Only One Woman

by Christina Jones

  We all exchanged “here we go again” looks. Sue/Lou/Prue really wasn’t Zak’s usual type at all and I wondered what would happen after the show was over.

  But all thoughts of Zak’s latest conquest went right out of my head when, half way through their final set, Narnia’s Children started playing ‘Time of the Season’.

  Oh my lord! It was a phenomenal version – so cool! My goosebumps had goosebumps. Scott was looking over at me and laughed. He’d told me they’d been rehearsing some new numbers but not which ones – which was why I really, really wasn’t prepared for the next bit.

  They swept from ‘Time of the Season’ straight into ‘Nights in White Satin’.

  Scott took lead vocals – and, without taking his eyes off me, sang them to me. Just to me…

  The club-going dancers in Lords wouldn’t have noticed – they’d all taken the opportunity to cling together for a slow dance – but it was as if there was just Scott and me and those beautiful lyrics, alone in the world.

  ‘I love you … oh, how I love you…’

  I just sat there, watching him, completely swamped by a million emotions.

  Wow! Just wow! I loved him so, so much. No one in the history of the world had ever been as much in love as I was at that moment.

  Zak was doing the harmonies and he grinned from Scott to me and back again.

  I was in heaven. Floating on cloud nine. The happiest girl in the world. It was a perfect end to a day that had started so badly and I never wanted it to end.

  But this day of highs and lows wasn’t over yet.

  When we’d all piled out of Lords into the hot, humid night, and Zak had, as promised, whisked his Dolly Rocker – who turned out to be called Prue – away to “look at the sea”, and Joss had taken Prue’s friend “for a walk”, Scott, Mo and I climbed into the van.

  ‘This isn’t the way home. We’re going the wrong way,’ I frowned at Mo.

  ‘We’re not,’ he grinned. ‘Hold on tight for the magical mystery tour.’

  I wriggled round on Scott’s lap and looked at him. ‘Do you know where we’re going?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘Wait and see.’

  ‘Are you being enigmatic?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I hate you.’

  ‘I know.’

  After what seemed like ages, leaving St Helier behind, climbing a switchback hill, and driving past rows of darkened houses and cottages, then through somewhere called Five Oaks which reminded me of Gone With The Wind, and round dozens of twisty-turny bends and very narrow roads, we slowed down.

  Mo stopped the van. ‘I’ll wait here for you. You have ten minutes.’

  We got out of the van and I looked around me. I had no idea where we were.

  ‘Come on… just along here.’ Scott took my hand.

  Mystified, I clung on to his hand, as we walked along a narrow pavement in the steamy night. Buildings in total darkness loomed along one side and I could hear the sea.

  Then, as we rounded a bend, ahead of us, I saw it!

  Mont Orgueil Castle! In all its glory!

  It was enormous – a proper, crenelated centuries-old castle, exactly like the postcards only a hundred million times better! Illuminated with white spotlights from the base, it towered up into the black sky, with the multi-coloured rainbow lights sweeping over the huge walls and lofty battlements and dropping down into the sea and then spreading out across the water, rippling gently with the tide.

  We sat on the sea wall, close together and I wanted to cry with happiness.

  The castle and the lights were breathtakingly spectacular and one of the most beautiful things I’d ever seen. I stared and stared at it, knowing I’d never forget this moment.

  ‘Thank you.’ I kissed Scott. ‘Just thank you.’

  ‘I know how much you wanted to see it. And as there won’t be many more opportunities, I knew it’d have to be tonight.’

  It took a few moments for the implication of those words to sink in

  ‘What…?’

  He sighed. ‘Stephan has been in touch with the owner of Lords. He told me tonight – we’ve got to cut our residency short. We’re coming back again apparently to finish the season later, but Stephan has got us a lot of gigs on the mainland and wants us to promo “Livin’ With You” to a wider audience.’

  ‘The guy in the dinner jacket that you were talking to tonight? Was that him…? Was that when…?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  My heart sank. All the happiness seeped away in the cold, painful realisation. ‘So – I’ll be going home? And you…?’

