It wasn’t long before Spencer sat down at the piano and we had adjusted the levels on the mixing desk to ensure her playing wouldn’t peak and thus distort. Even when she only played a few notes so I could sort the gain, I could hear how skillful her fingers were – how she gracefully stroked the keys, the amazing control she had over the pedals, and how she could fill each note with as much passion or tension she felt was necessary. She amazed me and I could feel the corners of my mouth twitch as I fought the smile that was soon to break onto my face. I just loved music, and she made it even more adorable.

“Are we ready to record?” she asked me, her gentle voice flooding through the speakers surrounding me as I stood up to the desk in the main recording booth. I watched her through the perspex glass as she mentally prepared herself for what she was about to do, her back towards me. I knew so many musicians who, when in the studio, were so affected by ‘red light syndrome’ that they found it nigh on impossible to finish a song without messing up. I hoped Spencer wasn’t one to be affected by the notion that she was being recorded, the idea that the notes she played would be immortalized by pressing a little red button.

“Sure thing!” I smiled down through the small speaker in the desk. I removed my finger from the ‘talk’ button and hit ‘record’ on the deck. “In your own time.”

She struck the first key and soon my mind was completely invaded by the beauty of the notes she played. I recognised the tune but just couldn’t put my finger on what it was; her playing seemed to take all logical thought from my head. All there was in the world was myself and her music, and at that moment I knew she deserved so much more credit than I had given her. I wondered why she chose to hang around with Madison and the gang when she was so much more brilliant than them, than all of them put together, in fact.