Only One Woman

by Christina Jones

  ‘Of course he isn’t – and I like him.’ Understatement – but it didn’t seem the right time to say exactly how I felt about Scott. ‘We get on well together. We make each other laugh and we can talk about everything and he likes reading as much as I do, and we like the same music. He’s a really nice boy and – ’

  ‘Oh, yes, he’s Mr Wonderful! He’s engaged to be married and he’s inviting you to go and live with him? That makes him a cheat and a liar in my book.’

  I winced. Put like that…

  ‘And,’ Vix continued, ‘you know full well what girls who do what you’re doing are called, don’t you? I thought you had higher principles than that!’

  ‘I’m not a tart and I’m not going to be living with him! I’m going to be staying – for a couple of days – in a house with a lot of other people. I might not ever see him again after this.’ I decided not to tell her about the fan club thing. Not then. It would probably be a step too far.

  ‘And,’ Vix clearly hadn’t finished, ‘how old is he?’

  ‘Eighteen.’

  ‘And you’re twenty one this year. That makes you a cradle snatcher as well! Honestly, Stella – I’m really worried about you.’

  ‘Well, don’t be. There’s no need. And his age is immaterial. He could be twenty eight or ninety eight and I’d still feel the same way about him. Anyway, this is all your fault. If you hadn’t introduced me to him….’

  ‘Because I thought you were going to die! You said you were going to die! I thought it was your last night out! I wanted you to be happy! I didn’t expect you to – ’

  ‘To what? Fall in love with him? Go on – say it! You might as well – because it’s too damn late!’

  We stared at one another.

  ‘Stella? Are you serious?’ Vix shook her head. ‘Oh, glory… you are, aren’t you? You haven’t told him, have you?’

  ‘Don’t be daft,’ I sighed. ‘I haven’t even kissed him.’

  ‘Really? Then you’re even more crazy than I thought. And trust me, once he’s got you at Leighton Buzzard, he’ll be wanting far more than kisses. You can’t love him – you hardly know him!’

  ‘I know enough.’

  Vix swung her legs to the floor and tugged at her very short tartan kilt. ‘Rubbish! You’re talking like one of your stories now! But I’m still your best friend even if I do think you’re doing the wrong thing for all the wrong reasons. When he’s broken your heart in a million pieces you’ll know where to come for a shoulder to cry on, won’t you?’

  Mum was far more pragmatic. “He’s a nice boy, but…” “He’s in a pop group and he’s got a girlfriend… a fiancée…” “You’ve had major surgery – you’re hardly fit enough to walk down the road…” “You still have out-patient appointments to go to in a few days…” “Please don’t do anything silly….”

  Which all boiled down to “I hope you’re not going to sleep with him” – I knew it and so did she, but there was no way on earth that either of us would ever mention it.

  I just hugged her and told her Scott and I were just friends, it was only for a couple of days, to sort out the fan club stuff and the interview and there’d be loads of other people in the house and I really needed a couple of days away after the operation and everything.

  Eventually, it was Dad who made it ok.

  Mind you, as Dad had run away from his very happy home and with the approval of his very loving parents, to become a circus clown at the tender age of 15, I suppose me going to stay for a couple of days with a rock group was probably pretty small beer.

  ‘Oh, let her go.’ He’d chuckled. ‘Let her have a bit of fun. Heaven knows, we thought we were going to lose her, didn’t we? Six months ago we’d have given anything to let her have her freedom. She’s been so ill for so long. If this makes her happy and brings her sparkle back, then where’s the harm?’ He’d winked at me. ‘Mind you, Stell – you tell him if he hurts you I’ll break every bone in his body. OK?’

  ‘OK. But he won’t.’

  ‘All right – I suppose it will be all right. But what do we tell people?’ Mum, always aware of her local social standing as a teacher, had looked over the top of her glasses. ‘You know what they’re like round here – they’ll see her going – they’ll want to know where and why and when and what and – ‘

  Dad laughed. ‘Oh, we’ll just tell ‘em she’s living in sin in Leighton Buzzard. That should keep ‘em happy for ages.’

