Please Don't Stop The Music

by Jane Lovering

  I hovered uncertainly, finally settled for sitting on the floor in the corner furthest away from him. ‘First tell me how you knew.’

  ‘Hang on. You’re the one with the secrets and I’m the one answering the questions? What’s wrong with this picture?’ The mouth of the bottle jigged against the glasses as he poured us both a generous measure. ‘All right. Mark. Drummer in Willow Down.’

  I took the glass but didn’t move closer to him. Just rested my back against the wall. ‘He was in a gang?’

  ‘No, you plank. He’s a sociologist.’

  ‘Your drummer is a sociologist?’

  ‘They’re not all two brain cells and seven pints of sweat. Anyhow. These tattoos were his idea.’ Ben rolled up the sleeve of his shirt, revealing his encircling tribal mark. ‘He took it from the street gangs where they use them to mark their own, to strengthen the group bond. We all had one, all four of us. Same tatt, same spot, to remind us we were all in it together.’ He rubbed the mark thoughtfully.

  ‘So you’re not going to believe I got drunk one night and picked it out of a tattoo parlour window?’

  He smiled. Leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, slopping whisky unnoticed over the couch. ‘Nice try. But I’ve seen the textbooks.’

  I took a deep breath. ‘All right. But listen up because this is a once-only story.’

  ‘I’m listening, Jemima.’ Then a little grin. ‘Figure of speech. But I’m here.’

  Where to begin? As someone once said, at the beginning … With thoughts and memories I’d blocked and denied for so long that even I couldn’t be sure how accurate they were. Rewritten and reworked they might be, edited for all those snaggy moments of sibling rivalry and parental arguing, but they were all I had. It was time to own up to them. ‘I had a great life. A Mum and Dad who loved all three of us completely. A good school, nice house, I had riding lessons twice a week and the boys did rugby and … never mind. It was normal, you know?’

  Ben didn’t move. Kept his eyes fixed on my face.

  I lowered the barrier even further, until images came with the emotions, pictures of twisted metal, and I had to work not to let it all come screaming back in full technicolour. ‘When I was fifteen there was an accident. A stupid, stupid accident, something so random … Mum was driving Dad to work. She wanted the car because hers was in the garage or something, so she was going to drop him off. I had a competition to go to, show jumping I think, and she didn’t want me to miss out so she … And they crashed. No-one knows what happened, she just lost control and hit a bridge.’ I rubbed my chest, trying to ease an ache that would never heal.

  Ben hadn’t even blinked. ‘And they both …?’

  ‘Yes. We were told it was instantaneous but – you always wonder, don’t you? Anyway. There was no family to take us in. Randall was sixteen, but he was told he was too young to be allowed to take charge of us because Christian was only twelve. So they were going to split us up and put us in foster homes.’ I looked down at my hands, knitting my fingers in my lap. Only realised what I was doing when Ben reached across very gently and tipped my head back up so he could see my lips. ‘We ran away.’ A burp-like giggle escaped. ‘We were so naïve, you see. Stupid, middle-class kids who thought real life was like some kind of early-evening kids’ TV, living in an empty house, taking food from the supermarket to eat. But we were scared. We’d lost our parents, we didn’t want to lose each other too, and we thought we’d only have to wait until Ran was eighteen, and then he could adopt us and we’d get a flat and live together and … Too much TV, as I said.’

  Ben sighed. It had a catch in it.

  ‘And then this gang found us. We were hiding out in a disused warehouse, starving because none of us knew how to shoplift, we were all too scared of getting caught, and it turned out we were hiding in a crack den.’ I gave a sudden, shocked laugh. ‘We didn’t even know what a crack den was. But these guys, they took us in, me and Ran and Chris and they looked after us. Properly, I mean, they got us a place to live and food and stuff. And okay, so we didn’t go to school much or anything but we were together, things were fine. Say what you like about street gangs, but they look after their own.’

  ‘You joined a gang?’ Ben’s surprise was almost comical.

  ‘We talked posh. Well, according to them we did, anyway. And it’s surprising what people will believe from someone who talks “posh”. The gang used us, con tricks, distraction, that kind of thing.’ I took a long, deep breath. ‘I got the mark, I went on jobs. I was good.’ I defied Ben to speak but he stayed silent, watching me.

