Love Songs for Sceptics

by Christina Pishiris

  Alice looked so happy as she twirled in front of the mirror. She was a picture of bridal bliss, looking stunning in her ivory lace. I stood next to her in my long satin dress, while assistants fussed around both our hems.

  ‘Do you not have your shoes?’ asked the lady crouched on the floor by my bare feet.

  ‘Shoes?’

  ‘So we can get the length right?’

  I looked guiltily over at Alice. She had reminded me to bring the heels I’d be wearing on the day for this very reason, but in the whirlwind of last night and this morning, I’d clean forgotten.

  ‘No, I’m sorry,’ I replied sheepishly.

  ‘Maybe Zoë can borrow mine?’ said Alice.

  Alice was almost a foot shorter than me, and so had plumped for terrifyingly high heels to compensate. Plus, her feet were tiny. I doubted I’d get more than my toes into them.

  ‘It’s okay,’ said the assistant, whose name was Eloise. ‘We have a selection, if Zoë would like to pick the pair that most closely resembles the shoes she’ll be wearing on D-Day.’

  They all had a habit of calling the wedding day D-Day and I kept wanting to make a joke about fighting Nazis, but it never quite seemed appropriate.

  After I’d picked the shoes with the lowest heels I was back at Alice’s side.

  ‘So, how are things with you? You seem tired,’ she said, as we studied our reflections.

  A wave of nausea made me flinch. Eloise was sticking a pin into my dress, but my sudden movement made her miss and the pin scraped my skin.

  I flinched again.

  ‘Sorry,’ she trilled. ‘But you must keep still.’

  ‘Is everything okay, Zoë?’ asked Alice.

  Eloise was busy with her pins, but I still didn’t want to discuss this in front of a perfect stranger.

  ‘I’m fine,’ I said brightly.

  ‘Is there something you’re not telling me?’

  I couldn’t keep up the pretence any longer. I glanced at Alice and nodded.

  Eloise got to her feet. ‘All done.’

  Thank God.

  I slipped off my heels and dragged myself back to the changing room, with Alice in tow. She waved away the assistant, and asked me to help her undress.

  ‘So,’ she said over her shoulder as I began unlacing her, ‘what happened last night?’

  ‘Simon got rushed to the hospital.’

  Her eyes widened. ‘Oh my goodness, why? Is he okay?’

  How much should I tell her? Simon might not want people to know what happened.

  ‘He had an allergic reaction to something, but he’s fine now.’

  ‘Have you got time for a coffee? I want to hear all about it.’

  *

  Twenty minutes later we were installed in the Nordic Bakery round the corner. Alice was watching what she ate, so only ordered a rooibos tea. But I needed real sustenance, and had armed myself with an Americano and a muffin bursting with blueberries.

  ‘So, tell me everything,’ she said.

  ‘I had a weird night. Even before I got that call from Simon.’

  ‘You weren’t with him when he had the allergic reaction?’

  I shook my head. ‘I was at a work do – a ball of all things – and there was a bit of a ruckus, an actual fist fight. Sort of . . . over me.’

  Alice’s eyes were wide. ‘What happened?’

  I glanced around to check if anyone might be listening. But it was okay – we were the only customers here and the steaming espresso machine was making enough noise to ensure we wouldn’t be overheard by the baristas.

  ‘You know Jonny Delaney?’

  ‘Of course.’

  Stupid question. ‘He gatecrashed the party to shout at me, and my friend Nick sort of punched him.’

  ‘Sort of punched him?’

  ‘Knocked him flat on his arse.’ I grinned; I couldn’t help it.

  ‘Hang on, I met Nick, didn’t I? Is he your deputy editor?’

  ‘No, you’re thinking of Gav. I couldn’t imagine him ever stepping in to defend my honour.’

  She looked at me, waiting for more. After a couple of moments, I started feeling uncomfortable. ‘What?’

  ‘Who is this guy, who jumps to your defence like that? He must really like you.’

  ‘I didn’t think he liked me at all, not after last week when I . . .’

  ‘When you what?’

  ‘I kissed him, then ran out on him.’