  The short January afternoon was rapidly disappearing into darkness as the bus eventually reached Leighton Buzzard. There was a garage on the left-hand corner as we swayed into the curve of the High Street and I caught a glimpse of attractive grey-stone buildings and old inns and pretty little shops ablaze with lights.

  I held my breath. Scott had told me to ask the bus driver to be dropped at the Heath and Reach end of the town. I’d laughed and said Heath and Reach sounded like a firm of solicitors. He’d said it was a lovely village and we’d walk there one day.

  The bus continued to crawl through the darkness.

  ‘Your stop coming up, love,’ the conductor called along the bus to me, with a nod to the driver. ‘Just before the bridge, bottom of the hill here.’

  ‘Er… ‘ I tried to sound normal but my mouth was dry and my heart was about to thunder out of my chest, ‘oh, right – yes – um – thank you…’

  The bus juddered to a halt. I stood up, gathered up my bags and walked forward. Slowly. Very slowly. Because…. what if he wasn’t there?

  It honestly hadn’t occurred to me before. Yes, I knew the address of course, but I had no idea how to find the house. I was in a strange town, in the dark – and possibly alone…

  He was there.

  At the bus stop. Under the street lamp. As he’d promised.

  He was wearing the black coat and his long dark hair fell into his eyes and he pushed it away impatiently as he looked up as the bus arrived.

  My heart melted. I practically flew off the bus, my smile was ear-to-ear. The bus driver and the conductor were both laughing to themselves as they rumbled away.

  Scott stepped forward and pulled me into his arms. I dropped my bags and slid my arms round his neck.

  ‘Hello.’

  ‘Hello, yourself.’

  Our breath mingled in clouds in the freezing air. We just grinned at one another.

  And then he kissed me.

  And right then it didn’t matter if I was a cradle-snatching, man-stealing, groupie tart. It didn’t matter about Renza. Nothing mattered but being with him.

  Ages later, holding hands, we walked away from the bus stop, up the hill, round the sharp right hand bend – to the house. It was detached, bay-windowed, sitting back from the road in an oasis of long gravelled drives and pathways. Narnia’s Children’s Transit van was parked in front of the steps.

  ‘Scott…’ I stopped at the gate. ‘Is Renza here?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘But you’re still together?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And do the others – well, Mo and Rich mainly, know I’m staying?’

  ‘Yes.’

  It was enigmatic and not really what I wanted to hear, but it’d have to do.

  I grinned at him. ‘You’d be rubbish on the Yes, No Interlude… it’s a game show… don’t look like that… oh…’

  He laughed and kissed me again then opened the front door.

  The house was very cold, and dark, all the lights seemed to be dimmed, I got the impression of high ceilings, several doors leading off a long narrow hall, music – the Sergeant Pepper LP – booming from a room on the left, and delicious smells floating from the kitchen straight ahead.

  ‘Mo’s cooking dinner. He always does. He’s our chef – well, he’s like our mother-hen really… him and Rich. Let me show you your room, you can leave your bags and things… upstairs…’

  I followed him up the dimly lit staircase. Neither of us had taken our coats off, the house had a really chilly feel to it. No cosy roari
ng crackling home fires here.

  ‘Bathroom is there… and this is us…’ Scott pushed open a door and flicked on another dim light. ‘I usually share with Mo, but he’s gone in with Rich while you’re here.’

  Us? Us?

  There were two double beds in the room, one haphazardly covered with sheets, blankets and a paisley eiderdown, the other stripped bare to a scruffy ticking mattress. There were dark green curtains at the window. A sort of tall dressing table thing stood to the right of the room and a bedside cabinet with a transistor radio to the left.

  It was bitterly cold.

  I dropped my tote bags inside the door. I honestly hadn’t thought about the sleeping arrangements at all. I just assumed I’d have a little spare room or something. I seriously hadn’t considered that Scott and I would be sharing…

  I knew I’d have to tackle the subject later – but not now.

  ‘If you want to use the bathroom… freshen up or anything… I’ll go downstairs and tell Mo you’re here and there’s one extra for dinner…’ Scott said. ‘Come down when you’re ready.’

  ‘Ok. Thanks. But if there’s not enough food to go round I’ll be fine.’

  ‘I’m sure there’ll be plenty – as long as you’re not fussy.’

