Please Don't Stop The Music

by Jane Lovering

  ‘Jem, I –’

  ‘NOW, Rosie!’

  I’m not usually this stern. Hell, I’m not usually stern at all. In fact I’m Miss Pussycat Pushover, but it had the desired effect. Rosie went all kind of limp and turned for the stairs as if she’d had a run in with a stage hypnotist. Harry stopped crying and gaped at me, with his mouth all round and just the right size and shape for the bottle teat I shoved between his lips a few moments later.

  I stared down at his blissful little face as he sucked and wondered what the hell I was doing. Middle of the night and I’m feeding someone else’s baby while they go and sleep. When did I get so altruistic? Although I had to admit it was nice, snuggled up while Harry fed, watching his body relax. Like being a mother without all the tedious nine months being sick and getting fat stuff. And no saggy belly or enormous tits either.

  As though even the merest thought of enormous tits had beamed out through the ether, there came a tap at the window and Jason’s shifty profile pressed itself against the glass. ‘Anyone up in there?’ he hissed.

  ‘Only me.’

  ‘Oh. I just finished pulling an all-nighter, saw the light was on. Got any coffee that doesn’t taste like it’s already passed seven sets of kidneys?’

  I shuffled to open the door, Harry tucked under my arm. ‘All right, but can you whisper? I’ve sent Rosie off to bed and I don’t want her to find any excuse to come back down.’

  ‘’Kay.’ Jason kicked his boots off and came in. ‘I’ll put the kettle on then, yeah?’

  Harry’s eyes began to close and his sucking eased off. He became a warm, damp weight in the crook of my arm and by the time Jason came back into the tiny living room bearing two steaming mugs and a spare packet of biscuits, Harry was fast asleep.

  ‘Rosie been working then?’

  I laid Harry down on the sofa so that I could take my mug. I’d only once attempted to hold a hot drink whilst cuddling him, and Rosie’s resultant screech had been audible in Dorset.

  ‘You know what Rosie’s like for not wanting to let anyone down, if she’s told Saskia that the cards will be ready tomorrow then she’ll kill herself in the attempt.’ I stared at Harry’s downy little head. ‘I’m a bit worried about Rosie, actually.’

  ‘Mmm?’ Jason looked at me over the rim of his mug. ‘What about her?’

  ‘She’s just so tired. Is it natural?’

  Jason lowered his eyes, giving me a glimpse of his fantastic long eyelashes. They were one of his major pulling attractions, apparently, although I had pointed out to him that camels have beautiful eyelashes despite smelling like a suitcase of offal. ‘When Viv had her kids, she was knackered most of the time. I remember Lance – that’s the brother-in-law – told me he hadn’t had a decent shag in four years.’

  ‘Jason, please!’

  ‘You asked.’ Jason blew steam. ‘So, yeah. Reckon it’s natural. But if she can get plenty of rest she’ll be fine.’

  I yawned a huge yawn that made my jaws creak. ‘So you won’t mind keeping an eye on Harry for what’s left of the night then? Since you’re awake anyway.’

  He slumped down on the sofa next to Harry. ‘OK. Seeing as you’re so persuasive and all, I’ll watch him ’til one of you gets up. Can I help myself to your cornflakes?’

  I yawned again. ‘Sure. They’re Rosie’s anyway.’

  ‘By the way.’ Jason began rummaging in the pocket of his overalls. ‘You got another e-mail from your man. I printed it out so you wouldn’t have to yomp over to the workshop.’

  ‘Privacy, Jason? It’s not just a word that means being alone long enough for a wank, you know. Anyway, I thought I changed my password.’

  ‘You did. I watched. Honest, Jem, “Christian”? What kinda password is that? Never figured you for a God-botherer.’

  ‘I didn’t know one of your sisters had children.’ I took the much-folded piece of paper from him, resisting the urge to start reading.

  ‘Yeah. Jasper and Freddie. Names right out of the lost-puppy handbook, but they’re okay. How about you, Jem, you’re not an only child are you?’

  ‘How do you know that?’ I sounded frosty but Jason didn’t seem to notice.

  ‘Rosie and I, we got talking about you. Just after you come here it was. What with you bein’ all mysterious and all. She said you couldn’t be an only, ’cos you’re too good at arguing.’

