Love Song

by Sophia Bennett

  ‘He invited me to … something else,’ I said vaguely. My voice petered out. My mind was racing. My head ached.

  ‘Are you going?’

  ‘I can’t. It was a long time ago.’

  Slowly, my whirring thoughts arranged themselves into some kind of sense. Had Jamie pictured me going out to California in November, then bringing all my friends along to this gig after Christmas? Was that why he’d booked it here? I knew how he liked to plan romantic gestures. I thought Sigrid had messed up the dinner in Paris, but if I was right, that was nothing to what I’d done now.

  The ground underneath me seemed to be shaking and I put out a hand to steady myself. It had seemed so sensible and right to ignore his letter when it arrived. I was so proud of myself for shoving it out of sight. Now, suddenly, I wasn’t sure.

  ‘Come with me,’ Ariel said, holding out her hand. ‘I know we could get you in.’ She looked into my eyes and I could see that she got the turmoil I was in. ‘You don’t have to do anything – just watch from the back. If you can’t take it, we’ll leave.’

  I pictured his inscrutable face on the TV screen just now. I thought about the jagged pain of seeing the photo of him with his arm around another girl. I didn’t know what to do, and I felt myself about to crumble.

  ‘Please?’ she begged.

  I shook my head. ‘I can’t. It’s too late. He’s got someone else now … There’s no point.’

  ‘Jamie? Someone else? Who?’

  ‘That girl in the picture they showed. The one with Rose. You saw her.’

  Ariel wrinkled her brow. ‘Charley van Schaal? The tennis player? That’s Declan’s girlfriend. They’ve been going out for ages. You really don’t follow them any more, do you?’

  I shrugged and sniffed. ‘I guess not.’

  ‘As far as I know, he’s single,’ Ariel said. ‘Does that help? I really want to hear my song. And it’s all because of you. Please come.’

  ‘When is it?’

  ‘The day after tomorrow.’

  I nodded, wordlessly.

  She threw her arms around me and hugged me.

  Four boys, onstage at a dirty, sweaty venue in South London, full of a thousand screaming Pointer Sisters. No lasers or pyrotechnics or balloons. The band looked nervous and excited – like they used to, I guess, in the old days, before they played to stadiums of pixel-sized mega-fans.

  The set list began with ‘Pilgrim Soul’ and that was hard, because it was about Jamie and me and I could picture exactly how I felt when I first heard it. He’d changed his look again, I noticed. The silk shirt had been replaced by an old, stiff-fronted evening shirt, half-untucked, like the kind I used to wear from Charity and Chuck. He was wandering the stage clothed in my memories.

  The next song was hard too. Same story. Listening to Jamie Maldon sing anything, ever, was going to be difficult, I realized. I was just going to have to harden my heart.

  Then Declan launched into a shimmering intro on drums, and Jamie sang:

  I let you down

  You cut your hair

  And already I was crying. Ariel turned to me with wet cheeks too. It was so beautiful and sad and heartfelt. Boys’ hearts get broken too, he’d told me. He sang like a boy with a broken heart.

  The crowd were transported. They seemed to love each song more than the last. Windy didn’t need to worry – it was clear they had a new set of hits on their hands.

  Song after song. Old ones, new ones. Each one packed with special memories. Each one harder to bear than the last.

  But Ariel was in paradise. She was back to her old self – a Pointer Sister to her core, surrounded by her soulmates. And we were too crammed in to think of moving, even if I’d had the heart to pull her away.

  ‘As you know, we always do a cover,’ Jamie said eventually, standing in the spotlight. This must mean the gig was nearly over. ‘This one’s by Derek and the Dominos. It’s about a girl. Hope you like it.’

  From the first seven notes of Angus’s riff, I knew it. They launched into a wild, zinging, heartfelt rendition of ‘Layla’, one of the most passionate rock songs ever written. It was one of the songs we used to listen to at the Hall.

  As Jamie howled into the mic, I was back there, by the fire, and trying so hard not to be. The feeling was like a fire inside me. Happiness, joy, love. So much love. More emotion than a body could contain.

  Angus’s sweeping solo came close to expressing it. For a while, I was transported by the fireworks of his guitar. Then Jamie came back on vocals and the rawness of his emotion cut right through me.

  Jamie Jamie Jamie Jamie.

  Just because someone smashes your heart on the rocks, it doesn’t mean you stop loving them, unfortunately. I was lost. Nothing had changed.

  As the last notes died away, the crowd screamed and stomped like never before. Jamie stood there, soaking up their reaction for a while. Then he walked up to the front of the stage, spotlight on his face, mic in hand.

