Please Don't Stop The Music

by Jane Lovering

  Oh, my intentions were good, at least I think they were … or did I do it on purpose? Did I know that Jem would come looking for me tonight? A little part of me in the back of my head says yeah, course I did – what was she going to do, leave without me? So. Okay. Yeah. I talked my way into being invited upstairs, then kept talking.

  And this is the hard bit. Come on, do it, come out, say it. I did it because I was scared.

  At first it was legit, wanted to find out what was going on. Some dirty dealings going down, doc, nothing for you to ask questions about. Nothing to do with you, or me. But I was curious, and it was screwing Jem up so I …

  And Jem saw. Feel a bit sorry for the other girl, I led her on maybe more than I should, but hey, she’s married, neither of us was going to do anything. I just wanted some info from her. And.. . yeah part of me wanted Jem to know that other women still want me – make her jealous. Isn’t that pathetic? Very Year 9. I thought she’d just laugh.

  But she didn’t.

  That scared me worse than anything, even that time the mic went live at Sheffield Arena and nearly killed us all. I dunno if you can understand, doc … she didn’t laugh. Suddenly whatever’s going on between me and Jem, it’s not a game any more, and if I thought I was scared before … what I saw in her face … She looked hurt. I didn’t think she was close enough to hurt like that. We were mates, friends, yeah and even that scared me, brought a whole new level to things but … if she got hurt just seeing me with someone else – shit, how much more is she going to get hurt if she finds out about me? So I ran. Blew her out, and ran.

  And now the music in my head is playing those two falling notes, like something is on its way.

  I am so screwed.

  * * *

  Two weeks went by achingly slowly. After the excitement of Saskia’s party there was nothing to look forward to. Not that we’d looked forward to it, as such, but at least it had been a communal bitching point. Now everything felt flat and listless. Rosie continued to work hard. Saskia had ordered an enormous batch of winter-themed cards ostensibly for the Christmas market. Jason dumped the skinny blonde he’d met at Le Petit Lapin and started crafting his next exhibition, if crafting is the right word. I made a few pieces and sold some necklaces on line, but was so full of the ennui that pervaded everything I could hardly work up any enthusiasm, even when the cheques arrived.

  I didn’t mention the boxes in the office or what Ben had said. Rosie was too emotionally fragile to take on board the fact that Saskia didn’t seem to want to sell her stuff. And, as she quite rightly would have said, Saskia was paying for the cards. Who cared if she was putting them on shelves or up her bottom? Saskia’s attempts to have my name expunged from the vocabularies of York residents didn’t stand up in the face of Ben’s resistance. Plus, I still had my website and sales through that were ongoing. So, if she wanted to starve me out she had quite a way to go. Not as far as I might like, but I was doing it. I was holding things together.

  Occasionally I helped Ben out in the shop, but I mostly managed to arrive as he was leaving and go as soon as he got back. We exchanged a few generalities and he asked after Rosie and Harry, but that was all. Nothing even approaching personal conversation took place and we edged around each other in the confines of the shop as though I was strapped with dynamite and he was Detonator-Man.

  He got thinner, too. If that were possible. There was a tightness in his face which sometimes made him look ill and sometimes just made him look wretched but in the spirit of the talk he’d given me I didn’t get involved. I kept busy, kept moving and kept out of his affairs. If it baffled me how a man who’d been such a talented musician, such a performer, could be happy running a little back-street shop or why a man who looked like Ben should refuse to have anything to do with women, I smothered the questions.

  Then one day I came in from the workshop to find Rosie crying on the sofa. She’d been intermittently tearful lately, but I had thought the worst was over. I minded Harry so that she could work, and his sleeping patterns were becoming a lot more regular, so she wasn’t losing as many hours as she had when he’d been tiny.

  ‘What’s up?’ I sat next to her. Harry waved his chunky arms in acknowledgement and grinned at me from her lap.

  ‘I’m such a failure, Jem.’ Rosie clutched Harry round his middle. ‘I’m no kind of mother for Harry. You and Jason, you’re more his parents than I am – look at the way he’s so pleased to see you! He’s never like that with me.’ She dissolved into more heaving sobs, squeezing Harry until his expression changed.