  Breathe, Jemima. Breathe. It’s all over now.

  ‘Despite it all, Ran and I stayed clean, it was the only way to be ahead of the game, to be in control. But Chris … he joined a band.’ I gave a smile which was like a humour black hole. ‘Always loved his guitar, did Christian. Obsessive. Thought he’d make it big, get discovered, that kind of thing. He thought he could handle anything, he was very young, didn’t know what he was getting into, he didn’t know how hard it would be to get out of, he thought he could drop it any time but –’ I stopped.

  Ben leaned forward and refilled my glass. ‘We’re talking about what? Heroin?’

  I talked to my drink. ‘Have you ever? Tried it, I mean?’

  Ben shook his head. ‘Nah. Hate needles, hate smoke. I’ve done most things but not smack. I know Zafe did it once or twice but …’ he shrugged. ‘Nothing heavy.’

  ‘It was heavy for Chris. Five years it took but eventually … he dumped the band, vanished for days, turned up rambling and sick. Even …’ I gave a strangled hiccup of ironic laughter. ‘Even sold his guitar. We tried to straighten him out, Ran and I, but –’

  ‘You have to want to stop. I should know. No one can tell you.’

  Despite the cosiness of the little room the air felt like a corpse. I should have known Ben wouldn’t flinch at this story. I should have trusted him.

  ‘While this was all going on I … got together with Gray. Ran warned me off him, told me to keep away but, I dunno. He was sexy. Dangerous but sexy. And I was seventeen, thought I was in love, so of course I wouldn’t listen to my brother, I mean, what did he know –’ My voice cracked and I took a deep gulp of the whisky, even though it was bitter and hot in my throat. ‘I thought love was meant to be like that.’

  I could see Ben open his mouth to ask what it had been like, then think better of it. A little shiver ran over his skin and I saw the goosebumps rise.

  ‘Then Chris OD’d. One day, down a back alley in Bristol. He’d been sold some stuff that was pure and we didn’t find out for a week.’ I tilted my chin up to stop my voice cracking. I could still smell the smoky, foul odour that I’d grown to associate with Christian, still taste the fear at the back of my throat. ‘Ran found the guy who’d supplied Chris. It took time to track it all back, but he found him. Killed him.’ I licked my lips. There were no tears. Not now.

  ‘Wow.’ Ben rubbed the back of his neck. He was about to say more but I leaped in. He had to know it all.

  ‘I was there, I begged Ran to stop but he wouldn’t. Just kept on and on …’ I half covered my ears as though I expected the echoes still to be sounding. ‘I called an ambulance, and I lied, Ben. Told them that there was another gang trying to take over the area, that there’d been a fight. Oh, the police found out I was making it up, of course, it was hardly CSI and I’m not exactly a criminal mastermind. They got hold of Randall, open and shut case. I went to prison as an accessory.’ The cells, the noise, the relentless banging. No peace. Never any peace, not now.

  ‘But why? Why all this, over something that wasn’t your fault?’

  ‘Because the dealer was Gray.’ I drained the nearly full glass in one gulp. ‘And now you know. My judgement in men is so crappy that I spent nearly five years with a guy who was dealing heroin and I didn’t know. He was selling to my own brother and I didn’t know.’

  ‘Shit.’ Ben put down his glass.

  I started talking
quickly. ‘Ran went down for murder. For life. I was only inside six months and while I was there I learned to make jewellery so I took that and I ran away.’

  ‘And you’re still running?’

  I nodded. Five years of running, of setting up and moving on. Of living in people’s spare rooms, in guest houses and squats. Of making just enough money to eat.

  ‘But why? What are you running from?’

  ‘Memories.’ I held out my glass for a refill and was proud of the way my hand didn’t shake. ‘I’ve blocked this all out. There’s some kind of psychologist’s word for it, but I’m good at not remembering now, if I don’t try it all stays dark. Ran died in prison. Knife fight. And once he was gone there was nothing to hold me, nothing to stay anywhere for. So I’ve kept on travelling. It keeps … it keeps the memories from surfacing. That’s why I didn’t know anything about Willow Down. I was abroad, working anywhere I could get a bed for the night. I’d make a few pieces and sell them to get enough money to move on whenever …’ I tailed off.

  ‘Whenever you felt you were getting settled? Oh, Jemima.’