  ‘I bet she didn’t say it like that though.’ I forced myself to relax, uncurling my fists.

  ‘Nah. I’m just translating her words into the lingua franca. It means the language we have in common,’ he added, seeing my face.

  ‘Yes, I know what it means …’

  ‘… but you’re surprised I do? Yeah, I know a thing or two, I went to Roedean.’

  ‘Jason, Roedean is a girls’ school.’

  Jason gave me a wicked smile. ‘Yeah it’s amazing what you can pick up from those posh bints when you’re giving ’em one up the Pavilion.’

  I shuddered. ‘That had better not be a euphemism, and if it is, please don’t tell me.’

  His wicked smile widened and his eyebrows waggled. He was reaching for the digestive biscuits as I took myself off up the stairs back to bed.

  Chapter Five

  When I came down next morning – although actually it was the same morning, but later and it felt like another day altogether – Jason was sprawled asleep along the sofa with Harry sprawled asleep on him. They were snoring in contented unison, although I was glad to notice that the spreading stain of damp along Harry’s bottom wasn’t mirrored by anything Jason might have done.

  I inched into the kitchen, put the kettle on and poured myself a bowl of muesli which I’d just started to eat when I was joined by Rosie. She looked pinker and better rested than she had at any time since Harry was born.

  ‘How are you?’ I asked carefully.

  ‘Oh, Jem.’ Her hands went to her black curls and she tugged at them distractedly. ‘I am so sorry about last night. I was exhausted, but I had to keep doing the cards and then Harry wouldn’t settle and –’

  ‘It’s fine. Honestly, Rosie. Harry went off like a lamb and he’s been asleep ever since. It’s probably the best night’s sleep he’s had since he arrived. Courtesy of our Jason there.’

  We both peeped around the living room door. ‘Bless him.’ Rosie’s face curved into a fond smile. ‘Aren’t they lovely when they’re asleep?’

  ‘I’m not sure “lovely” is a word I’d associate with Jason, but I guess he has a certain charm.’

  ‘I meant Harry. But, yes, Jem, why don’t you have a go at dating Jason? I think he’d be really good for you.’

  ‘Rosie, do you actually like me at all?’

  ‘He’s not that bad.’ Rosie dared another look through the doorway. ‘He’s quite cute, you have to admit. All leggy, and he does have a fantastic bum. And he’d take you out, you’d meet people, rather than being stuck between here and the workshop with your occasional forays into York, where you only seem to meet freaks and loonies.’

  ‘And Saskia.’

  ‘This is the sound of me resting my case.’ Rosie poured herself a bowl of cornflakes, while I made us two cups of tea. ‘Unless – forgive me for this, Jem, but you aren’t into girls are you?’

  The kettle carried on tipping while I stared at her and boiling water puddled on the floor. ‘Just because I’d rather eat my own ears than date Jason doesn’t make me gay, Rosie.’

  ‘I know. It’s just – well, I really don’t know much about you, Jem and it’s times like this that I realise it. After all, you never talk about yourself, do you? Before you came here I mean. All I know is that you’re from somewhere down south. You don’t flirt, you don’t date, you’re like some kind of woman of mystery type thing. Assuming you’ve not been recruited by MI5 to spy on the comings and goings of a deranged new mother and a bonkers artist – why the secrecy?’

  ‘It isn’t secrecy.’

  ‘Really? When we first met we were just sort of drinking
mates so I never really asked questions, and then when I found out Harry was on the way I guess I needed a friend, what with my family being so far away and all my other friends still thinking E’s and vodka make a great night out. Particularly when I couldn’t even think about vodka without throwing up. Asking about your background wasn’t really on my list of things to do, not when I had a waistline the size of Montana and a memory like … what do they call those things that have holes in?’

  ‘Honestly, Rosie, there’s no secrets.’ I bent down to retrieve a dropped spoon, taking care to hide my expression behind my hair. ‘I’ve led a very boring life and I came to York to start selling my belt buckles and jewellery in a city where I thought there’d be more opportunities. That’s all.’

  Rosie gave me a long look. ‘I’ve known you for, what, eighteen months now? And you’ve always been a good friend, always stood by me. And, after last night, I owe you one. But you can’t blame me for being curious, Jem. I’m sorry if you think I’m prying.’

