Please Don't Stop The Music

by Jane Lovering

  I gave a half-laugh. ‘D’you think so?’

  Rosie looked over in Ben’s direction. He was leaning against a wall with his head cocked, while a woman in a mesh dress talked at him. ‘Oh, yes. He’s got something. I don’t know what it is, presence or glamour, one of those show biz things. The women are all looking at him. Bet that’s bugging Jason, he’s used to being the centre of attention in crowds like this.’

  She was right. Women would glance Ben’s way, look somewhere else for a second, then look back as if to check their first impressions had been right. Then their eyes would stay on him while they unconsciously fussed their hair or licked their lips. ‘He’s okay,’ I said grudgingly.

  Rosie gave me a stern look. ‘Now come on, Jem, this is me you’re talking to.’

  I looked at Ben again. He’d fiddled his bow tie undone and folded his arms as if to ward off the roomful of people. ‘All right yes, he’s sexy and funny and bitchy and beautiful and all that. But I don’t intend to do anything about it, neither does he. So you can cut the scheming looks.’ A thought struck me. ‘Unless you want him?’

  Ben was looking at us now. He gave me a smile and I managed a blush-free grin.

  ‘Me? God, no. I’ve got enough trouble. Look, Saskia’s wheeling out Jase, this should be fun.’ Without elaborating on what her trouble might be Rosie headed into the crowd in order to be in hearing distance of Jason’s opening speech. I went back to Ben.

  ‘I was just telling Rosie about your car. She’s always wanted an R8.’

  Ben straightened away from the wall and unfolded his arms. ‘Yeah. It’s sexy and beautiful all right.’

  By biting hard on the inside of my cheek, I managed not to react. The bloke must have ears like a bat. ‘Come on, Jason’s doing his thing now and you don’t want to miss it. Jason’s “thing” is the talk of five continents.’

  ‘Okay, now I’m jealous.’

  Jason gave his speech while I looked around the room. A photographer was busily snapping away, taking pictures of Jason, Saskia, the items on sale, everything. I watched Ben quietly getting out of the way of the camera and then it was all over and Saskia was motioning to the waiters to bring new trays of tasty morsels into the crowd. I snaffled a couple of tiny crêpes and found a quiet corner to start eating them. Unfortunately Saskia found the corner, too.

  ‘Nice to see someone with a healthy appetite. Most people here are watching their weight.’

  ‘I’m a size ten, Saskia. I’ve got no desire to be completely invisible.’

  Saskia raised an eyebrow. ‘Size ten? Really? The chain stores clothes are so forgiving, aren’t they?’

  I looked daggers at her and threw the second crêpe into my mouth. It was filled with a banana-toffee concoction which would have been absolutely wonderful if it hadn’t been accompanied by Saskia making little chewy-mouth faces of disgust. ‘Yum,’ I said to annoy her. ‘Are there any more of these?’

  ‘They go straight to your hips, you know.’ Saskia looked down at my thighs, very visible under the tight skirt. ‘Although in your case I shouldn’t think you’d notice.’

  I opened my mouth to mention the HobNobs which she stole every time she found herself in Rosie’s kitchen, and seemed to believe were negatively calorific, but thankfully, just then Ben came lolloping along carrying a plate onto which he’d rescued a selection of delicacies. Saskia’s eyes opened wide. ‘Hello,’ she purred. ‘I haven’t had the pleasure of being introduced to you. I’m Saskia Winterington, but then, you’ll know that of course.’

  Saskia held out her hand at arm’s length, limp wristed. I wasn’t sure if she wanted to fend Ben off (although that seemed laughably unlikely), or have her hand kissed. Ben juggled the plate for a moment then passed it to me. ‘I’m Ben Davies.’ He took Saskia’s hand and shook it very definitely. ‘I’m stocking some of Jemima’s jewellery.’

  ‘Hmm.’ Saskia retook her hand and looked Ben up and down. ‘Well, you’re clearly not a member of the Board of Trade, I’d certainly remember you at meetings!’ She gave a little laugh, but her eyes stayed fixed on his face. Slowly she reached across and brushed a hair from the collar of his jacket, pausing her hand on his shoulder for far longer than was necessary. ‘Do come and tell me what you think of my collection,’ she said, still gazing into his eyes. ‘I’ll give you the names of some of my suppliers if you like.’ Pressing her body into his, Saskia hooked her arm through Ben’s and tugged him towards the back of the shop, pausing on her way through to make sure everyone noticed her in the company of the good-looking stranger.