  ‘I’ve been told that Stephan has arranged for us to go back to Leighton Buzzard to start with while we fulfil the bookings, then back here for a short time to finish the season. He’s currently looking for a permanent place for us to live in London. London is where it’s all happening, of course.’

  Oh, of course.

  ‘And – when…?’

  ‘I’m not sure. Soon, I guess. Apparently Stephan’s going to ring me sometime with all the details. Don’t worry, Twinkle. It’ll be ok.’

  But it wouldn’t – I just knew it wouldn’t. I’d be leaving Jersey, and Scott – and I’d have to go home and face an entirely different kind of music...

  Stella’s Diary

  July 10th 1969

  Oh, cruel fate! Or karma! Or whoever is up there pulling the strings! Just when I thought things couldn’t get any worse…

  It was late morning, and we were all sitting in the garden, waiting for Stephan’s phone call which still hadn’t come – well, Scott and I were waiting – Eva was immersed in a glossy magazine and Holly was tunnelling under the sandpit with a miniature excavator.

  I’d long given up hoping that Stephan had changed his mind and cancelled the mainland gigs and we’d all stay here for ever. I just wished he’d make the damn phone call and get it over.

  And I’d kept telling myself that if Narnia’s Children were going back to the mainland at the same time as I was, and would be living at Leighton Buzzard – at least for a while – then there’d be nothing to stop me going back there. We could re-live those happy-go-lucky days from the start of the year… yes, I’d be leaving Jersey – but it would be ok… Scott and I could still be together. Maybe it would be ok, as he’d said.

  The phone rang.

  Eva went to answer it. Scott and I looked at one another. I held my breath. It had to be Stephan. I’d soon know how long I had left.

  Eva re-appeared in the doorway. ‘Scott! Call for you! Your girlfriend’s on the phone!’

  He leapt up bit too quickly for my liking, then looked at me, and hurried indoors.

  I just groaned and sank further down into my deckchair. Renza! That was all I needed.

  Eva stood beside me. ‘Do you fancy going out to lunch?’

  ‘Me?’

  ‘Yes, you. I’m going to lunch with some friends. I think it would do you good to come along as well…’ she indicated the house. ‘Leave him alone for a while, maybe? Try not to think about it. Oh, damn him – this is so awkward – come on, let’s leave them to it.’

  ‘But,’ I looked down at my shorts and the floaty shirt. ‘I’m not dressed for going out to lunch. I’ll need to get changed.’

  ‘Believe me, you’re perfectly dressed for lunch with Francoise and Marcel – as you’ll discover.’

  ‘But won’t they mind? An extra person – a stranger – turning up?’

  ‘Not at all – they’re very laid-back. Come on, grab your bag and whatever else you need and let’s go.’

  We went. Without saying anything to Scott. I glanced in through the open doorway as we were climbing into Eva’s car, and he was sitting on the bottom stair, talking and smiling.

  Oh, hell! Hell! Hell!

  We drove, with Holly as ever playing with her fleet on the back seat, through what seemed like dozens and dozens of narrow frondy lanes which were about wide enough for a careful bicycle. I
felt sick. Lunch with strangers was the absolutely last thing I wanted to be doing – but I certainly didn’t want to have stayed behind either and listened to Scott sweet-talking to Renza.

  ‘I have no idea what to say to you about this,’ Eva looked across at me. ‘Except, as you’ve always known about Renza, then the fact that they’re still in touch can’t be that much of a shock. Although I suppose him writing letters is one thing, actually talking to her in front of you is quite another. I’m assuming Renza has no idea that you’re here?’

  ‘I don’t know. I shouldn’t think so. We never talk about her. It wouldn’t be fair.’

  Eva laughed. ‘Ok – then it’s all a bit odd, isn’t it? His relationship with you. I honestly think he means to marry her and…’

  ‘Oh, so do I,’ I said bitterly. ‘I’ve never been in any doubt about that. The difference is that he loves me but he’s in love with Renza.’

  ‘Subtle,’ Eva changed gear abruptly as we started to chug more slowly across a field. ‘Sorry. Yes, I suppose that would make a difference.’