  I gave her a quick hug. ‘Nah. I’m just hiding my ordinariness and mundanity by being inscrutable, that’s all.’

  From the next room came the sound of an enormous fart and Jason saying, ‘Whoah, sorry mate. Forgot you was there, like,’ and Harry gurgling.

  Rosie began spooning up her cereal. ‘I take back everything. I wouldn’t want you going out with that. Unless you had your own wind-turbine, then he’d save you a fortune.’

  ‘It’s got to be his looks they go for. Surely. It’s not his urbane manner, that’s for certain.’

  Jason came into the kitchen with Harry tucked in front of him. Harry was beaming as though he’d seen the funniest thing ever. ‘Two blokes in need of breakfast coming through.’

  ‘Do you always fart like that first thing in the morning?’ Rosie pushed the muesli packet towards Jason and began to unbutton her blouse.

  He winked. ‘Wouldn’t you like to know darling.’

  Rosie and I did a joint grimace. ‘Er, no.’

  ‘Anyway, ladies, I better run, catch meself some shut-eye before today kicks off. If you’ve not got any bacon?’

  ‘No, sorry.’ And Rosie raised herself on tiptoe and gave Jason a kiss on the cheek. ‘Thanks for last night, Jason.’

  Jason turned his head slowly and gave her a lip-smacking snog which went on until Harry, deprived of his promised feed, squawked. ‘Don’t mention it, babe.’ And with a leer that was probably visible from Lancashire, he let himself out of the cottage.

  Rosie was even pinker. ‘Bloody hell,’ she said. ‘Sorry, Harry but, bloody hell!’ She breathed out until her fringe rose several inches. ‘I think I just found out how he gets all those girls.’ She sat down on one of the little stools and clasped Harry to her chest.

  ‘Good was it?’

  She blew again. ‘Phew. Put it this way, if I didn’t feel like I could launch jumbo-jets out of my lower regions, I’d give him a go.’ She looked down at Harry’s busily sucking face. ‘If he’d promise not to speak.’

  ‘Or fart.’

  She patted Harry’s bottom. ‘So. Are you down at the workshop today or what?’

  ‘Thought I’d go back into town. Have another crack at Saskia maybe.’

  ‘Or …’ Rosie peeped at me from under her hair. ‘Have another crack at the bloke you left your stuff with.’

  ‘He sent me another e-mail last night asking me to pick up the money I made from the belt buckle. So if I do see him, it’ll be strictly business.’

  Rosie made a face. ‘You should invite him over. We could all have dinner – I’d cook and everything. Go on, Jem, it’d be nice for me to meet someone new.’

  ‘We don’t really have that kind of relationship. He’s a bit, I dunno, sharp. Edgy. Not dinner-party material certainly.’

  ‘Doesn’t matter. Ask him anyway. I could do my Mexican bean thing and Jase could come over and we’d be like two couples eating dinner like real people, not like big fat blobbery things that never go anywhere and have to have the TV on for company.’

  I was about to laugh when I saw the shiny glimmer of tears in her eyes. ‘I’ll ask him. But don’t hold your breath.’ I stood up. ‘Better get on. You know what Saskia always says about the early bird –’

  ‘Yeah, it gets eaten by the even earlier cat.’

  ‘Quite.’

  * * *

  It felt strange to be heading into town without Harry but it was a damn sight faster. I found myself standing outside Le Petit Lapin just as Saskia’s assistant Mairi was putting the blinds up and unlocking the front door.

  ‘Is Saskia in yet?’ I asked.

  Mairi paused to consider the question. She was a stunningly lovely girl, slim as a young tree and with hair so unreasonably shiny that I was convinced it was nylon. What she wasn’t, however, was particularly bright.

  ‘Well, she was going over to the Harrogate shop first thing,’ was her final and very considered answer. ‘But I heard someone moving about in the back.’

  ‘Could be ghosts.’ I squinted through the trendily dark windows to see whether Saskia still had any of my pieces on display.

  ‘You think so? You hear so many stories, don’t you, about these old buildings? Across the road there, they swear they’ve got plague victims buried in the garden.’ Mairi followed me up the step and into the shop. ‘I don’t know what I’d do if I saw a ghost. What would you do, Jemima?’