  I burned. The taste of toffee-banana had gone from my mouth, replaced by a sourness that etched into my teeth as I watched him walk away. Was this jealousy, this bitter raging which seemed to reach up from my stomach and pull my skin hotly around me? But Ben and I were – what, friends? Business partners? He was nothing to me that should provoke this upwelling, this sense that I was about to vomit bricks. I watched them cross the shop, Saskia bending to talk into Ben’s ear and familiarly hug him against her in the crowd, and I wanted to kill someone.

  Across the room Rosie was laughing, engrossed in conversation with three men she’d been introduced to by Alex, who looked very dashing tonight in a slightly colonial way. There was no sign of Jason but a tight knot of women in a corner were whooping and giggling in a way that indicated he was somewhere in their midst. No-one came to speak to me, well-clad elbows poked at me and shoes so pointed that their wearers must have had flippers for feet clipped my toes and ankles. There was a muzzy haze of noise and wine-breath filling the air and I began to feel claustrophobic.

  This was not my life. I felt as though I’d fallen through a hole into some kind of alter-existence where someone like me had no business being.

  The back of the shop was cooler. A small door led into the office and store rooms. It wasn’t locked so I slipped through into the fresh air beyond. Apart from a couple engaged in a frantic snogging session on Saskia’s leather sofa-ette, the space was empty and I felt the tension begin to ease from my shoulders. Alone, I could cope with alone. I carefully avoided the kissing couple’s eyes and went through into the little stock room beyond the office. Through here the noise was muffled, the smell of several hundred perfumed bodies gave way to the York night air and an open window somewhere in the building let a cool draught fan my hot face. I sat down on the corner of a big box and took off my shoes to let my feet have a rest, flapping my shirt free. I was wearing a belt with one of my own buckles, a small piece made from gold wire leaves and acorns. Saskia’s entire guest list seemed to be made up of people who already had so much jewellery it was a wonder they could stand up. I sighed. At least Ben seemed to be breaking out of his reclusive habits. I wondered where he was, and then hated myself for even thinking it. This was his natural habitat, his rock-star milieu. It was me who was the pretender here. I was almost swamped for a second by the knowledge I was simply acting. Playing a role, chameleon-like, that let me fit in to the background unnoticed. Wondered, just for a moment, what Ben would think if he knew just how much of me I kept hidden.

  The edges of the box I was sitting on began to dig into the back of my legs and I stood up. It was one of several all stacked up on the store room floor, gathering dust. Well, not dust exactly, Saskia had all dust caught and shot, but that faded kind of brownness that boxes take on. I wondered what was in it, what example of art that Saskia was going to sell to some unsuspecting tourist that they would spend the rest of their lives explaining to visitors as ‘ “Femininity”. Not a twig. Honestly.’

  The box lid was loose. I lifted it up to peer inside and frowned, my self-loathing temporarily forgotten. The contents looked very much like Rosie’s cards. At least the last two consignments that she’d produced for Saskia, maybe more. Puzzled, I slid the box off the one underneath and opened that. It, too, was full of stacks of Rosie’s hand-made cards. And the box on the bottom, although that had fewer cards inside. I recognised that batch as the last ones Rosie had do
ne before Harry was born.

  Why the hell was Saskia getting Rosie to produce more and more cards when she wasn’t selling them? Wasn’t even putting them on display? I looked around the room. Yes, there was the box of cards that Rosie had delivered on Sunday evening, shoved into a corner under a shelving unit. I recognised the slightly ragged tape that we’d used to seal the carton. Maybe Saskia was going to put the cards out for sale later? But that didn’t explain why they were still stacked into the boxes as they had been when we’d brought them over – they’d never even been taken out. There were loads. Saskia wouldn’t sell this many in years.

  I restacked the boxes and went out of the store room, carrying my shoes by a strap. The crowd had thinned, or at least some of the larger people had gone and the skinny girls in the wafty dresses were doing duty filling space like air pockets in soil. My brain had seized on the problem of the boxes with an eagerness that felt like gratitude. I couldn’t stop to ponder my relationship with Ben, not when there was something that needed solving.

