Hell's Music

by Therese von Willegen

  “What’s up?” he whispered.

  “My sister. We’re fighting. Again.”

  “Hush. I’m sure you’ll sort stuff out. Just chill out a bit, okay? Go speak to her when you’re not so pissed off.”

  Rae nodded and snuggled closer to Davy, and placed an arm across his chest.

  “I guess this means I shouldn’t be making any grand appearances out of this room?” Davy asked.

  “Probably not a good idea for now, but she’ll be out again soon.”

  For now, she drew comfort from his presence, and when Davy stroked her hair, she sank into sleep, the troubles of the present momentarily forgotten.

  * * * *

  Simon’s flight left at nine in the morning on Tuesday and, although they’d enjoyed the weekend cloistered in his apartment, some tension marred what joy Emily wanted to draw from being with him. This was the one occasion she’d open shop late so she could say goodbye to this man who’d entered her life like a storm.

  “I hate airports,” she told him.

  They stood in the hall just before the gates that would separate passport holders from those who’d be left behind, the female announcer coldly declaiming, “Would passengers WA Jacobs and MZ Mthuli please make their way to Gate Eight. This is the last call for BA Flight Seven-Oh-Nine to London Heathrow.”

  Emily allowed herself a small smile, imagining the scenarios that had delayed the missing passengers.

  “Good to see you smiling,” Simon said.

  She looked up at him. “I’ve just imagined Mr. Jacobs stuck in the toilet with the runs. Now his baggage is going to London without him.”

  Simon grimaced. “You still joke about it, but you’d be surprised at some of the stuff that goes down in airports. I just hope my baggage makes it past OR Tambo intact. They still haven’t stopped that syndicate. Left the bag unlocked a while back, but they still ripped the side of it open with a knife or something. Good thing I take my expensive goodies in my carry-on luggage.”

  “Why are we talking about shit like this?” Emily tightened her grip about his waist, gratified when he squeezed her to him. “What am I to do without you and, more importantly, can I expect you to behave?” There, she’d said what had bothered her the most about the trip. She pressed her face against his chest, not caring that a few tears escaped to dampen his t-shirt.

  It didn’t make her feel any better that he sighed deeply. “Oh, Em. Look, there’s probably going to be the usual boozing and pranking. You know how it goes, but if you’re worried I’ll be having something with other chicks, I won’t. I promise.”

  Emily looked up through narrowed eyes. “I’m sorry to be so...”

  A small smile tugged at his lips. “At least allow me to be one of the boys, okay? I do have an image to live up to, hey?” The smile became a wicked grin, and he let go and danced out of the way as she swiped at him.

  “You!”

  Simon laughed. “C’mere, my sweet. I love you, you silly girl. It’s an awfully small word, but it means a lot and I don’t use it lightly.”

  He enfolded her in his arms, his patchouli scent washing over her as Simon pressed her to his chest. Simon had said that word, the one neither of them had dared to use since they’d started seeing each other.

  “And while I don’t guarantee that I’ll behave, I’m not going to sleep with any tarts, fan-girls, groupies or otherwise, okay?” He pressed warm lips to the top of her head. “Now the question remains, how do you feel about me?”

  Despite the nagging ache in her stomach that reminded her of their inevitable parting, Emily put on a brave front. A finger pressed to her lips, she pretended to gaze at him with far too much speculation. “Mmm, let me think about that...erm... Okay.”

  “Okay what?” Mock horror etched itself across his features.

  “Okay, I love you too, you great big fool, Mr. Eviler Than Thou. And if you’re not careful, you’re going to break my heart.”

  Emily stood on tiptoes to kiss Simon, reveling in his taste and touch, the way his hands traveled down to her hips to pull her against him. He gave a small groan when she pulled away and she had to blink back the tears that were, no doubt, making her eyes red.

  An older man approached them then, obviously deeming this moment as appropriate to interrupt their interchange. Dressed in faded denim jeans and a Nightmare on Elm Street t-shirt, he didn’t give off the usual vibe Emily associated with men in their late forties, the “chinos and golf shirt brigade,” as she called them. When he shook hands firmly with Simon, she knew he must be somehow involved in the tour.