  Her eyes widened. ‘He must like you quite a bit.’

  I picked up my coffee, then put it back down again without drinking.

  ‘That punch cost him his job – maybe his career. He got manhandled, and then hit, by Jonny’s bouncers afterwards, and when I went to find out if he was okay, he told me he had feelings for me.’

  ‘Good grief!’

  ‘That was my reaction. With added swear words.’

  ‘And this was before you heard from Simon?’

  ‘There’s more.’

  ‘Did something happen at the hospital?’

  ‘Simon told me he regretted his time with Jess. He asked if there was still a chance for the two of us, because he’d suddenly seen the light.’

  ‘So let me get this straight – you had two men tell you they’re in love with you in one evening?’

  ‘I know, it sounds unbelievable – like something out of a Regency novel.’

  ‘Let’s take them one by one. What did you say to Simon?’

  ‘He was groggy and a nurse came in before I could answer him. But the truth is, I have no idea how I feel about him. I don’t want to be his second rebound after his divorce.’

  ‘What did you say to Nick?’

  ‘Not much. I was speechless.’

  ‘Zoë Frixos lost for words?’ She smiled. ‘That’s a first.’

  My guilt came flooding back. ‘I should have reacted better, told him something kinder. But then I got a call from Jess telling me Simon was in hospital, and all I could think of was getting to him.’

  ‘It was a medical emergency, surely he’d understand?’

  ‘But my reaction was awful before that. What on earth can I say to make things go back to the way they were between us?’

  ‘Are you close friends?’

  It was a good question. ‘Half the time he drove me mad, but he made me look at things differently; and sometimes I felt he was the only person who got me.’

  ‘You’re talking about him in the past tense.’

  ‘There’s no going back for us. He’s leaving the UK anyway. He’s worked abroad most of his life. I’m sure he’ll get over me pretty fast. He doesn’t strike me as the type who lacks female company.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘I’m okay, I promise. Anyway, enough about me, what’s happening with you?’

  ‘I had a bit of a blow-up with my parents,’ she said.

  I couldn’t imagine Alice blowing up at anyone. ‘About what?’

  ‘We’re serving chicken at the wedding and they want lamb.’

  My first instinct was to laugh. She was winding me up, wasn’t she? How could they have fallen out over this? But from the look on her face, Alice wasn’t joking.

  ‘Can you elaborate?’

  ‘We settled on lamb months ago, even though Pete hates it. I talked him round because my parents insisted that chicken was a bit, well, common.’ She looked embarrassed. ‘They were being terrible snobs.’

  ‘So, we’re having lamb – is it really a problem?’

  ‘Pete shouldn’t have to eat something he hates at his own wedding. I was wrong to side with my parents, or rather, avoid going against their wishes.’

  ‘Pete would have been fine with the lamb – it’s one meal.’

  ‘But the principle of it bothered me and I told them that. I should never have made Pete agree to the lamb. I should have persuaded my parents to accept the chicken.’

  Alice was talking about meat, so why did I find myself tingling?

  She was getting up now and ga
thering her stuff. But I was still trying to work out what she’d said that had affected me so much. This was madness.

  ‘See you tomorrow,’ she was saying. ‘For our Greek night.’

  29

  I Can See Clearly Now

  Alice and I said our goodbyes, and I still didn’t know what she’d said that had set my heart racing. But I knew enough to follow my gut, so instead of walking south from Chiltern Street to Oxford Street, I found myself heading north to Baker Street tube.

  Then it came to me: I was overwhelmed by the conviction that I had to talk to Marcie again. Her house was only a couple of stops away on the Jubilee Line. I wasn’t sure what I was going to say – it sure as hell didn’t have anything to do with chicken or lamb. But I just knew I had to speak to her.

  Then suddenly, everything pulled into focus, and Alice’s story made sense. I should never have tried to talk Jess round into forgiving Marcie, I should have persuaded Marcie that she didn’t need Jessica’s forgiveness.

  Just as Alice had been intimidated by her parents and initially taken the easier path, I’d let myself be intimidated by Marcie.

