I haven’t arrived home sober since I started working there. By 4pm I’m as high as a kite. So far the S.S. hasn’t noticed, but give her time.
I’ve started wearing hipsters to work too, because they’re always sending me over to my Dad’s building, a huge engineering workshop (hangar) with hundreds of Germans working there and Dad’s office is up a spiral staircase. The first few times I went up there, I managed to stop everything dead; and they shouted and whistled so loud the army colonel came out of his office and yelled at them and me. Apparently my short skirts are too much for them all and I have to dress decently in future, but they didn’t allow trousers usually, and as my midi and maxi lengths are not allowed either – and not possessing any old frump clothes – I’ve been given permission to wear trousers to work, so as not to inflame the passions of the Germans, so Dad said. Blimey.
Plus Dad says the squaddies have been fighting over who should come up to our office to have their paperwork seen to by me and it’s apparently causing ‘bad morale’ amongst the young soldiers. Sad devils.
Dad’s introduced me to a young German bloke from his office, a bit older than me, called Klaus, who wants to practise his English with me. He’s all right, he dresses a bit straight but so do most Germans I’ve seen, but he’s quite good looking. Anyway, we’ve been out to a disco a few times, in Dortmund, Dusseldorf, and Koln so we can chat socially. It’s all right I guess, but the music is so out of date it would be embarrassing if anyone I know had seen me there. Klaus is nice, very polite and proper, but a couple of times recently, he’s tried to kiss me and put my hand somewhere unmentionable. Mum and Dad like him, so that’s all right then. I’ve mentioned him in my letters to Scott, just to see what he says. So far, silence on the matter.
Holland was interesting and the Red Light District was a great laugh, well I laughed, Mum and the Catty Wives all pulled suitably shocked faces. We went up the river in Amsterdam in a glass-roofed boat so we could see the buildings, all tall and thin, and we saw the narrowest building in Holland and a few houses of ‘ill repute’ en route. My entertainment these days.
There were buildings called ‘sex shops’ but none of the ladies would go near enough to look properly, and Mum wasn’t about to let me go inside to look. Some cafes sold ‘special’ cakes which our driver said meant they had drugs inside them and it was all very legal and above board. Imagine. A hippy paradise. Zak would be in heaven.
Amsterdam was very modern, not like Germany at all, and everyone seemed to speak English and were friendly and wore hip clothes as well. All the shops played English pop and rock music and it was like being in London really. The Rolling Stones and The Who seemed really popular and you could hear them a lot. Also Jimi Hendrix was being played in the cafes and bars as we passed.
I really liked Holland.
Renza’s Diary
March 12th 1969
Happy birthday to me, happy birthday to me. I’m 17 today. 17 and stuck in the back of beyond while my former school mates are probably having birthday parties when they turn 17, and going out to celebrate with boyfriends and generally having a life. Life! Ha, that’s a laugh. I don’t have a life, on my birthday or any other day, unless you call going the NAAFI and the Stomp Club living, or crawling round a dance floor to really old music with Klaus now and again. Deep flipping joy!
I’m not even going to mention Scott, well…no, I am not. I can’t stand the ache and stress attached to thoughts of him during the daytime – night-time is bad enough. I look at the moon – when I can see it – as we agreed to do every night, and wonder what he is doing. I wonder if he is wondering what I am doing – probably not. I kiss his photo every night and then try to go to sleep, but he won’t let me. He fills my head as I try to drift off, then haunts my dreams when I sleep. So I’m not going to think of him. I got a card from Mum and Dad and 20 Marks to spend on something sensible they insisted, but I am going to save half of it towards a trip home next time I am able to arrange one. Nan always gave me a card and something nice on my birthday, and of course now she is gone, it reminds me of how much I miss her. If I’d stayed with her and gone to college, she might still be alive. Gosh this is depressing the hell out of me. Some happy birthday. There’s a movie on in the Mess tonight, a World War Two movie, so I shan’t be going. Mum and Dad are going to go since I’m not. I shall babysit and play my records and think about Scott – I know, I said I wouldn’t. I lied. Happy birthday to me…
Stella’s Diary
March 13th 1969
Today it was three weeks since I’d seen Scott and it’s driven me almost insane. Oh, it was nice to have been back home again with Mum and Dad and the dogs and cats in a really warm house with proper food; and to see Vix and my other friends and go out with them, but it wasn’t real. Not anymore. My real life was wrapped up with Scott, and Narnia’s Children and living and loving in that cold, bleak house.
