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.

Mum sits herself down on my little chenille sofa, looking every inch the inspiring mum that I know she is. By day, she's a veterinary secretary, by night, she's a supportive mum and loving wife to my dad who is a lab technician at the same veterinary practice. "You must let your dad have a little listen later, too." She cheerily tells me.

Dad may not be into music as much as mum and I, but that doesn't ever lessen his support of my singing. In fact, he actively encourages it. My father is often a quiet man, an extremely logical man, but he always has an endless amount of motivational wisdom to give to both me and my brother. "I will, when he gets back from work." I say so very fondly to my mum.

Preening the back of her thick but shortly cut dark hair, I admire her from where she sits. I admire who she is as a person and who she is as a mother. I strive to be the wife that she so lovingly always is to my father. Together, they share a solid marriage. Sure, they have the odd spat, but their marriage is a strong and happy one. "So, this Doug DiCarto is the chap behind the reason why you're now beautifully singing his song and why you've had a big smile on that very lovely face of yours since you got back from Ibiza?" Mum rests her hands in her lap, very much smiling in my direction with quirked brows framing her big blue eyes.

I have never been able to lie to my mother, so I'll not start now. "He's amazing, Mum." The thought of Doug brings a warmness to my neck and to my cheeks. "He is so talented. So charming. So sweet." I could embarrassingly go on, but I think mum will have got the picture by now.

Mum cocks her head to the side, blinking at me with her eyes prettily made up with a natural brown mascara. "It's good to see you looking so happy and so passionately immersed in your singing, but be careful my darling girl. As wonderful as Doug may actually be, he's a successful DJ who is here, there and everywhere. That's a hard thing to build any kind of relationship around."

Leaning forward in my swivel office chair, I thoughtfully nod with slow and measured movements. What my mum has just said to me, are things I have often said to myself since I got back from Ibiza. "I'm being careful, Mum." Is my very sensible reply.

Or maybe it's more a case of being as careful as I can actually be. There have been just a few fleeting moments where I have starkly asked myself what am I doing, but those fleeting moments have soon passed me by, because all I have been trying to focus on is Hear The Chant. When I fly out on Friday to meet with Doug again, I want to wow him, I want him to be thoroughly impressed. And since Sunday, he has sent me brief yet very sweet texts. Just to say hi, really. And I like that. He's subtly letting me know that he is thinking of me. It's what I now refer to as DiCarto Cute.

Mum is now looking happy that I am looking happy. Like mothers do, she then picks up the empty plate, only crumbs of my yummy tuna salad sandwich left on it, then strokes the length of my long dark hair with the palm of her maternal hand. "I'll leave you to it then, love." In her graceful way, she strolls towards the door. As she opens it, she quickly remembers something. "It would seem that you're not the only one taken with this Doug DiCarto chap, all your brother keeps going on about is how cool he is and how cool he is going to make him look to all of his friends."

Chuckling, I am fully aware of Terence's sudden interest in Doug. As his sister, I have suddenly gone up in the coolness charts according to him. Being twenty two, Tezzer is your typical, boisterous young Peckham lad. He's training to be a tree surgeon, which makes total sense to me because he's always goofing around like he's part primate or something. The five year age gap between us has always annoyed us both, but when the whole Lovers and Leavers thing went down, Tezzer really came into his brotherly own. He stood up for me, sat with me while I cried, accompanied me to places that I found overwhelming to go to—he was there for me.

Since that awful time, our relationship has evolved.

Yeah, I still think he's a pretty Peckham boy, with his trendily short dark hair and his mischievous blue eyes and a get-away-with-murder cheeky smile. While I'm the occasional cool singer sister, who still can annoy the hell out of him because I eat all the salt and vinegar crisps and my shedding long dark hair gets on all of his Firetrap clothes in the wash.

But ultimately, he has my back and I definitely have his.

All alone again, I decide to see whether I can tweak my breathing within the powerful chorus. It has to be right. Just as I'm about to make a start, I hear my mobile ping with an incoming text.

According to Google Maps, Peckham is 37 minutes away from Shoreditch by car. 4.6 Miles is all that separates us...fancy dinner tonight?

D x

Surprised and just a tad giddy, my fingers eagerly type back.

Absolutely!

I hope the London traffic is kind, because I get pretty grouchy when I'm hungry 😠

Frankie xx

It's not long until I have a reply back from DJ Delectable himself.

Don't worry, I won't make your stomach wait. I'll pick you up at 6:30.

D x

I then decide to ask him something, something that makes me smile.

Couldn't wait until Friday to see me?

Frankie xx

His reply comes with a speedy ping!

No!!

D x

I rest my case... DiCarto Cute.

**Video above is: I MISS YOU - CLEAN BANDIT ft JULIA MICHAELS