Love Song

by Sophia Bennett

  We all shuffled our chairs to make room. Connor hesitated for a long time. But the smell of the tagine, the light from the flickering candles and the lively conversation grew too much for him. He scooted into place, allowed Orli to pile his plate with food and sat quietly while Declan finished his story.

  The talk was more stilted after that. We tried to regain the easy rhythm we’d had before, but Connor’s silence and pale, tense face made it difficult. We finished the tagine and cleared the plates. By now, Jamie was the only person who was missing. His absence was tangible, and I wondered where he was.

  ‘So,’ Angus said, leaning back in his chair and turning to Declan. ‘Same again tomorrow? His Royal Highness will be off writing love songs to his Hollywood laydee, but I’ve been working on some new material.’

  ‘Love to hear it,’ Declan agreed. ‘And look, I’m sorry about George …’

  ‘Yeah, we all are,’ Angus sighed. ‘But it was going to happen. We couldn’t stop him. We tried.’

  ‘He can join you later, right?’

  ‘If he wants to. But I don’t think he will. To be honest, he didn’t like the same stuff we did anyway. He was always more into heavy metal. Your style … it’s OK.’

  Declan flushed with pride, and said nothing.

  Connor watched them sulkily from across the table.

  ‘And now … pudding time!’ Orli announced. ‘He may be a bit rusty, but in honour of Angus’s attempts to play the guitar again today, I got a bit inspired.’

  While we cleared the table, she disappeared into the small room next door that served as a larder and reappeared with the chocolate pudding, as well as a chopping board on which sat a large meringue, filled with cream and chopped hazelnuts.

  ‘Angus once told me this was his favourite,’ she said. ‘But the rest of you don’t have to have any if you don’t want to.’

  Soon we were all digging in. Meringue crumbs stuck to our chins. Chocolate sauce went everywhere. There wasn’t much talking, but this time the air was full of grateful moans of happiness. For a brief, unguarded moment, I saw Orli’s face cloud over and I sensed that, like me, she was distracted by thinking about Jamie. It made me sad to think of him alone, wherever he was hiding.

  After a particularly large mouthful of pudding perfection, Connor looked across the table and said to Declan, ‘It sounded good today. Really good.’

  ‘Thanks. Yeah. Right. Glad you liked it. Means a lot, man.’

  Connor stared at him suspiciously, as if to check if he was being sarcastic. ‘Yeah, well … you know … you’ve played with the greats. I just …’

  ‘You just what?’

  ‘I just … you know … I just … play whatever,’ Connor finished lamely.

  Declan grinned, assuming Connor was joking, but I remembered Ariel telling me that according to the fans, he was sensitive about his playing.

  ‘It’s not “whatever”,’ I said, dragging my thoughts back from Jamie and leaning in to make myself heard. ‘When I saw you in New York, I thought you were incredible.’

  Connor looked at me, surprised, and grateful, and uncertain, and not his usual cocky self at all.

  ‘Yeah right. Thanks.’

  For the first time, Declan noticed his lack of confidence.

  ‘You’re not serious?’ he said. ‘Your riffs are iconic, man. If I could come up with just one of those, I’d be …’ He trailed off, looking wistful in the flickering candlelight.

  ‘But you can play every one,’ Connor protested. ‘I’ve heard you. You can play mine, you can play Flea’s … you can play better than practically any bassist I know.’

  ‘Yeah, I can play. I can play pretty much anything you show me – it’s just a weird thing I’ve got.’ Declan batted his hand in the air, like his talent was some kind of freakish mistake. ‘But I can’t create them. Not like you do. I can improvise, sure, but it’s all pretty obvious. What you do … what you did on “Amethyst”, you know? That shift down to G minor on the bridge and those triplets in six-eight time?’

  Connor made a face, like he didn’t really know what six-eight time was. Declan laughed. ‘You just found it, man. It’s genius. You know that, right?’

  Connor’s cheeks coloured as he ran a hand unconsciously through his hair. ‘Nah. I don’t … I mean … I just do what I do.’