I thought about him all the time. I played all the records that reminded me of him. I read every Dennis Wheatley book I could find in the library. And I missed him more than words could say. He’d sent me a couple of postcards from Scotland, where they seemed to be having a great time and topping the bill everywhere they went and having massive sell-out audiences, which I’d propped up on my bedside table, but I needed to be with him, to see him, to hear his voice…
I’d tried to keep myself busy. I’d done masses of work for the fan club, getting tons of extra stuff printed, and Stephan had sent me 500 publicity photos of the group to send out with my ever-growing list of membership forms and monthly newsletters. As I didn’t have a picture of Scott I pinched two of them – one with the whole band and then cutting him out on his own – and framed them and again had them beside my bed. And I’d written several short stories – all heartbreakingly sad – and sent them off to Jackie and Romeo, and I’d written up the Narnia’s Children interview – cobbled together from everything I knew plus the answers to the various questions I’d asked them while I’d been at Leighton Buzzard – and sent it to Stephan for his ok.
He’d loved it and said to get it out there as soon as possible, to as many magazines as possible, along with one of the publicity photos, because it looked as if Narnia’s Children’s record – ‘Livin’ With You’ – would now be released on May 1st, so they’d need as much topical publicity as possible. He also asked me to do a sort of spoof press-release for future use, which was fun.
So, yes, I’d done all this. I’d immersed myself in all things Narnia’s Children and practically lived at the post office, sending things hither and thither, but I actually ached from missing Scott. My heart ached. Living without him was a physical pain. And one, I kept telling myself, that I was going to have to get used to.
Because, far worse than any of this was the fact that I’d had another hospital appointment.
And they’d declared me fully recovered from the operation, and the endometriosis was, they said, not showing any signs of flaring up at the moment, and all the other tests had come back clear, and the rest of my internal problems would be monitored closely during future out-patients appointments – so – they said – I was to be signed-off as fit to return to work on April 1st.
April Fool’s Day! How appropriate that was!
I’d be back at work in the office, 9 to 5, Monday to Friday, dealing with boring, boring claims forms while Scott was travelling all over the place – never at home long enough for us to get together – and it was obviously the end of everything.
I was devastated. Heartbroken. It was like the end of the world. No, it was the end of the world. My life was over.
Stella’s Diary
March 17th 1969
Narnia’s Children are home from Scotland! I’d had a postcard from Scott saying they’d be back in Leighton Buzzard over the weekend of the 15th and 16th and he couldn’t wait to see me and would I be there on the Monday?
He didn’t need to ask twice.
This time, as the bus trundled through the sleepy la
mp-lit dusk of Leighton Buzzard High Street, there was no snow. The snow was long gone. People were looking forward to Spring. I wasn’t.
Grabbing my tote bags, I stood up as we reached the stop. Then I blinked. Scott wasn’t there. There was no tall, slender figure in a black coat, with long black hair flopping into his eyes as he looked up for the bus. He wasn’t there!
Instead there was a shorter, stockier figure in a suede jacket standing at the stop.
Rich.
I didn’t move as the bus juddered to a halt. It could only mean one thing. Renza had arrived unexpectedly at Leighton Buzzard and Rich had been sent to tell me and to pack me back off to Harbury Green immediately.
I felt very, very sick.
‘You getting off or stopping on, love?’ The conductor beamed at me. ‘Only, make your mind up, see, we’ve got a way to go yet and we’d like to get home sometime this year.’
‘What? Oh, yes, sorry…’
I stepped slowly from the bus, my heart somewhere in my boots, and looked at Rich.
‘I know what you’re going to say.’
‘Do you?’ He frowned at me. ‘Are you psychic or something?’