  ‘Rosie?’ I broke in on a conversation that Rosie was having with Alex. He was telling her how Oscar was born with blue eyes but that they’d turned brown by the time he was three months old – I guess you needed to be a parent to appreciate that particular chat. ‘Have you seen Ben?’

  Alex answered. ‘I think my wife took him to show him the display upstairs.’ He pointed to the staircase, still littered with people. ‘But it was a while ago so maybe he’s gone.’

  ‘I’ll go and see,’ I said but I doubted either of them heard me; they were back into heavy discussions about whether babies look like their parents from birth. I started up the iron staircase, which meant negotiating groups of people with carefully balanced wine glasses, who tutted as I pushed my way between them and carried on their well-bred conversations around my body, leaning to exclude me from any kind of contribution.

  In the upper room glass display cases stood against the walls. In the centre of the floor there was a huge square leather stool large enough to seat four comfortably, but at the moment it was only seating two. Ben was sitting in the middle and beside him was Saskia. She was kneeling, face level with his, talking earnestly into his eyes; as I watched she caught his chin as though she was about to kiss him, lowering her body at the same time until she was almost sitting on his lap. Ben hadn’t seen me come up the stairs and Saskia had her back to me. Thanking God for my bare feet, I tiptoed across the floor and tapped Saskia on the shoulder.

  ‘I think Alex might want you,’ I said as her head flipped up in shock. I indicated the staircase, just possibly giving her the impression that Alex had been right behind me. Saskia’s heels tore a neat hole in the leather as she snapped her legs back and leaped away, straightening her skirt as she stood up. She fixed me with her best imperious expression, which was only slightly ruined by her smudged lipstick.

  ‘Ben and I were talking,’ she said in a voice full of self-justification. ‘Business.’

  ‘I could tell,’ I said drily.

  Saskia pulled herself back to her feet with impressive speed and touched the back of her hand to her eyes. ‘God, don’t you just hate mascara?’ she said. ‘The way it smudges at the slightest thing? Oh, of course you’re obviously used to it, darling, cheap make-up never stays put, does it? You might want –.’ She made lipstick motions at me. ‘Just a little touch up.’ And she was gone, vanishing into the staff toilets.

  I stared at Ben.

  ‘What?’ he finally said.

  ‘Well, (a) you don’t date, (b) she’s married and the guy is downstairs, and (c) – Christ on a bike, man, she’s evil!’

  ‘(a) I wasn’t dating her, (b) she forced herself onto me and (c) yes, you’re right she’s awful but – Jeez –.’ A wicked smile spread over his face. ‘She’s good,’ he finished. ‘In an awful way, obviously.’

  ‘You’re a slut. A man-slut.’

  ‘Probably. But –’

  I stopped him with a raised hand. ‘No, don’t tell me. It wasn’t what it looked like?’

  Ben was still smiling the wicked smile. ‘Oh, well, I wouldn’t say that.’

  There was a clinging heat at the base of my neck and a deep feeling in my stomach. ‘So, you two were about to go off somewhere more “comfortable”?’

  The smile disappeared. ‘Jemima, listen.’

  ‘Oh, yeah, right, I’m going to stand here and listen to a man who’s just been caught nearly shagging a woman who makes Genghis Khan look like a rank amateur!’ I tried to spin on my heel and huff away, but spinning in bare feet on a wooden floor doesn’t work. There was a pathetic squeaky sound.

  ‘Jem.’ Ben grabbed me by my shoulders and turned me to face him. Because I’d got no shoes on he was suddenly a lot taller than me. ‘This is important. As soon as she knew I was the only person in York stocking your stuff she was absolutely crippling herself to get to me. She offered me her suppliers, she even offered to help pay to buy in some new stuff “as a trial offer”. She kept telling me you were always letting her down; she even told me you still owed her nearly ten thousand pounds for pieces you’d not delivered.’ Ben shook his head.

  ‘That is a complete and utter lie!’ I tried to pull back but the pressure of his fingers increased until I could feel each individual digit digging through my shirt. ‘I’ve never not delivered!’