  “My lady, Emily,” Simon said to the man and gestured at Emily, then turned to her. “Em, this is Paul Morris, my manager.”

  Paul’s grip was firm when he shook hands with Emily.

  “Erm, hi,” was all she could stammer.

  Simon already had that distant look in his eyes he got when he received phone calls, which made her feel as though she were now reduced to being a spare part. Paul pushed Simon’s trolley and Emily fell back, drawing deep breaths to stop her chest from closing.

  It’s only six weeks, it’s only six weeks, she told herself silently, but that didn’t take away from the dull ache thundering in her ears. A lot could happen in six weeks.

  * * * *

  “Check this out.” Rae threw a folded-over tabloid newspaper down in front of Emily on the kitchen table.

  “What? You know I don’t read–” Emily looked from her sister’s grin to the page facing her.

  There, printed in full color over half of page six in the Adamastor Mirror, was a photograph of Emily and Simon entangled in a very passionate embrace at the airport. The way his hand rested on her butt made it quite clear they were more than casual acquaintances.

  “How... When...” Emily had not seen anyone brandishing a camera nearby that day but, then again, she hadn’t paid attention to other people around her, had she?

  Rae continued grinning maniacally. “You’re in the news, sis.”

  “Oh-kay... I’m having a serious ‘what the fuck’ moment ‘round about now.”

  The headline read Shock-rocker Van Helsdingen involved with local girl. Swallowing back her nausea, Emily read far enough to see her own name in black and white, accompanied by “owner of Interzone,” “CBD-based bookshop owner” and “despite allegations that he was cause of exotic dancer, Bette Gold’s, suicide six months ago.”

  “I’ve read enough.” Emily slid the paper across the table.

  * * * *

  The landline at Interzone already rang when she unlocked the door. In the wild hope it would be Simon, Emily rushed to the phone and stumbled over a bump in the carpet to reach the device. “Hello?”

  “Emily.” It was her mother and, judging by her tone, she was in one of her moods again.

  “Hi, Ma!” Emily tried to sound as bright as possible, as if nothing in the world were wrong. That her mother phoned now could only mean one thing. Someone had shown her the article in the newspaper.

  “I’m very, very disappointed in you.”

  Emily sucked in a deep breath, her mind gone blank of its usual stock of snappy answers. She was still in a daze herself after seeing the article.

  “Well, aren’t you going to answer for yourself?”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Emily slumped into her chair and closed her eyes.

  “You know perfectly well what I’m talking about–you seen in public in an obscene embrace with that man. I thought you’d sorted yourself out after the incident with the last one. Now look what you’ve done. You’ve brought shame over our family. What am I going to tell Auntie Bee? Especially after–”

  “Look, Ma, I don’t have time for this right now, okay?” Before her mother could continue with her diatribe, Emily cut the call and took the phone off the hook. Granted, this wasn’t the best way to resolve conflict, but right now she was in no mood to justify the latest set of events to anyone when she wasn’t quite sure how to deal with it hers
elf.

  And just how was she supposed to? Emily puffed out a deep breath and sank farther into her chair. By now Simon would have landed and would most likely be sleeping off the jet lag in some characterless hotel somewhere in Berlin. Sleeping in her own bed, alone, the previous night had felt wrong. The mattress had been too big, every small sound both inside and outside the house waking her.

  It hadn’t helped that there had been a motor vehicle accident down in Kloof Street at three in the morning. The scream of the sirens had jolted Emily into a seated position, so she had gone out onto the veranda to watch the red and blue lights of the response vehicles painting the buildings in ruby and sapphire.

  Simon obviously cared about her. She wasn’t just a one-night stand, but her imagination preyed on her, suggesting scenarios she didn’t want to consider. They hadn’t had a farewell committee at the airport, but then the fans in Europe tended to be far more intense than the ones in South Africa. She’d been seeing him only a few weeks and he had yet to introduce her to his friends or relatives. Was he somehow ashamed of her?