  Excitement bubbled in my gut. Could I pull this off? My hope faltered when I remembered I still had to get past the intercom password.

  As I waited on the platform for the tube, a woman walked past me carrying a Bonnie and Clyde tote bag.

  I froze.

  What if the same password I’d used a couple of weeks ago still worked? Could it really be so easy?

  My confidence surged. What was the harm in trying? What did I have to lose?

  The train arrived and I calmly boarded. I got off one stop later at St John’s Wood, then, on autopilot, I retraced my steps to Marcie’s house.

  Before any doubts got the better of me, I pressed my finger to the buzzer.

  ‘Hello, who is it?’ came the disembodied voice.

  ‘It’s Bonnie and I’m here to see Clyde.’

  I held my breath as I waited for the response.

  Please, please, please.

  ‘I’m sorry, you must have the wrong house.’

  Damn.

  The password had changed. Nick had warned me that they rotated.

  I kicked the wall in frustration.

  But what if they were all based on films that Marcie loved? I pictured the other posters she’d had up: Gone with the Wind and Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid. Not a fan of happy endings, then.

  But who did Marcie most relate to – southern belles or outlaws?

  I cleared my throat and on instinct I announced: ‘It’s Butch Cassidy and I’m here to see the Sundance Kid.’

  Long, long moments passed. But then the door buzzed and clicked open.

  Success!

  Amazed, I slipped through the widening gap and hurried to the front door.

  Ronan was standing at the threshold with both dogs on leads. They barked as I approached.

  ‘Hi,’ I said confidently, both for his benefit and so the dogs wouldn’t sense my anxiety.

  ‘Most people don’t get two attempts at the password,’ he said. ‘But I figured I’d bend the rules because I owe you. I screwed up when you were last here. I should have been watching Marcie, not trying out new recipes, and she got drunk. But you didn’t tell anyone, and I appreciate that. After this, though, we’re even.’

  ‘Thank you, Ronan.’

  He stepped aside to let me pass, and the dogs growled but this time, only for show.

  I hesitated in the hallway. I’d been so focused on getting in, but that was only half the problem. Yes, I was in Marcie’s house, but would my words have any effect? I turned to Ronan, who nodded towards the lounge.

  ‘She’s in a good mood.’ He leant forward and whispered. ‘She had a late-night visitor, if you catch my drift.’ He winked in case I hadn’t. Then he froze. ‘Shit. Don’t tell anyone. I’ll get fired and I’m already on thin ice.’

  ‘You can trust me,’ I said, and sent a silent thank you to Marcie’s secret Romeo who might just have tipped the balance in my favour.

  Ronan waved me to the living room. ‘Go through. You’ll soon know if she wants to talk to you.’

  I walked to the doorway and stopped. Marcie had been shopping since I’d last been here because slap bang in the middle of the room stood a mahogany grand piano, exactly like the one I’d played for her at the Steinway shop. It had looked huge on the shop floor, but in Marcie’s high-ceilinged drawing room, it looked normal-sized.

  And sitting behind it, her bowed head peeking above the lifted lid, was the woman herself.

  I took a step forward and she looked up. She had a yellow pencil tucked behind one ear, but it didn’t distract from her heavily made-up eyes, which were boring into me with a ferocity that made my knees shake.

  My mind suddenly went blank.

  Why was I here again? Oh yes, to suggest the chicken not lamb.

  Oh God. This was crazy. Maybe I should just turn around and scarper.

  ‘You’ve got a lot of nerve turning up, young lady.’

  My courage faltered, but I stood straighter. Never show weakness. Never let them see they intimidate you. Sometimes, those mantras were worth living by.

  ‘I know what you did to Jessica Honey,’ I began.

  She narrowed her eyes. ‘What did you just say?’

  ‘She told me that you blacklisted her band ten years ago. Out of petty jealousy.’

  Marcie stood, the piano stool screeching against the wood floor. ‘How dare you!’

  Shit. Was I making a mistake?

  I breathed deeply. No, it wasn’t a misstep. I was here to drop some truth bombs. That were long overdue.