  ‘That’s rubbish. You’re his mum and he knows it.’ I patted Rosie’s back.

  ‘And Saskia’s just sent back that last lot of cards, says they’re not wintery enough so I’ve got to redo them all. And I’ve been so busy with her stuff that two other customers have withdrawn their orders, so I’ve got to turn in her cards or there won’t be enough money …’ She gulped. ‘I’ve even stopped feeding Harry.’

  ‘You’ve what?’ I looked at Harry, who was showing no real signs of malnourishment. He blew a bubble at me.

  ‘I’ve started him on formula. It’s so much easier, not having to spend hours expressing milk, sitting in that grotty little bathroom with all the mould and that black stuff that we can’t identify, with that stupid pump that doesn’t work! And all the books say that you’re supposed to breast feed for at least nine months and I didn’t even manage four! I’m crap, Jem, and it’s only a matter of time before Harry realises it.’

  I put my arms around the two of them, despite Harry’s muffled protest. ‘You’re working too hard, that’s all. How about a day out? Something to look forward to.’

  ‘I can’t. That’s the whole point. I’ve got all these cards to do. I’ve barely got time to do the laundry, let alone take time off.’

  She had got it bad. ‘Do you want me to take Harry today?’ I’d had him every day for the last week and today was supposed to be Rosie’s bonding day with him. She’d started off so well, playing with him in his doorway-hung swing, but it looked as though things had gone downhill. ‘I don’t mind.’

  ‘I already asked Jason if he’d have him,’ Rosie snottily admitted. ‘But he’s too busy as well. He’s off to London in the morning to see some consortium or other. I don’t want to ask you again, Jem, you have him so much –’

  ‘I don’t mind,’ I said. It was a bit of a lie. I’d been hoping to take Harry to the workshop where Jason would amuse him by letting him watch as he prepared his raw materials. I was beginning to worry that Harry was going to grow up a trainspotter. ‘I’ll take him out.’

  ‘Oh, if you’re going out we need some more nappies. And some sterilising tablets.’

  ‘OK, I’ll shove him in his buggy and we’ll walk up to the shop. He likes stopping off to see the cows in the top field on the way.’

  Wrong thing to say, Jemima. Rosie’s eyes clouded with tears again. ‘You see! You see! I’m his mum and I don’t even know that. I never get to see him liking cows …’ And she set off crying again, wiping her eyes on her sleeve.

  ‘Things will get better. Now, parcel him up and I’ll strap him in.’

  Rosie pulled Harry’s jacket on him. ‘It looks like rain. And the wind is chilly. If it gets too cold you will bring him back, won’t you?’

  ‘It’s the middle of summer and he’s got a raincover for the buggy.’

  ‘You think I fuss too much, don’t you? Oh God, I’m turning into one of those horrible mothers who won’t let the kids out on their own until they’re forty and brush their adult son’s hair for them and choose their clothes and –’

  ‘Bye, Rosie.’ I determinedly set off down the path with Harry cooing and gurgling his appreciation.

  We stopped, as promised, to watch the huge Friesians mooching around their field. One of them came and blew gentle breaths over the gate at Harry and, when I lifted him from his seat, ran a rough tongue over the top of his head, making him chuckle. I couldn’t help but smile myself
, it was one of those moments when I could think of my own mother without tears. Although I allowed nothing to come through but the memory of a sweetness in the air synaesthetically linked to a stroked cheek, I knew she’d loved us. I just knew it. It was something I’d held like a security blanket when everything had gone so wrong, the knowledge that we’d been loved. I gave Harry a little hug around his bulky middle as the cow puffed milk-scented air down at us, feeling a wave of something that must approach maternal love for the little boy, and wondered again how she’d felt in those last few moments. Had she worried about me and the boys as much as Rosie worried about Harry? Was she worried then? Did she know what was happening, or did it all come so quickly she didn’t even have time to think of us?

  I strapped Harry back in and pushed the buggy down to the crossroads and into the main village street. Little Gillmoor only had one shop, a grocers-cum-newsagent, where I bought the nappies and steriliser tablets as requested and partook in a minor discussion about the weather. It looked dodgy so I put the cover over the buggy. Good move. Just as we’d started our walk home the rain came.