  “Stop it, stop it, stop it...” Emily dragged her fingers through her hair then got up to make a cup of tea. Her day was going to drag. There was no doubt about that.

  * * * *

  Shortly after closing, Emily judged it safe to put the phone back on the hook again. She behaved like a child and it niggled, a small point of guilt adding to her burden. It had been a long day and she suspected she’d have many more like this for a while. In addition, small groups of alternative teens had dropped in to browse–definitely not her usual clientele.

  At first she had not paid them much attention. After all, her shop generally had a tendency to draw a bohemian crowd, but after the third and fourth knots of morbidly dressed young adults had passed through her store, Emily had to admit something was stirring.

  Had Rae put them up to this, or were they simply interested in gawking at Simon’s current squeeze? Would they be asking for signatures next? Emily suppressed a snort at that thought. She hated thinking of herself in this way but, by equal measure, she didn’t enjoy the whispers cupped behind black-lacquered fingernails. It was like being some sort of zoo exhibit.

  The worst part was this would probably continue the following day, which was something Emily did not look forward to. This aspect of Simon’s world intruding into hers only served to remind her she was here, alone, while he got up to goodness knew what in Europe. She lingered longer after closing than she’d intended to, glancing at the phone every so often as if willing it to ring. Simon had said he would call, but she’d not done herself any favors trying to avoid talking to her mother. Now Simon’s call could never have gotten through.

  “A little too late, Em,” she muttered, eventually angry enough with herself to pack her things and lock up, sorely tempted to rejoin the information age by buying a cellphone.

  Chapter 9

  Merry Miss-mess

  Christmas Day saw Emily and Rae spending time with their mother, which was possibly more painful than having to deal with being separated from Simon, as well as his fans’ blatant fascination.

  Uncle Reinhardt had collected them and driven them through to his home in Panorama on the northern outskirts of the city. Both Rae and Emily kept quiet during the trip out to Panorama. Reinhardt’s taste of music–Bok van Blerk and the likes of Steve Hofmeyer–horrid Afrikaans mainstream, had Emily and Rae sharing mingled looks of horror.

  Neither had wanted to attend the family lunch, but had not seen any polite way in which they could refuse. They had spoken quietly about it beforehand, knowing what lay ahead: a third degree for the pair, Rae for having left home and Emily because of her connection to a man who was considered a one step above the Devil as far as their family was concerned.

  “I hate Panorama,” Rae muttered as she helped Emily with the covered salad dish they’d had to bring along.

  “Just bite your tongue and let’s see if we can get out of here without incurring too much damage,” Emily replied.

  She’d been able to persuade her sister to dress in something other than black, but that had taken a massive amount of bribery, involving asking Simon for golden circle tickets for an upcoming metal fest, which she hadn’t wanted to do. Now her sister looked far more presentable, though her roots were showing and she refused to do anything about her chipped black nail polish. Emily had wanted to tell Rae she wasn’t a teenager anymore but kept her mouth shut, in no mood to add to the strain they’d no doubt experience.

  As a child, Emily had hated visiting the family this far north. There was something claustrophobic about how near the houses stood to each other, as well as the sand that somehow managed to seep between the well-manicured lawns to fly up with the slightest breeze. If the wind was bad anywhere in Cape Town during summer, it was always ten times worse out here away from the mountain. And the people... Emily tried not to grimace at their obvious lack of taste. Every second or third house had its ubiquitous Mexican, donkey or palm tree wall plaque–an affectation she still couldn’t figure out why was endemic to many of the newer middle class neighborhoods. Only here in Panorama, some of these hideous kitsch items were super-sized. She supposed it went with the faux-Spanish architecture that had been popular during the late seventies.

  Aunt Bee was her mother’s older sister and now presided over the extended Keating family as the de facto matriarch since their maternal grandparents had passed on. The fact that Emily and Rae stubbornly clung to the Clark surname after their mother had reverted to her maiden name was yet another point against them.