  I drained another glass. ‘And my name isn’t Jemima. It’s Gemma. Gemma Bredon. I chose Hutton off the map one day when I was passing through. York seemed such a nice place. Then I started supplying Saskia regularly. I met Rosie and I thought – I thought it might be different this time.’

  Ben’s eyes were immense in the lamp light. ‘And I thought I was damaged,’ he said softly.

  The whisky was making my head swim. ‘I’m pissed,’ I announced.

  ‘You wouldn’t have told me, not without a bit of Dutch courage.’ Ben held out an arm and hauled me to my feet.

  ‘I wanted you to know.’ His body was pressed against me, I could feel every bone through his clothes and smell the fresh, clean scent of him. His hair brushed against my neck. ‘But I thought you might hate me for it.’

  ‘Jem. What kind of guy do you think I am?’

  ‘It’s the fact you’re a guy. That’s all.’

  He frowned. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

  I rocked on my feet. ‘You know you said you didn’t date? Because you were afraid, of rejection, of not being perfect, of –’ I gestured rather wildly. ‘Of whatever,’ I finished. ‘I don’t date because I don’t want to make those mistakes again.’

  I felt him flinch he was so close to me. ‘Like how?’

  ‘Look. Gray wasn’t – he wasn’t exactly the perfect boyfriend, you know what I mean?’

  ‘Jem.’ He breathed it rather than saying it.

  ‘There were other girls. And he’d flaunt it, tell me who he was getting off with, what they did for him that I didn’t. And he’d make me … He used me for everything, I was like his toy, you know? Something for him and his friends to play with, something that would take anything, do anything. And yeah, I knew deep down that’s not how it should be, but – I stayed. And, since then, I’ve promised myself no men. Nothing. Until I can feel that I’m a person, you know? In my own right, a something. Not just a thing bringing nothing to the relationship except my body. That’s why – I thought I was making it, with Saskia’s shop stocking my buckles and my website and everything and now, one by one, it’s all going down the pan and I’m right back where I started.’ I caught the sob before it escaped. ‘And I won’t be used again, Ben. I won’t.’

  He took half a step away. ‘You think I’d use you? Christ, Jem, it’s not like that, not at all.’

  ‘I need to know that when … if … I walk away, I’m still the person I was. That I’m not losing myself by giving myself to someone. I can’t trust and I can’t … won’t depend on anyone for anything. So you can see, I’m not really girlfriend material.’ I stopped, aware of how stupidly close we were to one another.

  ‘Jem, we’re friends. You must know that, even with all the shit that you’ve had before, you must recognise a good thing when you see it?’

  Now it was my turn to step back, to widen the physical gap as the psychological one was becoming a chasm. ‘You mean that because you’ve got all this …’ I swept an arm round indicating the house. ‘That I’m supposed magically to throw off the memories of everything that’s happened to me? Because you’ve got cash to spare, suddenly the death of my brothers doesn’t matter?’ My voice was icy.

  ‘That’s not what I meant at all and I think you know it. You’re using your past to stop you from having to make yourself a present.’

  ‘You know nothing about it.’

  ‘Yes, I do.’ His voice was low. I had to lean a little closer to hear him. ‘What do you think I was doing, Jem? Pushing everyone away, keeping the deafness secret? It was all so that I never had to face up to it. If I never told anyone then maybe it wasn’t real, maybe I wouldn’t have to live with it forever. That’s what you’re doing, denying the problem, moving on whenever life starts to get real just so you never have to face it.’

  ‘You know nothing,’ I repeated and stalked out of the room feeling the weight of his gaze on my back. I looked over my shoulder, just once, to see him raking his hands through his already dishevelled hair and rubbing his tired-looking face and I almost turned. Almost. I wanted him so much that it ached. But why would things be any different here, with him?

  Chapter Seventeen

  ‘Oh, my God.’ Rosie’s hand shook on my arm. ‘Oh, Jem. Can we still call you Jem? Or what? I mean – oh, I don’t know what I mean. It’s awful.’

  At our feet Harry sat in his new cushion chair, chuckling and waving a well-gummed elephant rattle. I kept my eyes on him. ‘Jem is fine. I was always called Jem anyway. That’s one of the reasons I chose Jemima as a name.’ One of the other reasons was that Jemima had a ginger-beer and salmon, jolly-hockeysticks ring to it. A name close enough to my original one, and conjuring images of the life I’d lost so so long ago. No more than thirteen years in time, but thirteen lifetimes in experience.