  ‘Look, I’ve read everything I can find about the band. These guys auditioned for a bassist for – what? – six months?’ Declan glanced at Angus for confirmation, who nodded. ‘And they hired you. Six weeks later, they had their first hit. Coincidence?’

  He appealed again to Angus. This time, Angus held up his hand.

  ‘OK, OK! So it wouldn’t work without him. For God’s sake, don’t make me stroke his ego every day.’

  Connor turned to him. ‘You know, occasionally would be nice.’

  Angus groaned.

  ‘What. Ever.’

  Connor smiled. The flush in his cheeks was still there, but the rock-god glimmer was back in his eyes. He was more insanely beautiful than ever. I pitied any girlfriend he might have – that sensitive ego would take a lot of stroking – but it would have its compensations. Just looking at him would be a start.

  We played records late into the night. The next day, Connor was the first to head into the music room and strap on his bass guitar. The others joined him and soon they were racing through their repertoire of rock songs. Playing the blues. Rearranging old Point songs. Shifting amps and instruments around to get the sound they liked. Declan’s drum kit sounded best in the hall, with its spectacular echo that made the whole house seem to rattle and hum.

  Later, Orli and I listened from the kitchen while they played around with a couple of new songs. Not complete numbers, but ideas that Angus had been working on. This time, it wasn’t pretty. Short phrases suddenly stopped, followed by a question. Repeat. Try again. Change a bar. Change of mind. It sounded nothing like the polished pieces they’d played before. Song-writing was obviously difficult. No wonder the boys had put it off for so long.

  *

  We ate together again that evening, sitting around the table and sharing stories. Afterwards Sam lit a fire he’d prepared for us in the drawing room and went back for a game of cards with Orli in the kitchen. The boys went into the billiard room for a game. I found the Edgar Allan Poe stories I’d abandoned earlier and went back into the drawing room to read them. The fire was already glowing invitingly.

  I put some background music on, working my way through the record collection to find new tracks I liked. Meanwhile, the fire cracked and hissed, and filled the room with the olive-scented smell of its smoke.

  Declan was the first to join me.

  ‘Man, that snooker game is crazy. It makes no sense at all.’

  He lay flat on his back on a window seat, looking at the moon rising above the cedar trees.

  I decided Declan was a blues boy, and put on some Muddy Waters. I was getting to know the collection now. We spent our time in companionable silence, thinking our own thoughts and listening to the deep, slow vocals and blues guitar.

  Angus came in next, holding a guitar and a mini amp, which he plugged in. He sat on the big sofa and played along to a couple of tracks, improvising as he went. Declan joined him, playing on a table with a couple of pencils for drumsticks. Connor arrived and stretched out on the floor near me, mesmerized by the fire.

  The record stopped but Angus and Declan carried on, playing variations on what we’d just heard, picking up the tempo a little. Angus’s guitar playing became more intricate. God, he was good. A boy that good-looking had no right to be that good.

  Soon he switched rhythm to something different – not mellow any more, but steady, insistent, complicated. I recognized the riff pretty quickly: DA-da-da, da-da-da, DA-da-da, da-da-da, in a rising scale. He was playing ‘Kashmir’. And Declan, laughing, joined in, recapturing the complicated beat on a chair leg, a couple of photograph frames and the bucket containing the poker and the other fire irons.r />
  It was slow and gentle, but enthralling, and I knew from the satisfied smirk on Angus’s face that he was doing it to impress me. It was working, but I was determined not to let it show. He easily had a high enough opinion of himself already.

  I put my arms around my knees and closed my eyes, dreaming. Soon I was back in that desert landscape. Then I sensed a shadow behind me in the real world, cutting my back off from the warmth of the fire. I looked round and Jamie was standing there, holding his battered Taylor in one hand.

  He shrugged at Angus. ‘Mind if I join you?’

  A slow grin played across Angus’s face as he gestured to the painted chair. ‘Sure. You know how it goes.’

  He started again, still smiling his secret smile. Jamie sat down with his guitar on his knee and played along. Together they created the same tune as before, but it was richer, more layered, even more beautiful. They’d done this many, many times in the past, I could tell. With no practice, they fitted together with not a note out of place, electric and acoustic, searching out new harmonies. They couldn’t help catching each other’s eye and nodding as the song progressed. It was as if they’d never been apart.