  I wasn’t a fussy eater. Eating was currently the least of my problems.

  ‘You have no idea how happy I am that you’re here.’ He hugged me. ‘I wasn’t sure that you’d come. Don’t be long…’

  By the time I’d visited the bathroom, which was utilitarian but very clean considering all those boys in the house, and renegotiated the gloomy staircase – and kept my coat on because I’d never been in such a cold house – the scents from the kitchen were stronger than ever and I really hoped there’d be enough food to go around.

  ‘Stella!’ Zak appeared from the door on the left, with Sergeant Pepper still playing, just as I reached the bottom of the stairs. ‘Wow! Hi!’ He grabbed me and kissed me on the cheek. ‘Great to see you again. Are you better now?’

  ‘Yes, thanks.’

  ‘Cool. And you haven’t brought your sexy and “hands off – I’ve got a boyfriend” friend with you by any chance?’

  ‘No,’ I smiled. ‘Sadly not.’

  ‘Bugger,’ Zak said good naturedly, drifting off into a room to the right. ‘See you later.’

  I stood in the hallway for a moment, not knowing which room I should be in, then I just headed for the kitchen because I could see it and I hoped it was warm. Mo, with his glorious Marc Bolan hair, was standing with his back to me at the stove, stirring a massive pot of something which smelled like a really spicy curry. A second huge pot bubbled and hissed beside it. Rice? I seriously hoped so.

  The kitchen was blissfully warm and properly lit, although it did seem a bit basic and unloved. Like the rest of the house. There were no personal touches, nothing to warm it up and make it homely. Maybe the owners just let it out all the time?

  I shrugged off my fun fur and moved closer to the cooker. ‘Hello…’

  Mo spun round. ‘Oh – it’s you. Hi… Scott said you’d arrived.’ And he turned away again.

  A bit of a slap in the face – and possibly deserved – I took a deep breath. ‘Can I help? Is there anything I can do?’

  ‘For the cooking? No.’ He didn’t look at me. ‘For Scott? Yes. Once you’ve done the interview and got the fan club stuff up and running, leave him alone.’

  Stung, I recoiled a bit then took a deep breath. ‘I thought we’d got over all this? Called a truce? And if Scott wants to see me, then I honestly don’t see what business it is of yours.’

  Mo turned round. ‘Thanks to you, Scott doesn’t know what he wants any more. He’s completely messed up now. But he loves Renza and she loves him and they will get married – and you won’t stop that.’

  ‘I don’t want to! Anyway…’ I tried smiling, it didn’t really work. ‘If she loves him so much, then why isn’t she here? Why doesn’t she live with him? Why aren’t they together? Why am I here and she isn’t?’

  ‘You really don’t know? He hasn’t told you anything about her?’

  I shook my head. ‘No. Nothing. And I haven’t asked. It’s like she’s in a different compartment of his life. I’m in one box and she’s in another – and as long as no one gets the lids muddled we’ll all be ok.’

  ‘Her name’s Renza – not Pandora.’ Mo almost smiled. Almost. He checked his two massive pots, then looked at me. ‘Renza lived next door to us when we rented a flat last summer. That’s how and when they met. It was special between them – instantly – we all knew that. Love at first sight for them both. Renza is like no one else I’ve ever met. Funny, clever – and very beautiful. Scott worshipped her – still worships her. Always will.’

  Each word was like a punch in the stomach – apt, given what I’d done to Scott at our first meeting – but I needed to know. To understand.

  ‘OK. So she’s the love of his life – he’s told me that much himself. But that still doesn’t explain why they’re not living together.’

  ‘She lives in Germany now. She moved there in August. It broke his heart.’

  Right… ok… Germany explained some, but not all. I could see her – this super-cool business woman, still Italian-looking in my imagination – but now in some natty business suit, running an international organisation…

  ‘So,’ Mo continued, ‘until she’s able to get back to the UK again permanently, Scott has to make do with letters and phone calls. What you are, if you’re anything at all in his life, is merely a stop-gap.’

  Ouch! Still, to be in his life, I’d happily be a stop-gap – and as long as Renza stayed ruling her business empire in Germany, I’d be a stop-gap for as long as possible.

  I didn’t say any of this.