  Typical summer rain. It didn’t float in like a mist, it dumped like an excavator. A tonne of water hit me on the head and went straight through to my bones. Harry, snug under his waterproof coating, giggled. I shivered and thought about heading back into the shop when a car pulled up behind me.

  ‘You’re wet.’

  ‘No, no, I’m fine. I like dripping.’

  It was Ben and I wouldn’t turn round.

  ‘Would you like to get in?’ He cranked something up inside and the car made a purring sound. ‘I’ve got heating.’

  I stomped back to the Audi, pushing Harry in front of me like a Roman shield. ‘What are you doing round here?’ I asked as Ben opened the passenger door to let me in. ‘Trying to pick up schoolgirls?’

  Ben looked a little less rough today. He’d only got a couple of days’ worth of stubble on his face and his hair looked clean. ‘I came to see you. To apologise. Things have been a bit shitty lately and I haven’t been coping very well. I’ve taken it out on you.’

  ‘Huh.’ I wasn’t feeling very polite. Outside in his buggy Harry began to grumble about the conditions.

  ‘Do you want to bring him in here? I could drive you both home.’

  ‘No car seat. Rosie would dismember me.’

  There was a difficult silence. Ben stared out of the windscreen and drummed his fingers on the wheel, while I kept one eye on Harry and merely squinted at Ben. He definitely looked better. Less strung-out.

  ‘I’ve thought a lot about what you said at Rosie’s dinner party.’ He didn’t take his eyes off the rain rolling down the glass.

  ‘Oh? Anything in particular or are all my words etched on your brain?’ Okay, so it was unnecessarily sarcastic, but I had wet pants and all this moody staring and silence was beginning to get on my nerves.

  ‘About getting on with my life.’

  I stared at him. ‘What’s this, the Prozac kicking in?’

  ‘Just common sense. Yours, before you make some cynical remark. I’m thirty years old, Jemima, and I’m living like some kind of medieval monk! Going with you to Saskia’s, it made me realise what I’m missing out on.’

  ‘Oh,’ I said. Wasn’t sure what he meant, was this some kind of step-down from his untouchable position? Was that a step I wanted him to take?

  ‘Anyway. Part of the getting on with life thing. I wondered if I might come round to yours one evening, cook you and Rosie a meal. If you had to come to mine then you’d be worrying about babysitters and taxis and stuff all evening. This way it’s only me that has to get home.’

  A pause. Could I hear the words ‘or I could stay over’? Were they echoing in some parallel universe?

  ‘That sounds nice.’ There was the sofa, wasn’t there? Or the workshop? He could bring a sleeping bag – ‘When?’

  ‘How about tomorrow? You don’t need to worry, I’ll bring everything. You two can just relax, all you need to do is tell me how the kitchen works.’

  ‘Hmm. Big white cold box in corner is fridge, big white hot box in other corner is oven. That’s it.’

  This time he laughed. ‘I think I can manage that. Look, the rain’s lessening up, do you want to get his Lordship back before it starts again?’

  Reluctantly I peeled myself off the heated seat, which left me with clammy buttocks. It also left Ben with a damp double-imprint where I’d been sitting. ‘Sorry. I told you I was wet.’

  ‘I shall treasure it. Six o’clock tomorrow then, yeah?’

  ‘I suppose. If you insist.’

  ‘I’m overwhelmed by your gratitude.’ But he was smiling – no, grinning. A proper grin which creased his eyes and relaxed his face and made me swallow hard.

  ‘Six o’clock. Yes, then.’ And I watched as he dropped the clutch and expertly manoeuvred the car down the twisty lane back towards the main road. I was going to address a pithy remark to Harry but he’d fallen asleep inside his condensation-filled buggy, like a boil-in-the-bag human. ‘Great. Leave me alone with my thoughts, why don’t you?’ I spoke to him anyway. ‘Just when the last thing I want is time to stand around thinking, you go to sleep. Typical man.’