  ‘This one’s for someone I used to know,’ he announced quietly, guarding his emotions, staring at the floor. Connor played a riff on bass and Angus joined in. I recognized the tune as one they’d been working on, but they hadn’t turned it into anything by the time I left the Hall. Now Jamie raised the mic to sing.

  A little bit broken

  A little bit beautiful

  That’s who we are,

  Aurora

  A little bit broken

  A little bit lost

  But I found you

  Tread on my dreams

  And I’ll take you to

  A place that no one knows

  Just me and you

  And there it was. A song with the words I’d given to Jamie when I told him I loved him. He’d read the words and kept them. It must be the thing he wanted to me to hear. But I still didn’t really understand. Aurora was the name of the broken boat on the lake. It could refer to any girl, or any broken thing – it didn’t have to be me.

  After the second verse, Declan moved on to keyboards from the drums. He accompanied Angus and Jamie as they played a long instrumental, a bit like ‘Layla’ – a journey in music that reached inside me and played me like one of their guitars. It was the best thing they’d ever done. Perfectly beautiful. Did Jamie simply want to give me this song?

  Then, as the last notes died away, there was a coda. Jamie stood, alone, in the spotlight to sing it. The words of this final, unexpected verse reminded me of ‘Layla’, too. I wondered if that was why he’d chosen that cover just now.

  I’m on my knees now

  I’m begging you, please now

  You said you loved me

  Please don’t walk away

  His voice was raw. It gave me goosebumps.

  When he’d sung the words, Jamie stayed staring out into the crowd, while Declan went back to his drums and the other boys played quietly behind him. Angus strummed a few simple chords. Declan took the drums down to their softest shimmer. Connor let his bass hang on its strap and gave Jamie a mock ‘go ahead’ bow.

  Jamie spoke to the crowd. ‘You look good tonight, Croydon. I want you to do something for me.’

  Applause. Random cheering.

  ‘There was a girl. I messed up. I probably made it worse, because she hates attention. I mean, she hates attention. But I needed a big gesture.’

  More cheers. Yells of sympathy.

  Ariel looked at me. My skin started to prickle.

  He opened his arms out to everyone in front of him. ‘It didn’t work, but it’s kind of a tradition for this song now. Will you sing for me?’

  ‘Yes!’ There was some cheering from the front rows.

  ‘I said, will you sing for me?’

  ‘Woo! Woo! Woo!’ This time, the cheer ran round the venue.

  ‘OK. It goes like this …’

  Angus played the notes on guitar, then Jamie sang, unaccompanied:

  I’m on my knee-knee-knees, now

  He gestured to the crowd to sing. They sang back.


  I’m on my knee-knee-knees, now

  He made them sing it a few times. I didn’t join in. I was still trying to understand what was happening. I reached out and clutched Ariel’s hand.

  ‘Now this side …’ Jamie crouched down and indicated the audience to his left.

  I’m on my knee-knee-knees …

  ‘And you …’ He got the audience to his right to sing one note:

  Now

  And that was it. He got them to repeat it, over, and over – the left side, then the right, conducting them like a choir.

  I’m on my knee-knee-knees … Now

  He made them sing quietly, so it almost sounded like a lullaby, or a prayer. He had them in the palm of his hand, just as he had in New York. That same magic.

  On the fourth or fifth time, I heard it.

  My name.

  If you didn’t hear the word every day, you wouldn’t notice. But there it was, floating above the crowd.

  Ni-Ni-Ni … Na

  Ni-Ni-Ni … Na

  He let them sing. Listening to the sound, his face finally relaxed into that faraway look he got when he was lifted by the audience’s energy.

  It wasn’t a coincidence. It wasn’t a mistake. Jamie Maldon knew the power of words too well. A while ago, I’d told him that he wouldn’t remember me. Now, a thousand people, without knowing it, were singing my name.

  Ariel heard it too. She turned to look at me, her eyes wide with wonder. I couldn’t do anything or say anything. When a thousand people sing to you, even if they don’t know it’s you they’re singing to, the magic is powerful.

  I closed my eyes. I don’t know how long they sang for. It was probably less than a minute. It felt like for ever. A thousand voices, blending together. My name, my name, my name.

  When it was over, Jamie sank to his knees and sang the last line of the song:

  You said you loved me

  Please don’t walk away

  And then silence.

  He stayed on his knees as the people cheered, and blew a kiss to the crowd.

  ‘Thank you, Croydon. You were beautiful.’

  A thousand-voice-choir apology.

  Rock star.

  And still in love with me.