  ‘Is she going to move her business to the UK, then? Is that the plan?’

  Mo looked at me as if I was mad. ‘What the heck are you talking about? Business? Renza doesn’t have a business. She had to go to Germany with her parents – her dad’s in the army or something – she’s 16.’

  Oh my God – Renza was a child! I was speechless.

  Mo sort of grinned. ‘Now you understand? They’re made for each other. Young love. First love. There will never be anyone else for either of them.’

  ‘But they’re engaged? She’s so young…’

  ‘What does that matter? Renza is absolutely gorgeous – and the sweetest girl we’ve ever known. So – back off.’

  Stella’s Diary

  January 23rd 1969 – later

  We ate Mo’s huge plates of curry and rice, with a mountain of sliced bread on the side, and bottles of cola and beer, in the sitting room. This was the room on the right, which was large and a bit gloomy although a couple of standard lamps in the corners cast something of a rosy glow, again with those miserable dark green curtains and with no heating whatsoever.

  As far as I could see there was an old-fashioned radiogram in the window alcove, and a lot of books on the inglenook shelves, but no television, or any other furniture. Just several sofas and cushions on the floor.

  I didn’t tell Scott about my Renza-conversation with Mo. Like the sleeping arrangements, I decided I’d do that later. Right now, it was just out of this world to be there, with him, sharing his life.

  Using my bunched-up coat as a tray, I sat on the sofa and he was on a cushion at my feet, leaning back against my legs as we ate. Joss, who had said hi and kissed me, and Zak were also sitting on the floor, while Mo and Rich – who had welcomed me with only slightly less enthusiasm than Mo – were on the other sofa. I’d thought there’d be other people there – maybe Stephan, and definitely girlfriends – but not that night it seemed.

  The radiogram was tuned to Luxembourg, and added more unforgettable tunes to my musical memory box: ‘Eloise’ by Barry Ryan, ‘Montague Terrace in Blue’ by Scott Walker, the weird and wonderful ‘MacArthur Park’, and Gun’s ‘Race with the Devil’.

  The conversation rose and
fell as we ate, with the music as a background: they talked about gigs and music and people I didn’t know and the occult and books and films.

  I couldn’t remember when I was last happier.

  When everyone had finished eating, I stood up and started to collect the empty plates. ‘Thank you, Mo, that was fab. I’ll do the washing up and earn my keep.’

  Mo just shrugged. ‘Fine by me.’

  Scott scrambled to his feet to help me, and once we were in the kitchen and all the dirty dishes were piled in the sink, he hugged me. ‘Sorry about Mo – he and Rich do have an ongoing agenda.’

  ‘I know,’ I looked up at him. ‘About Renza. And now I understand why. I didn’t realise she was so young…’ I sighed. ‘She’s who you need here – not me. You should be with someone young and carefree and sweet – and if she’s slim and very pretty with long blonde hair and endless legs, then so much the better. You’d look like the perfect, ideal couple.’

  Scott frowned. ‘I had no idea Mo had told you so much.’

  ‘He hasn’t. He didn’t… you mean – that’s what she looks like?’

  He nodded. ‘Yep – and now let’s do the washing up…’

  I tried to push the image of young, blonde and beautiful out of my head and plunged my hands into the hot soapy water – there must be an immersion heater somewhere to get hot water, which meant I’d volunteer to do the washing up all the time to keep warm. Think about immersion heaters; don’t think about Renza.

  As we clattered the dishes from the sink to the draining board and Scott flapped around them with a grubby tea-towel, I knew that this was going to be a very temporary thing – he and Renza belonged together. I was just, as Mo had said, a stop-gap.

  ‘I’m Twinkle Stop-Gap,’ I said out loud in a mock-upper-class voice. ‘One of the Berkshire Stop-Gaps, don’t you know.’

  ‘What?’ Scott stopped drying a plate and stared at me.

  ‘My new role and title,’ I grinned at him and flicked soap suds. ‘I think I’ll get used to it in time.’

  ‘Crazy,’ he grinned at me.

  Crazy? Probably, but I also knew that I’d be a stop-gap for as long as possible. When and if Renza came to stay, I’d just disappear and stay out of the way until he wanted me back again. Until he didn’t want me anymore.