  ‘It does. It always has. I think he met me at the wrong time in one way – but at the right time in another. He and Renza were going to have to be apart, and I kind of filled the gap until they could be together again. I do know that if Renza hadn’t gone to Germany then Scott and I would never have happened.’

  ‘You have no illusions about my son, have you?’ Eva stopped the car in what seemed like a small wood.

  ‘None whatsoever.’

  We got out of the car and Holly ran on ahead.

  ‘After you’ve gone home – when all this is over, I hope we can stay in touch,’ Eva said. ‘I’d like that.’

  ‘So would I. But not because…’

  ‘I’m Scott’s mother? No, simply because we like one another.’

  I nodded. It didn’t matter. I’d never come back to Jersey, we didn’t have a phone at home, and I somehow couldn’t see Eva and me exchanging chatty letters when Renza was her daughter-in-law.

  However, it was nice of her to say it.

  Marcel and Francoise lived in a sort of prefabricated chalet in the middle of nowhere. They may have had French names but they had Jersey accents. They wore very hippie clothes and dreadlocks and had a brood of tanned, scruffy, happy children.

  They welcomed me with open arms.

  They obviously knew all about me, and didn’t seem to mind me squashing up round their tiny table while all the children, including Holly, ate bread and cheese and fruit outside in the dusty garden.

  Eva and Francoise did all the talking. Marcel smoked a joint – yes, I was shocked! – and picked at some meat from a large platter. I had no idea what half the things were and wasn’t hungry anyway, so I just ate some bread and some very runny cheese and what I thought was a gherkin but wasn’t and drank every glass of wine that was poured for me.

  I’d rarely had wine. At home, we always had a bottle of Sauternes with Christmas dinner – just the one bottle – and I didn’t like it at all. I didn’t like this wine much either. I did however like the warm, hazy, drowsy numbing sensation it gave me. As no one talked to me, I just sat and drank and smiled.

  It was the happiest I’d been all day.

  Stella’s Diary

  July 11th 1969

  So now I knew. And it was far, far worse than I’d imagined.

  The eventual phone call from Stephan to Scott this morning confirmed that Narnia’s Children would be returning to the mainland and Leighton Buzzard within days.

  A second phone call from Renza to Scott this morning confirmed that – obviously Scott had mentioned the change in plans to her during the previous day’s call – she’d checked and would be able to join them there.

  Oh joy!

  Scott, to give him his due, managed to break all this to me in the briefest and kindest way possible.

  I knew I had to accept it. All of it. But I didn’t want to. I wanted to stuff my fingers in my ears and close my eyes until it had all gone away.

  Instead I asked Eva to run me to St Helier so I could use my return ticket to book a seat on the next ferry leaving as soon as possible. She did. It was going to be on Monday. Early. On Monday, in three days’ time, I’d be home in Harbury Green and I’d never see Scott again.

  I can’t put into words how desolate any of this was. I had never, ever felt so unhappy, so heartbroken, so torn apart. So bloody awful!

  I rang Mum at the school – they had to go and fetch her out of the classroom and into the office, something I knew was frowned on – and told her when the ship would dock at Weymouth and to ask Dad to pick me up. She was quite short with me – clearly not having forgiven me for bringing the wrath of the Official Secrets Act to her door. She also said she’d let the Atomic know when I’d be home too as they’d promised to do so.

  She did soften a bit at the end and say she’d missed me and would be so happy to have me home safe and sound. This made me cry and she said she’d have to go before she cried and made a show of herself in front of the headmistress.

  It was over – truly over – and the knowledge was really killing me now.

  Stella’s Diary

  July 14th 1969

  The end of Jersey. The end of the mad, insane, perfect, incredible dream.

  In the beautiful golden light of a Jersey morning, I went home on The Caesarea, The Sarnia’s sister-ship. Narnia’s Children and all their band gear would be flying back to the mainland and then on to Leighton Buzzard tomorrow. I had no idea what Renza’s travel plans were.