  ‘Okay. But she’s got the Board of Trade members blackballing you from their shops. She’s absolutely serious. In fact I was quite scared at one point.’

  ‘That point being just before I arrived, then.’

  ‘I wanted to see how far she would go.’

  I snorted. ‘All the way, by the look of the two of you!’

  ‘Jem.’ Ben let go of my shoulders and let his hands fall by his sides. ‘I thought I was doing you a favour. She was the one pulling the all-over body approach, not me. I don’t do that. So I’m sorry if you – But we’re just friends, you and me.’

  He smelled spicy. Warm and green and slightly of leather. His bow tie was hanging loose around his collar and he’d undone the top button of his shirt where his hair kept getting caught. I wasn’t sure whether to be glad of his words or whether to stab him with one of the nicely sharp items on display.

  ‘It’s OK,’ I said at last, to somewhere over his shoulder.

  ‘I didn’t want you to get the wrong … I mean, it’s nothing personal, it’s me.’

  ‘You don’t have to say anything.’ I was still talking to the shop wall. Couldn’t meet his eyes. Didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Didn’t know whether I was misreading the situation or not. Didn’t even know why I was so angry.

  ‘I’m not going to. This is it, end of conversation.’

  There was a flurry on the stairs and Rosie appeared looking breathless. ‘Oh, Jem, there you are! Shall we get a taxi back, only I don’t want to keep the babysitter past midnight and I think Jason’s taking someone home.’ Then she looked at both of us. ‘Sorry, did I interrupt something?’

  ‘No!’ Ben and I spoke together.

  I turned to him. ‘I’d better go.’

  ‘Yeah, me too.’ There was a pause. ‘I’ve … I have another appointment tomorrow. Would you be free to come and mind the shop in the afternoon? About three?’

  ‘I’m not sure.’ I couldn’t avoid looking at him any longer but was surprised when I did. He looked closed in, as though he was in pain. As he had the first time we’d met. ‘I’ll e-mail you in the morning.’

  We all went down together. In the main shop Saskia was the centre of attention again. She was standing with her arms around Alex, holding forth on how having Oscar had been the single most enriching experience of her life.

  ‘I thought marrying Alex was her most enriching experience,’ muttered Rosie as we headed out of the door. ‘Although I suppose there’s always the Child Benefit. Harry’s enriched me to the tune of twenty quid a week, bless him.’

  Ben waved a hand in goodbye and set off towards Wilberforce Crescent without looking
back.

  ‘Did you piss him off?’ Rosie asked as we went in search of a taxi. She turned around to watch Ben walk out of sight. ‘You really shouldn’t piss off men with backsides like that. Roooooaaawwww!’

  I couldn’t answer her. My mind was too full of questions. Why on earth was Saskia lying to Ben about me not delivering? To stop him taking my buckles? Which begged the next question – why was Saskia trying to stop anyone stocking my stuff? And why was she buying in so much of Rosie’s output that her entire back room was packed with it? Consistency might not be Saskia’s middle name, but this was ridiculous!

  And what did I really want from Ben Davies?

  * * *

  4th May

  Tonight. Where do I start? You were right (again, shit man, all those degrees weren’t wasted after all) writing it down does help. Gets my head straight. Though I still hate knowing you read it.

  Jemima and I were at this party, nothing special, local kinda thing. She looked – oh, so good. Preppy; white shirt and a skirt, with real hot heels, she has fantastic legs – I’m, like, so fired up. She’s talking to her friend (about me!) and she’s looking at me across the room, and her eyes … there are no words for it. Not in English, anyway.

  She’s changed somehow. It’s like she had this shell, something she’d crawled inside to keep her safe, and now it’s got this crack which is scaring her stupid but she’s glad of it, in a kind of way. Does that make sense? Like she almost wants me to see through, to put my eye to the fissure and see the real woman inside.

  And I … I want to. But to do that, to let her open up to me, then I have to give something back, don’t I? So tonight … I was going to tell her. After the party I was going to take her home, sit her down and talk. Really talk, like I’ve not done in … how many years now? And then, maybe … when she knew, then she’d have the confidence to tell me what it is that’s got her so terrified. Or maybe she’d want to run. Either way, her choice. Only, I wrecked it.