  Connor, lying on his back with his eyes closed, grinned like the Cheshire Cat. Declan’s expression was calm and focused, but I thought I detected an extra millimetre in the stretch of his smile.

  What nobody was doing was what I was tempted to do, which was to get up and scream ‘OH MY GOD. ANGUS IS PLAYING WITH JAMIE. WHAT JUST HAPPENED HERE?’

  Instead, when they finished with ‘Kashmir’, Jamie suggested picking up the beat with a bit of Nirvana, and suddenly they were into ‘Smells Like Teen Spirit’. Declan grabbed a snare drum from the music room and the sweet, soulful sound of Jamie’s vocals carried over his percussion and the sound of the guitars.

  From nowhere, they were a band again. It was the old magic – magnified by the flickering firelight and the darkness beyond the windows. Jamie was the missing ingredient. Nobody could match his voice. His touch on guitar might not be as flashy as anything Angus could do, but it melted me.

  I let the music wash over me and round me and through me, as the firelight cast ever-changing patterns on my skin. I could hardly believe I was really here. It was like a mini-concert, just for me. Well, strictly speaking, for Connor and me. But when I looked over at Connor, he was grinning at me with the same knowing grin that Angus gave Jamie when he first came in. What did it mean? It was as if they all knew something I didn’t.

  I scooted backwards until my face was close to Connor’s.

  ‘What’s going on between those two?’ I whispered.

  ‘Don’t you get it?’

  ‘No. Not at all.’

  Connor looked at me and laughed. ‘You really don’t, do you?’

  ‘No. Really. Explain it to me.’

  He sighed. ‘Why does any boy learn guitar?’

  ‘To play like Jimmy Page?’ I said, remembering what Angus told me.

  ‘No, you idiot.’

  They were playing ‘Unlock Me’, from The Point’s second album. As always, it sent shivers through me.

  ‘It’s you.’ Connor leant up on one elbow to whisper in my ear.

  ‘What’s me?’

  He stared at me, confused by my stupidity – whatever I was being stupid about. When I finally got it, a flush spread through me that made my face glow hotter than the firelight.

  They are playing guitar together to show off to a girl, pure and simple.

  I feel dizzy with the strangeness of it.

  Despite whatever Windy said, I am what just happened here.

  Connor brought in his bass and another amp, and they played together until long after the fire was dead. But I’d been up late a lot recently, and walking in the rain again for much of the afternoon. At three in the morning I dragged myself up to bed.

  I slept late, but when I woke up the house was still quiet. Orli had made coffee and left pancake batter ready beside the Aga. She’d left a note to say she’d popped into the village with Sam. This was perfect. With the kitchen to myself I made my own pancakes, the way I’d seen her do it. I walked Twiggy and did my chores and stayed busy and spoke to no one. I tried not to think about last night, or remember any details, because the weirdness was too immense.

  When I’d run out of chores, I worked on my mural in the Silk Room. My face and hands were spattered with shades of green. I was painting trees today – beeches and oaks and great cedars of Lebanon. All I knew for certain was that I was happy. Because the band had got back together. That must explain the dizzy feeling that still hadn’t entirely disappeared.

  The boys emerged mid-afternoon for a late-lunch English breakfast, rock-star style. Afterwards they disappeared into the music room together and stayed there, talking, laughing and trying out the instruments. I lingered in the drawing room, listening to them across the hall for a while, then caught snatches of their playing while I painted.

  They played together for a couple of hours, then things went quiet for a while. Taking Twiggy for another walk, I found Declan and Connor playing football on the overgrown lawn in front of the house with an ancient, bust leather ball.

  ‘Where are the others?’ I asked.

  ‘Still inside. Talking,’ Connor said. He shrugged. ‘They’ve got some catching up to do.’

  As I walked back inside, it felt as though a curse had been lifted from the house, or an evil resident ghost was gone.

  I was heading up to my room when Angus looked up and saw me through the music-room door.

  ‘Can you get Jamie’s phone, babe?’ he called out. ‘He left it upstairs. He wants to show me something.’

