Taylor opened her mailbox with her key and took the mail that was waiting for her. She closed the door of the mailbox and turned to John, who was leaning against the wall. She smiled at him and showed him to follow her. They both entered the building and walked up the stairs, leading to the third floor. They faced a red door with golden numbers forming '39'. She unlocked it, and they walked in, wiping their feet on a small blue carpet. Taylor took John's blazer and hanged it to a peculiar coat rack: it was a wooden octopus. John frowned and got closer to it.

“D'you like it, John Deacon?”

“Well, yeah, I must say that it's well done. Did you really buy this?”

“Actually, I made it. It was an assignment I had to give to one of my teachers when I studied arts.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. But he didn't like it.”

“Was there a special theme?”

“They asked us to represent something that really was inspiring for us in life. Many people tried to paint life, happiness, love, death... And I came with an octopus.”

“Why?”

“Aren't octopuses inspiring? With all their tenticles, they could have built the world, y'know! But I admire their protection against predators. They just spit ink in their face.”

John stepped back and shrugged. Taylor made him visit the whole flat. First, they went to the tiny living room on the right, with nothing more than a couch and a bookshelf, invisible under the tons of books it contained. There were pictures of the whole world pinned to its sides. Postcards from India, Cambodia, Vietnam, China, Korea, Mexico, Chili, Peru, Portugal, Germany, France, Czechoslovakia, Poland, the USSR, the Netherlands, Australia, Morocco, South Africa, and many more. John was amazed at the sight of all those landscapes printed on paper, but he still had to see the rest of the house.

On the other side of the corridor was the kitchen: it was small, but all the necessary furnitures for cooking were there. There was an old red fridge standing awkwardly between dark work surfaces. When he looked at it, Taylor told John that it dated back to the 1950s, and came directly from America. The only decoration of the room was a postcard with the recipe of a dessert coming from Brittany: the Kouign-aman.

They crossed the corridor and walked in the famous empty room. Taylor leant against the doorframe and let John get in. When he stood in the middle of it, he could not stop spinning round to see every detail of it. So many empty frames...

“What are those frames for? They're all empty!”

Taylor stood still and finally joined him in the middle of the room. She also took a look at all the frames and smiled at herself.

“You'll find it weird if I tell ya.”

“I still want to know” John smiled.

“Well... It's quite hard to explain but it's clear in my head. I keep them empty, because I didn't achieve anything in my life yet. And as my life's quite a mess for now, I'm waiting for it to be quieter and more peaceful. When it is that way, and when I am in a good situation, I will fill them with pictures. But not old pictures, no. New photographs. I'll take plenty of the many things I'll achieve! Like adopting a cat, having someone in my life, being financially comfortable, getting married, founding a family...”

Her voice trembled as she pronounced the three last examples. She joined her hands over her heart and looked down. She looked like she was searching for right words to use to tell something else. She shook her head and smiled at John.

“I'm sorry, you must think I'm mental.”

“No, not at all!” John said, with his eyes widened. He walked up to her and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “Actually, I think it's quite smart. You're ambitious.”

“I'm not ambitious. I'd be ambitious if I knew exactly what I want to do with my life. But it's not the case. I have no idea.”

“Do you have a job?”

“No. I just pay the rent with all the money I kept aside during many years. Every time I apply for a job, the boss refuses to hire me because I'm too awkward, and he's afraid that I might make him lose all his customers. But really, how would I do that? I'm as sweet as a sheep!”

John chuckled and nodded. He pressed her lightly against him and kissed her hair. She grabbed his hand and led him out of the empty room.

Taylor brought her guest to her bathroom, decorated with damaged postcards representing beaches. The walls were a bright blue, and it was quite peaceful being there. Before he could say anything about it, Taylor dragged John to her bedroom.

The room was quite peculiar with its disposition. The bed was not standing against the wall. It was right in the middle of the room. Plenty of books were surrounding it, with record sleeves lying around on the floor. In a corner, a pile of dirty clothes was hiding itself next to a big mahogany wardrobe. There was a poster nailed to the wall facing the window: it represented Janet Gaynor, an American actress who played in many silent films through the 1920s.

Taylor put her hands on her hips and smiled at John.

“As you can guess, this is my bedroom and the last room of the flat!”

“It's messy!”

“Thank you!”

She looked proudly at her bedroom. John turned his head and frowned.

“Why do you thank me?”

“I love it when all the environment I live in is really clean and all, but the place I sleep in must be ultra messy. I feel safer in a messy bedroom.”

John nodded slowly and took a quick look at all the records spread on the floor. However, he did not remember seeing any turntable in the whole flat.

“Mmh, Taylor?”

“Yes, John Deacon?”

“You have records, but I don't think you have a turntable.”

“I know! I don't want to own one.”

“Why?”

“Because I love this feeling when you touch a record that has never been played. When I take a look at the track list, I don't know any of the songs most of the time. I prefer imagining them, and singing random lyrics that are linked to the title.”

“That's a peculiar way to listen to music” John chuckled, poking her arm.

“I don't listen to it. I imagine it. When I see a title, I immediately start to play a music in my head, just like how I would like it to sound. I'm never disappointed.”

John shrugged, trying to imagine what he would do if he did the same. But he soon realised that he needed the sound in his ear and in his heart. Not only in his head. He needed to hear a warm bass line, a hypnotising riff of guitar, a free beat of drums, and all the magic of a voice.

Taylor smiled at him and briefly kissed his lips, before stepping inside the room. She knelt down beside her bed and looked for something under it. With a face, she pulled out a guitar case and stood up, wiping the dust from her jeans.

“You're supposed to sing for me, remember?” she grinned. “I have my guitar, just tell me where you feel comfortable to play.”

“The empty room inspires me. Is it possible?”

“Sure!”

John stepped aside and let Taylor walking out of the bedroom. He followed her to the empty room, with its salmon pink walls. She sat cross-legged and waited for John to imitate her. He did, and Taylor opened the guitar case, revealing a beautiful blue/purple acoustic guitar with a moon-shaped hole in the middle.

She handed the instrument to John, who carefully took it and laid it on his thighs. He tuned it properly and blushed, feeling Taylor's eyes on him.

“Taylor, really, it's not that good...”

“But you will sing, John Deacon. I know this is great.”

“The song is not finished, yet, you know, but... At least you'll have an idea of how it will sound like, if Freddie agrees to record it.”

“He will.”

John blushed even more and cleared his throat and started to play an intro on the guitar. He tried to remember the few lyrics of the song he started to write at home. At first, his voice seemed to be stuck in his throat, but he gathered his courage and started to sing.

“Oh, you make me live, whatever this world can give to me. It's you, you're all I see, ooh you make me live now, honey, ooh you make me live! Oh, you're the best friend that I ever had, I've been with you such a long time, you're my sunshine, and I want you to know that my feelings are true, I really love you, oh, you're my best friend!”

Then, he stopped playing. He slowly looked up to meet Taylor's eyes. She was smiling widely and started to applaude.

“Bravo! Is that all?”

“That's all I've written so far. I know it's not that good, but...”

“Freddie will love it. If he doesn't, he's stupid. Because I love how it sounds!”

She stretches out her arms and pulled John into a hug. She kissed his neck and whispered something in his ear.

“Don't be silly, John Deacon. Give this song to Freddie. You've got something.”