‘Obviously.’
He grinned. ‘Okay then, you tell me what I’m going to say?’
I told him. He laughed.
‘Wrong! It’s far worse than that.’
‘What? Hell’s teeth, Rich – what’s happened?’
‘Scott’s not very well.’ Rich picked up one of my bags. ‘In fact he’s pretty ill. Came on worse overnight… he’s got a heck of a fever, and…’
Oh my God! Scott was going to die! And it was all my fault for being a man-stealing, cradle-snatching, groupie tart! God had declared retribution!
I grabbed Rich’s arm. ‘Where is he? In hospital? What’s wrong with him? Come on!’
‘He’s at home,’ Rich panted trying to keep up with me as we rounded the corner and started to climb the hilly road towards the house. ‘He’s not dying or anything… he just wasn’t well enough to come and meet you. Although he wanted to – and he did try, but -’
I tore up the gravelled drive and waited impatiently for Rich to unlock the front door. Then I flew towards the stairs.
‘He’s in the sitting room,’ Rich chuckled. ‘He’d die of hypothermia in that bedroom.’
It was true – despite the rise in the outside temperature, the house still felt like an ice-box.
I pushed open the sitting room door.
Scott was sitting on the sofa. The rest of Narnia’s Children were dotted around, eating curry, listening to Pet Sounds, looking relatively unconcerned.
‘Hi,’ Scott smiled at me, melting my heart. ‘Thanks for coming. I’ve missed you.’
‘Oh, you have no idea how much I’ve missed you,’ I sat beside him. He looked very pale. ‘Rich told me you weren’t well. What’s wrong? How are you?’
He shrugged. ‘Ok, I think. I just keep going hot and cold… and falling asleep and my arm hurts.’
It didn’t sound ok to me.
‘You’ve hurt your arm?’
‘It was just a scratch and it’s gone a bit funny.’
I took his hand. It was cold and clammy. ‘Let me see… bloody hell! That’s not right!’
There was a line of vivid red snaking along the vein from Scott’s wrist right up his arm.
‘That’s what I said,’ Mo nodded. ‘It shouldn’t look like that.’
‘I think you’ve got blood poisoning.’ I gulped. ‘That’s gone septic. You need to see a doctor.’
‘We haven’t got a doctor,’ Zak said. ‘Well, at home in Jersey, but not here.’
I looked at Scott again. His face was grey and his eyes were closing. ‘Then he should be seen at Casualty. Is it far to Leighton Buzzard hospital? Oh, God – is there petrol in the van?’
‘Yes to petrol,’ Rich said. ‘No to a hospital – well, not one that would be able to help tonight.’
‘The nearest big one is in Luton,’ Joss said. ‘They’ve got a Casualty Department.’
Mo looked at Scott, then at me. ‘I think you’re right, Stella. I think he needs to see a doctor and sooner rather than later. He wasn’t this bad earlier. Let’s go.’
Scott shook his head. ‘I’ll be ok. I’ll put some more Germolene on it. It’ll be better in the morning.’
‘The way you look now,’ Rich said worriedly, ‘you’ll probably be dead in the morning. Come on – I’ll go and get the van started.’
We all piled into the van. My heart was thudding with panic but I kept smiling cheerfully. I didn’t want Scott to know how scared I was. He sat beside me, his head on my shoulder and went to sleep.
***
Luton Hospital’s Casualty Department was dimly lit and fairly quiet, and had that universal hospital smell: heat, fear, disinfectant and over-boiled cabbage. Once Rich and Mo had explained about Scott to the receptionist and Zak and Joss had eyed up all the nurses, Scott and I sat on the grey metal chairs in the waiting area and watched people in various stages of pain and distress disappear into the corridors and cubicles. I held his good hand. He smiled sleepily at me. We didn’t speak. We didn’t need to.
The rest of Narnia’s Children sat down too. It caused a bit of a stir among the younger nurses who kept popping out from the corridors and cubicles, taking sneaky peeks, nudging one another, and then sashaying away again. I grinned to myself. Even Rich was dead good looking, so I guessed an entire line of gorgeous blokes would liven up anyone’s night-shift.