  ‘What did your last slave die of?’ I asked, raising an eyebrow.

  Angus shrugged, half-apologetically. ‘We’d go … but …’

  He indicated the guitars slung over their shoulders, the leads everywhere. More to the point, they were obviously in the middle of creating something and didn’t want to get too distracted. I knew the feeling. Plus, it was technically kind of my job.

  ‘OK. Fine.’

  I went up to Jamie’s room, which was bigger and statelier than mine, and found the phone lying amongst the general chaos of his unmade four-poster bed. He made me look relatively tidy by comparison. I tried to block out what Tammy would be saying if she could picture me in here, and focus on what I’d come for. Not a girl girl, Nina, never forget.

  Back downstairs, as I handed the phone over, both boys grinned at me gratefully. ‘Love you, babe’ Angus said, with a distracted nod. This was my favourite Angus, hair in a mop, mind buzzing, caught in a creative haze.

  ‘Love you too,’ Jamie echoed as I passed him the phone, flashing me The Smile and catching my gaze for a second longer than he needed to.

  Whoa. That smile.

  I nodded and said, ‘Yeah, course you do,’ and walked away.

  Because he was being a rock star, and that’s what they say. Don’t get carried away, Nina. Just because he played guitar to impress you last night.

  I was calm and in control, but twenty minutes later, I was coming downstairs with the laundry basket when I heard the results of the new song they’d been working on. Angus strummed the chords and Jamie’s voice sang out the verse and chorus, loud and clear.

  I let you down

  You cut your hair

  All the blue

  Gone

  All the blue

  Wrong

  And now you’re flying through the air

  Like a bird, like an angel

  Across the golden sky

  Ariel

  Take me there

  Ariel

  Take me anywhere

  I stopped in my tracks and almost dropped the basket.

  Jamie Maldon had just written a song about my sister.

  Windy never prepared me for this.

  ‘So, Nina,’ Angus said over Orli’s roast dinner that night. (We all ate together in the evenings now and Angus was sitting next to me.
) ‘Who’s your favourite? Which one of the Point are you into? The bad boy?’ He lowered his head and gave me his devil’s smile. ‘Or the angel?’ He gestured at Connor, whose white-blond hair glowed paler than ever in the candlelight.

  ‘Don’t be a moron,’ I muttered. Meanwhile I noticed that Connor’s darker blond roots were showing. He was becoming less rock-god to me now, and more someone who needed some serious hair-dye attention.

  But Angus wouldn’t give up. ‘Maybe the new boy?’ He grinned at Declan, sitting opposite, who gave me a gentlemanly nod. ‘No? Surely not … surely not … Jamie Maldon?’ Whoosh. My cheeks were on fire. I hated Angus and shot him a look but he didn’t care. ‘What girl could possibly fall for that hideous facial expression? He gets zits, you know. His, erm, gaseous emissions, if you’ll pardon me, can be measured from space.’

  ‘Gaseous emissions?’ Jamie echoed in mock horror from across the table.

  ‘You fart like a cow, man. It’s not humanly possible to fart as much as you do. How can any girl like you?’

  ‘You fart way more than I do! You hold the world record for “gaseous emissions”. Don’t put that on me.’

  I thought I’d got away with maintaining a dignified silence, but Jamie gave me The Smile, and asked me, confidently, ‘So …?’

  ‘I’m not into anyone,’ I said hotly. ‘The world isn’t just a beauty contest between you guys.’

  ‘Oh yeah?’ Angus asked, with a lazy grin.

  ‘And if you think it is, then what are you going to do when your hair starts falling out? And you get pot bellies? And the fans have moved on to people who weren’t even born when you started?’

  The grin on Angus’s face faded. He looked offended. ‘What about Mick Jagger?’ he asked. ‘He’s still got it.’

  ‘Mick Jagger’s old enough to be my grandfather. I can categorically assure you that I don’t fancy him.’

  I was quite proud of myself – I’d managed to turn the conversation from me on to Mick Jagger. But Declan was grinning at me. Declan – who I trusted. It turned out that he was just one of the boys when he wanted to be.