  ‘God,’ Rosie repeated, pulling me into a strawberry-shampoo-scented hug. ‘Jase and I thought you must have left an abusive boyfriend, that’s why we didn’t push. We thought you’d tell us, when the time was right.’

  ‘I am. And it is.’ I straightened away and took another sip of the too-hot coffee. ‘And for the record, Gray wasn’t exactly going to get “Boyfriend of the Year”, so you were pretty nearly right.’

  ‘Jase is going to be so smug,’ Rosie said thoughtfully. ‘Although, actually, I think his first theory was that you were on the run from an international consortium of white-slavers, but he’d been reading Ian Fleming novels. Well, looking at the pictures anyway.’

  I still kept my gaze on Harry. If I had to meet Rosie’s eye, if I had to see the sympathy there I’d collapse. ‘Shouldn’t you be –?’ I waved at the half-filled box by the table and the stack of cards.

  ‘Sod Saskia, she can wait. This is important.’

  ‘Look.’ I took a deep breath. ‘The reason I’m telling you now is because I’m going. I didn’t want you to feel that something you’d done had driven me away.’ Everything here was dangerously familiar, the smell of baby powder and last night’s dinner, the worn edges of the sofa cushion, the pictures on the walls. It had been the very ordinariness that had seduced me into staying as long as I had, the way that life had gone on around me and drawn me in. I knew I couldn’t outrun my old life, but I’d hoped that by standing still it might have passed me by unnoticed. I should have known that it would double back and creep up behind me.

  ‘I don’t see why you have to go!’ She was plaintive. ‘Sorry, Jem, but it’s just stupid. You fancy Ben, he fancies you. Why can’t you just throw yourself into it and see what happens?’

  I hid my face in my hands. Harry, thinking I was playing peek-a-boo, chuckled even more. When I raised my head he gave a delighted whoop of laughter. ‘Ben is – complicated. He’s going to need someone who can give him what he needs.’

  Rosie looked at me shrewdly. ‘You mean you’re scared.’

  ‘No. Not of Ben. Maybe of the s
ituation.’

  ‘And you can’t tell me what that is?’

  I shook my head. ‘It’s not my secret to tell. And I don’t know if Ben’s ever going to be able to. But the fact is I’ve got nothing. Less than nothing, now that eBay has got me under investigation. Okay, I can take a stall at the market but that’s going to cost me and what I make is a bit expensive for the market shoppers. I can go down to using ordinary wire and plastic but then the techniques are different and besides, there will always be cheaper stuff from Korea. Basically, Rosie, I need to go. Set up somewhere else, somewhere the shops will stock my things. I was thinking about the South East, Canterbury way. I’ve heard it’s okay down there.’

  ‘Because you feel like a nobody.’ She was shaking her head. ‘It’s so, so silly. I mean look at Harry.’ She plucked him out of his chair and brandished him at me. ‘He loves you, he doesn’t care what you’ve got, what you do for a living, he’ll love you whatever. What makes you think that Ben won’t be like that?’

  ‘Because Ben isn’t three-and-a-half months old.’

  Rosie gave me a friendly shove. ‘And aren’t you glad?’

  ‘Shut up. Yes, all right, I like him. There might even be more to it than that. But. Look at it this way. If Ben and I – started something, what happens to me when it’s over? Who am I then, Rosie? I need to be someone, to have something to hold on to that’s mine. The gang, Ran, Christian – even Gray, I defined myself through them, I was never a person. And I can’t let it happen again, not now.’

  ‘Have you told Ben you’re going?’

  I shook my head. I’d got up mid-morning to find Ben and his keys gone. Ashamed of myself I’d hunted round the kitchen until I’d found a tea tin filled with pound coins and fivers and I’d taken some. Enough for the bus fare to get me to Rosie’s. But, in my defence, I had written an IOU and stuffed it into the tin in place of the missing money. I’d also left the tin on the dresser so that Ben would know what I’d done.

  ‘You mean you were going to take off? How do you think he’s going to feel when he finds out that the woman he’s told – whatever he’s told, has run away? Don’t you think he might be the tiniest bit pissed off?’