have all I need for now.’ She fishes a buff folder from her large and practical bag and traps the little notepad inside its covers. The click echoes as she presses the stop button on the recorder. Her expression gives nothing away. 

Lanyard swinging like a pendulum, the woman stands up, smooths down her tweed skirt and takes a last look around the room. Eve’s gaze follows hers to the sharp edges of the table, the blazing log fire Nick lit with only moments to spare. No spark guard in front of it. 

They see Leanora to the front door, waving her goodbye with the sort of enthusiasm normally reserved for good friends. The woman’s dusty Astra sweeps past Nick’s gleaming Lotus though she’s forced to wait for the electric gates to open. 

They stand at the open door with its view across the fields beyond. A child’s paradise, surely. ‘Well, that’s round one over with.’ Nick does his best to lighten the mood. ‘You definitely scrub-up well, Mrs Quenington. Can’t think of the last time you wore a dress. I’d almost forgotten those sexy legs of yours.’ He rests a heavy arm along her shoulders. ‘Bloody glad that’s over with. Felt like I was up before the head again.’ When she doesn’t respond he takes hold of her chin – turns her face towards his. ‘So, what d’you reckon? D’you think we passed the test?’ 

‘No idea.’ She shakes her head, shakes off his grip. ‘Let’s face it, we were never going to come across as Mr-and-Mrs-Average.’

‘Don’t tell me you’re secretly longing for a life more ordinary.’ 

‘In some respects, yes. I mean, I suppose fundamentally I want the same things everybody else wants.’ Surely, she doesn’t need to elaborate – not to him. And yet she adds, ‘Underneath it all, we’re like any other animal. The biological imperative – it’s hardwired into us.’

‘The zoologist’s perspective, eh?’

The sun is low on the horizon, already giving up on the day. Shivering, she tells him, ‘That was another life,’ not quite disguising the wistfulness in her voice.

Eyeing up their front door, Nick says, ‘You know, the conservation people would go spare if we painted this yellow.’ 

‘Then maybe we should move.’ She’s only half joking. 

It’s a relief to step back into the warmth of the house. ‘Don’t know about you but I’m bloody starving.’ Nick rubs his hands together. ‘Wouldn’t mind a spot of afternoon tea by the fire.’ 

            ‘Afternoon tea?’ She laughs. ‘Not exactly rock’n’roll, is it?’

            He puts on a silly posh voice. ‘Would you care to join me in the withdrawing room, my dear?’

            Eve threads her arm through his. Patting her stomach, she says, ‘I have to be careful. One bite of cake and who knows what might happen.’

            He runs a hand up her thigh. ‘Sounds promising.’