After about ten minutes a very pretty nurse, with huge green eyes and tendrils of auburn hair escaping from under her cap, called Scott’s name.
‘Lucky sod!’ Zak said. ‘She’s one cute chick.’
I glared at him.
Scott, looking petrified and very ill, staggered to his feet.
‘Good luck,’ I whispered as he followed the red-haired sex bomb out of sight.
Don’t let him die, I whispered inside my head, please, please don’t let him die.
‘We’ve done the right thing,’ Mo said comfortingly. ‘He needed to get that seen to. If it had got worse we’d have had to cancel our gigs.’
‘Yeah,’ Zak nodded. ‘Could have turned to gangrene and been amputated.’
‘And,’ Joss added, ‘a one-armed guitarist is pretty useless really. Mind you, one-armed drummers are ok – perhaps he could play drums… Mo could learn bass and I’d play guitar, and – ’
‘Shut up!’ I hissed. ‘Just shut up!’
I closed my eyes and prayed silently. “Dear God, I know this is all my fault, everything I’ve done has been wrong, I’ve behaved really badly, I know that – but if this is my punishment then it’s not fair. Not for him. So if you could just let him be ok I promise I’ll never see him again and he and Renza can live happily ever after. Just let him be ok. Thank you, God. Amen”
Joss peered at me. ‘You alright, Stella?’
‘Fine,’ I muttered. ‘Just fine.’
There was a bit of a stir then from the cubicles and two of the young nurses appeared and shimmied across.
‘We were just wondering,’ the blonde one said, ‘if you were a pop group… only, we went to see Doc Holliday in Dunstable and…’
‘We reckon you were the support act,’ the darker one giggled. ‘Dead sexy you were – and tons better than Doc Holliday and he was ace.’
‘We tried to see you afterwards but the bouncers wouldn’t let us get near you.’
Joss and Zak immediately perked up.
‘That was us,’ Joss beamed. ‘And I’m gutted that you couldn’t meet us after the gig. We could have given you – um – autographs.’
‘We can still do autographs,’ Zak grinned, ‘in exchange for phone numbers.’
The nurses giggled and there was scribbling and exchanges of bits of paper before they undulated back into the cubicles. I shook my head.
The time dragged.
‘Here he is,’ Rich said suddenly, as Scott, accompanied by the
auburn haired nurse and an equally young and weary-looking doctor, re-appeared, his arm in a sling.
‘I’ll leave you to sort out the paperwork,’ the doctor said, glancing at us all and not focusing on anyone in particular. ‘We’ve done a basic clean-up and administered antibiotics and pain-killers, however, we need to do a minor operation to drain the poison and clean the wound, which will then require stitches – but we can’t do it tonight, obviously. We have a day surgery slot tomorrow morning and we’ve booked him in at 8.30. So, take him home, nil by mouth from now on, and be back here by 8 sharp.’
An operation! I swallowed. Scott simply looked too ill to care.
‘Only one problem,’ the nurse said cheerfully. ‘As the patient is under age and the procedure will require a light general anaesthetic, we need next of kin to sign the surgical consent forms.’
‘Oh, no. Really?’ Mo sighed. ‘That’s impossible. His mother is in Jersey… and his dad’s somewhere on the south coast… and…’
‘But his wife’s here,’ Zak said quickly. ‘Isn’t she?’
I jolted in my seat. Was she? His wife? Renza? Was Scott secretly married? Had someone phoned her and got her to fly over from Germany?
‘Ah, yes,’ Joss nodded, nudging me. ‘You’re here, aren’t you, wifey?’
‘What?’
Zak nodded, beaming at the nurse. ‘He’s married to Stella, here. I think she’s a bit upset about all this, and didn’t quite understand. But she’s his next of kin, being his wife, isn’t she?’
The nurse and the doctor looked slightly askance at me – taking in the very short black dress, the fishnet tights, the fur coat, the long pink boots, the pantomime cow eyelashes and the sequins. And the absence of a wedding ring.
I glared at Zak. He glared back.
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