  ‘You have to own what you did, Marcie. You can’t let your peace of mind rest in someone else’s hands. If Jessica hasn’t forgiven you after ten years, then you have to accept she never will. Learn from your mistakes. Find another young musician to take under your wing, if you have to, but for God’s sake, let it go.’

  She walked around the piano till she was a couple of feet from me. She still looked mad, but she’d dialled down from nuclear meltdown angry to plain ol’ white-hot fury.

  ‘Take back the word “petty”.’

  My whole speech and she was stuck on that?

  Perhaps she was allowed a little appeasement. If not for her current behaviour then for her Stars album. Every track on that record was gold.

  ‘Okay, I take back “petty”. But you were jealous of a meaningless girl. You were the most talented musician on the planet.’ Appeasement had steadily morphed into sycophancy, but this was Marcie effing Tyler. She’d taught God to write songs.

  ‘He was the love of my life.’

  ‘Benedict Bailey?’

  She nodded, and a little more anger melted away. ‘I knew I would fall in love with him from the way he held a guitar.’

  That was possibly the most romantic thing I’d ever heard.

  She seemed lost in her memories as she floated to the sofa and sat down.

  I joined her, making slow movements so I wouldn’t startle her. ‘Do you want to talk about him?’

  ‘This isn’t an interview. Everything I’m going to tell you is still off the record. But seeing as you’ve got such strong opinions about my life, you should at least do me the courtesy of hearing my side of things.’

  ‘It’s off the record, I promise.’

  ‘I met Benedict in a recording studio – it was 1985 and my last album had flopped. Although, in today’s terms, it would have hit number one. Anyway, it was decided that I needed fresh blood. Patrick brought him in. He wanted to shake things up a bit. Told me not to get involved with him.’ She laughed. ‘Benny was a session player. When I heard him play “Never Let Me Down” I knew I had to have him for my band. Then when I met him, I knew he was the one.’

  I nodded, not wanting to interrupt her reverie. But for long moments she didn’t speak.

  ‘Can you tell me about your tattoo?’

  It was a risk asking such a direc
t question, but this might be my only chance. I was amazed she hadn’t kicked me out yet.

  ‘Benny and I went on holiday in Bermuda,’ she said. ‘We were burned out after two solid years on the road – we were like zombies, sleeping all day and drinking all night. But one day, someone persuaded us to go snorkelling. We were as hungover as dogs – God knows how we didn’t drown – but we were taken to this amazing reef and spent an hour swimming beside these exquisite seahorses.

  ‘That holiday saved us. Seeing nature up close put everything in perspective. We decided to get clean and got matching tattoos to remind us of that feeling, but after I’d got mine, Benny confessed he was terrified of needles and had been too scared to tell me.

  ‘I told him I hated tattoos too, and had only done it because I thought he liked them. We laughed so hard.’

  She paused, remembering happier times. With her lips parted, her face appeared softer and she looked a decade younger.

  ‘That’s not what you told me last time, Marcie. You told me you got the tattoo to remind you of a necklace you lost.’

  She frowned and the lines on her face returned.

  ‘When he couldn’t get the tattoo, I had the necklace made for him. He told me he’d always treasure it.’

  ‘It was your present to him?’

  ‘A woman giving a man jewellery – is that too feminist for you?’

  ‘No, of course not,’ I said. ‘But why did you lie?’

  ‘I lost him when he lost the necklace.’ She laughed bitterly. ‘Turns out, few things are as permanent as tattoos. At first he told me he’d lost it, but then one night, after we’d been arguing, he told me he was through with me, and that he’d given the necklace away. Can you believe that?’

  ‘He gave it to Jessica Honey?’

  She nodded.

  So, Jess had been telling the truth.

  ‘It damn near broke my heart,’ she said.

  ‘I’m so sorry, Marcie.’

  ‘Then he died and I learnt what real heartbreak was.’

  Tears filled my eyes, but hers stayed dry. There was so much pain in what she was saying, but her voice was even; it was like she had numbed herself to it. Who could blame her?

  ‘And now he’s gone I can never make up for the things I’ve done to him.’