  I’d thanked Dan and Eva for their hospitality and for making me feel so welcome and so at home, and kissed Holly goodbye. And I’d cried as we drove away from the house that had become my second home for the last two months.

  Scott had come to see me off. I didn’t want him to. There was no point.

  He tenderly kissed me goodbye on the quayside and, falling apart, I pulled away, turned round and didn’t look back.

  ‘Stella – listen – I’ll let you know what’s happening as soon as I can,’ he shouted as I reached the gangplank. ‘I’ll write. I promise.’

  I turned then and shook my head. ‘Ok. Thank you for everything… I’ve had a fab time – oh, and be happy…’

  ‘Stella…’

  But I got barged and bumped up and on to The Caesarea’s deck and was out of sight and earshot within minutes.

  I’d booked a seat on one of the lower decks, and just sat there amidst a crowd of strangers, hugging my Samsonite suitcase and my tote bag and my memories.

  It was nothing like the exciting, exhilarating, joyous journey out. This voyage was slow and sick-making and suited my mood. And to make it worse, someone had a transistor radio and ‘Proud Mary’ was playing. The owner of the radio said how appropriate it was as we were on a big ship too and he and all his companions kept singing the damn song over and over again. All it did was make me remember Lords and Jonno playing it and the memory hurt so much that I cried.

  Dad was there at Weymouth when I eventually emerged. I knew it must have been hard for him to get a day off at such short notice. I hugged him and he hugged me and said I was as brown as a berry and he hoped I’d had a great time and how much they’d missed me.

  He carried on chattering as we left Weymouth but when I didn’t answer him, he looked at me, squeezed my hand and stopped talking. Bless him, he never even mentioned the Official Secrets Act thing at all.

  All too soon we were back in Harbury Green. It was a glorious summer evening and if I’d still been in Jersey I’d have been getting ready to leave for Lords. The thought just killed me. I hurt so much I could hardly breathe.

  I just managed to stroke the over-excited dogs and cats, and hug and kiss mum and say no I didn’t want anything to eat, before flying upstairs, hurling myself on my bed and sobbing as if my heart would break.

  Renza’s Diary

  July 16th 1969

  I’ve been thinking a lot lately about Scott and me ever since reading abo
ut long-distance relationships in one of Mum’s magazine Agony Aunt columns; well, thinking about it in a more determined way. This cannot continue. I have to know what’s really going on. I can’t stand the long wait for letters and the feeling that there is unfinished business between us. It’s horrid being a suspicious, moaning misery, and I can’t stand it here any longer. I need to begin making serious plans to get back to England and to get a proper job so I can feel alive and part of the real world again. I’ve sent out dozens of job applications and it’s taking them forever to respond.

  I need to be around people of my own age, working and having a social life, not babysitting and working in a place I hate, with a lot of old fogies getting drunk before 4pm every working day. Life is passing me by. No one cares. All they want is what they want, not what I want or is best for me. A whole year has gone past and I’m going nowhere fast.

  Scott will either be with me or not. I want to be with him but if he doesn’t want me, then I’ll have to get over it and move on. Getting a proper job and meeting new people should take my mind off things if he dumps me. It’s not the end of the world. There’re plenty of fish in the sea. Trouble is I don’t want another fish, I want Scott. Oh, what am I to do, someone tell me?

  Renza’s Diary

  July 17th 1969

  ***

  The BBC film crew have been and gone and I hardly saw any of them. They set up cameras in the various workshops and filmed interviews with some of the longest serving German civilian staff, the local police and Rathaus officials, as well as the army and MoD bigwigs, and there was a demonstration of a Centurion tank being serviced and then a Saracen scout car guns were fired a few times. All too flipping exciting for words. The film crew came into the office but I was kept out of the way in case they discovered I was English. Apparently the base wasn’t supposed to employ ‘dependents’ family members. Nepotism and all that. So I watched everything from afar. Not that I cared. All in all there was nothing worth telling Scott about. I don’t even know if or when it will be broadcast. No-one seemed to know. Dad said they were a right bunch of camp ‘luvvies,’ whatever that meant.