  The family had gathered at the back of the house, an assortment of relatives she hadn’t seen since the last big lunch, and had absolutely no desire to spend more time with than absolutely necessary. They fell silent when the two sisters stepped into barbecue area, a number of eyes narrowing.

  “Hey,” Rae offered.

  Emily merely nodded, preferring not to sound lame, like her sister.

  Their mother sat beneath a large green parasol that looked as though it were about to take off despite the relatively sheltered back garden. She pursed her lips and glared at her daughters, but said nothing to them, resuming her conversation with Aunt Bee, whose only acknowledgement of their presence was a curt nod.

  “This was a mistake,” Rae whispered.

  “This is our family. We’re kind of stuck with them. Just be nice and friendly to everyone.”

  “I’d rather not.”

  Emily nudged Rae hard enough in the ribs to make her take a step forward before she placed the covered salad bowl on the table already groaning beneath its load of cold ham, turkey and potato salad. She looked around, but didn’t see her cousin, Eric, and assumed he must be in the kitchen, or lurking in his room. Either way, he’d provide better company than those present.

  Something to drink may provide a suitable distraction, so Emily trudged into the recesses of the house where a veritable shrine to Diana, Princess of Wales, dominated the mantelpiece, and a trio of ducks flew up the wall by the antlered cuckoo clock that ticked out weary seconds.

  Much to her relief, only Eric was in the kitchen, looking somewhat ridiculous dressed in a pink apron with Super Mom emblazoned in magenta across the chest. Her cousin gave her a rueful grin and continued chopping onions. “Ma’s got me on kitchen duty.”

  Emily couldn’t help but feel sorry for Eric. He’d gotten divorced a year ago then retrenched six months after that, and moving back in with his parents had been the only option. Out of all of her family, he was also one of the few who wasn’t so full of shit and was also the closest to her in age. They’d caught all sorts of nonsense when they’d been younger, and Eric had been the one with a car license and access to a vehicle.

  Emily, certain she didn’t need to go outside just yet, poured herself a glass of rosé wine from the box in the fridge and seated herself at the kitchen counter. “How’s it hanging?”

  He wiped at his already red eyes. “Still looking for wor
k.” He grinned. “I read the article in the Adamastor Mirror. Way to go, cuz. Thought you’d be dragging him along for the family lunch. Was kinda looking forward to it...” A hopeful expression danced across his features.

  Emily took a sip of her wine and grimaced at the thought of Simon here, today. “Over my dead body. If Si were in Cape Town, I’d definitely not be here in Panorama with him, that much is for sure.”

  “So it’s ‘Si’ to you?”

  “Oh, cut it out, Eric. It’s enough dealing with Rae’s infatuation and her twenty questions every time I’ve been out with him.”

  “So... What’s he like?”

  “He’s...just great. A definite improvement on the last one.” Simon was the last person she wanted to discuss with family. Stories had a habit of growing out of proportion with each telling. “I heard...” Emily gestured vaguely toward her cousin.

  Eric’s shoulders slumped and he looked down at the cutting board, and ran onion-infused fingers through his short, ash-blond hair. “I fucked that one up big time.”

  “So?” Emily arched her eyebrows. “I only got to hear the juicy bits about how she threw your clothes out the third-floor apartment balcony. What’s the meat of the story?”

  Eric sighed again. “I... Fuck it. I’ll tell you because I somehow don’t get the idea you’ll be spreading it around with them.” He gestured toward the back of the house.

  Emily laughed. “You bet. So what has my bad older cuz done to merit a messy divorce?”

  He narrowed his eyes. “Sarah caught me messing around with her sister. I’m not proud of it, okay?”

  A nasty feeling coiled in Emily’s stomach. “Why?”

  “Things weren’t going well? Sarah worked late, often. I got a bit resentful and Siobhan would often drop by in the evenings, since she was just around the corner. At first I thought it was because she wanted to see her sister, but it turned out she was just lonely... Similar situation for her, her boyfriend working loads of overtime, so we’d watch movies, have dinner. Family stuff, y’know. One thing kinda...led to another.