  ‘I’d probably try to sell it something,’ I muttered, looking around the new improved interior of Le Petit Lapin. Saskia had swept away the hanging displays and the little cluttered corners which had been ideal for browsing. Instead a few choice examples of what I supposed must be native art stood in the centre of the floor reflected in long mirrors. I stared and wondered which long-term institution the manufacturers were natives of.

  ‘Gorgeous, isn’t it?’ Saskia swept into view. The mirrors reflected her too; it was like being surrounded by Lucrezia Borgia. ‘It’s called “Femininity”.’

  I looked closer at the largest item. ‘It’s a twig.’

  Saskia flipped her hair. ‘That remark just shows how little you understand about Art, Jemima. That is a central representation of the essential core of womanhood. It’s American.’

  ‘Right.’ I stared a bit longer. ‘Americans must be very different, if that’s their essential core. Looks like a bit of old firewood. Are they flammable generally, Americans?’

  Saskia turned her back and began fussing with a small glass case containing what looked like a phial of urine. ‘Did you want something Jemima? Mairi darling, put the machine on would you, I’m absolutely dying for an espresso.’

  I made the sign of the cross behind her back but she didn’t crumble to dust as I was hoping. ‘I was just wondering if you’d thought any more about carrying on selling my jewellery.’ Even I could hear the note of desperation. ‘You must be able to find somewhere to put it. Now you’ve got all this space. Or, you could stock it over in Harrogate, I wouldn’t mind travelling over there with stuff, if you wanted.’

  ‘Jemima.’ Saskia looked up at the ceiling. ‘Take a teeny tiny peek around you. What do you see?’

  ‘Space. Loads of it.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘And a twig.’

  Saskia spun around. ‘Shall I tell you what you can see, Jemima? Shall I? Class, that is what it is. Class, exclusivity, rare items available only to the discerning purchaser. Now while I admit that your pieces are lovely, they are a little – oh how to put this to cause the least offence? – they are a little obvious. Darling.’ she added as though the endearment would make me less likely to want to kill her. ‘Mairi, do we still have any of those invitations to our official re-opening?’

  Mairi tippytoed forwards on her immaculate little feet. ‘There’s still a pile here,’ she pointed out helpfully. ‘And over here.’

  ‘Right.’ Saskia pulled a leaflet forward. ‘Look, Jemima. This is my stock. This is the clientele I am aiming at.’ The brochure contained photographs of Sask
ia herself, often holding various odd items. In many she was standing next to people who had the sharp edges and branded hairstyle of the upper class. Everyone wore plastic cocaine smiles and showed too many teeth. ‘But do come to the opening, darling.’

  I stared at the shiny oblong. ‘When is it?’ I asked dully.

  A perfect nail tapped. ‘Next week. You never know you might make some contacts there. I am inviting all sorts of people, even the kind that might buy your things. Chavs with money, you know.’

  Even though I knew this had been a futile errand I still felt slightly sick. ‘Who’s the celebrity you’ve got to do the honours then?’ I asked, reading the gothic typescript.

  Saskia looked uncharacteristically shifty. ‘I’ve a few names up my sleeve,’ she said, turning to reposition her centrepiece in a way to make it look less like something swept in on a breeze. ‘Contacts, darling. That’s what it’s all about. Take some invitations. Bring all your friends.’ She smirked. I was hardly known for my huge social circle. ‘There will be nibbles but if I were you I’d eat first.’

  Mairi and I exchanged a look. She had my pity, at least I could walk away. ‘Thank you,’ I said trying to be graceful in defeat. ‘I shall look forward to it.’

  ‘Hmmm. Now, Mairi, I wonder if you’d mind getting up onto the balcony with a duster …’

  I left them to it. Shoved the almost frictionless glossy invites into my back pocket and decided to go round to Ben’s shop. He’d got some money for me and the way things were going he was my last, best hope. I had my website but that was never going to make me my fortune. I usually sold my smaller pieces that way; they were cheaper to post, easier to pack and a little bit more wearable than the big statement items I placed in shops … the shop.

  Which surprised me by having two of my buckles in the window. One was attached to an enormous black leather belt draped over a dayglo-green guitar. It looked surprisingly sexy and also a little bit like an offensive weapon. The other buckle was attached to Ben, who was stacking amps to one side to make room for a cardboard cut-out figure I didn’t recognise.