  The rain lifted and the sun began slipping through starling-coloured clouds like a spotlight. I started pushing for home. I tried to distract myself with thoughts of the work I had to do: there were two wristbands in silver that I had to pack up for dispatch, a buckle waiting to be built. But this time I failed to lose myself in detail; all I could think of was Ben’s eyes, the feel of him when I’d touched his arm. That tattoo over his bicep. The careless way he’d drag his hair back out of his face while he talked, as if he was unaware that haircuts existed. It was disturbing.

  What did I think of him? All right, I admired those long legs, that finely-tuned body. I liked the way his fingers kinked in at the knuckle. His face was pleasant to look at and there was something about the way he moved that made something inside me feel as though I was answering a long-ago call. He didn’t frighten me. His slight build wasn’t overpowering or threatening, he’d never done anything or said anything which in any way panicked me.

  And yet. The way my skin gravitated towards his – that was just biological imperative. Just my hormones trying to force me into something unwanted by both Ben and me. Nothing that was going to make me break the promises I’d made to myself. He was a friend. That was all.

  When I got back to the barn, Harry was still asleep. Jason was packing his car for the London trip so I went through to the office and on to the computer. Back to the Willow Down site.

  What had intrigued me was Ben’s hint that he’d done something to throw the band into disarray. Something that had had repercussions for their tour of the States. I went into the part of the website dedicated to write-ups of each gig they’d played and called up the review.

  ‘Striding onstage like they were aware of their following, Zafe Rafale and Baz Davies came on burning, tearing straight into their biggest hit “Once It was You”. The rest of the band joined them and they played all the usual hits plus most of the stuff on the new album Rent-A-Tee. The only duff note played all evening was in the final number, “About a Girl”. It looked as though inadequate rehearsals told here when Baz Davies set off into another number altogether, getting half way through to the evident puzzlement of the rest of the band before switching lyrics.’

  Only that fragment about a misplayed song gave any hint that anything untoward had happened that night. Then, being a suspicious type, I checked out the internet scuttlebut on the topic. There were whole forums devoted to why Baz Davies quit Willow Down. Consensus seemed to be that Ben had had some kind of breakdown. There were wild stories on the net regarding his drug habit, his rumoured stays in just about any rehab clinic you could name, his bizarre behaviour. He’d had an affair with Zafe – no, he’d run off with Zafe’s girlfriend. No, Zafe had run off with his girlfriend. When it got to the stage that I was reading
how Baz had been contacted by aliens and had left music to dedicate his life to Venusian peace-bringers I gave up.

  I closed down the computer. Harry was stirring, curling and uncurling his hands around his blanket, and out in the yard I could hear Jason swearing at his car for not being large enough to accommodate one of his canvasses.

  ‘Jase? You’ve been to more gigs than me.’ Carrying a still-sleepy Harry I cornered Jason as he tried to stuff a dead-man’s handle on top of a pile of other things on the back seat.

  ‘Jem, there’s nuns been to more gigs than you. What about it?’ He straightened up to look at me.

  ‘If a band was playing a song but someone made a mistake, what would happen?’

  Jason stared at me, leaning his long body against the car. ‘What? You mean, like, got the lyrics wrong or hit a bum note, that kinda thing? Nothing. Half the time your audience is so pissed that they don’t care if you plays “God Save the Queen”, they just likes to look atcha.’

  ‘I mean seriously. Would there be any repercussions?’

  ‘That’s like the drums, innit?’

  I gave him a hard stare. ‘You know perfectly well what I mean.’ Harry snuffled into my shoulder and Jason switched his attention.

  ‘Yeah. It happens. If a band don’t practise or if they’re playing a set for the first time, someone cocks up. Who cares? ’S all part of the experience.’

  ‘Not a big deal then?’

  ‘Not really.’ Jason stroked Harry’s head. ‘This still about your man, is it? He’s bleeding bonkers he is. Nice guy an’ all but really –’ He thrust his pelvis suggestively. ‘Crackers.’

  ‘Yes, Jason.’ I sighed and took Harry off in search of Rosie.

  * * *

  19th May

  I did it. Okay, here I’m going to claim all the credit and you can look at me over those shitty half-glasses all you want (they are really crappy, man, make you look like a grandad). Between her telling me I should get a life, and me feeling guilty about how I behaved at that party, and you telling me to come to terms with the life I’d made for myself … somewhere, between all that, I started to think, you know?