  Not every boy is Jez Rockingham. As I stood there watching him, alone under the spotlight, the armour around my heart peeled off and fell away.

  They’d been here two days, and he was already regretting his decision. When he wasn’t working these days, the Hall was the only place he wanted to be. But he’d invited the rest of the band for New Year’s Eve, and they’d invited other people and ever since they got here it had been a raging party. His head hurt. The noise was constant – a different dance tune in every room. Snooker balls and party games … Beautiful people, having a beautiful time. He didn’t know who half of them were.

  It was five in the afternoon, and already pitch black outside. He went to the kitchen to make himself a sandwich. A girl in a bikini top, spangled hotpants and platform boots (why? – it was Northumberland) was giving a massage to a shirtless boy leaning forward on the kitchen table, and the room smelt of patchouli oil. He missed the aroma of Orli’s roast chicken. And Orli herself, who couldn’t come and cook for him because she was on holiday with Sam. He missed everything.

  Avoiding the half-naked couple, he made his sandwich on the far side of the room.

  ‘Jamie! Jamie! This place is so fantastic!’ the girl said, ignoring her massage partner for a moment to focus her bright green eyes on him. Who was she? Had they met last night? He couldn’t remember. ‘Just imagine what you could do with it! I was thinking just now … You could knock these walls down and put in some picture windows. Get rid of that old stove and install some decent fridges that do ice, you know? And a big TV with Sky up there in the corner. I do interior design. I could help you remodel it.’ She batted her extra-long lashes.

  He nodded and mentally ignored her, quickly finishing his sandwich and walking away. Ever since he got here, people had been telling him how great the house was, and how to change it. Take this down … make that better … sell all the old stuff … make it look like every other luxury pad they’d ever stayed in. He nodded to them all and hated them.

  She would have made a cup of tea and curled up on the sofa beside him, and laughed at them with him. And he’d have leant in to kiss her, and her cheeks would have flushed with the anticipation … his blood quickened at the thought of it, even though she was just a memory.

  It all made sense with her. It only made sense with her.

  He passed the dining room, where he’d smarmed all over Sigrid, and all the time he was killing her just a little bit, and he hadn’t known it. He should have done – she’d warned him. Her heart was a delicate mechanism, like his. You couldn’t smash it with a hammer and expect it still to keep working.

  He hadn’t been in the room since. The table had been dismantled and now the space was full of people dancing. Verushka was doing a hot routine to the loud approval of several guests. He didn’t recognize most of them.

  The hall throbbed with music he didn’t like. Someone had raided the cellar and dropped a bottle of vintage wine on the marble flagstones. The pungent smell was turning acrid. But the beautiful people simply walked through it, as if it wasn’t there.

  He would sell Heatherwick as soon as he could, he decided. This whole idea had been a mistake. Meanwhile, nobody was going to clear up that stinking mess. Nobody cared about the little things here any more. Nobody made things. He went to the utility room behind the kitchen to find a cloth and bucket. When he got back, a girl in skinny jeans and a micro-top wandered in from the drawing room, clutching one of the wooden boxes that had once held Windy’s records.

  ‘Hi Jamie,’ she cooed to him, with a take-me smile. ‘We ran out of stuff for the fire. It’s nearly out now. We can use these, can’t we?’

  He looked beyond her, to see the old albums scattered carelessly on the floor.

  Get out! he wanted to yell. All of you! Leave me alone.

  Instead, he simply shook his head. ‘No. You can’t. I need those.’

  But she wasn’t listening. She was heading to the front door. ‘Did you hear something?’ She opened it and peered outside. ‘Can I help you? It’s someone from the village, Jamie. Oh! Snow! Hey! C’mon everyone! It’s snowing!’

  She shouted loudly and a crowd of people rushed past him, through the hall and out of the front door, following in her laughing wake. A flurry of cold wind made him shiver.

  The crowd disappeared. He looked out into the darkness. And there she was. In a coat, with a suitcase. Looking quite out of place at the party. And totally at home.

  ‘Nina!’

  He ran down the steps towards her. She was shivering, and there were snowflakes in her hair. She must have been out there for ages, while nobody heard the bell over the music. He put his arms around her and held her close.

  ‘Windy t-told m-me you were here,’ she said, through chattering teeth. ‘N-no signal …’

  He bent his head down to hers, and hesitated. She had a history of reacting badly to his attempts to show her how he felt about her. Restraining the powerful urge to kiss her, he murmured, ‘But … you read my letter. You didn’t reply. You didn’t come to the gig …’

  She looked up at him and shook her head. ‘I d-didn’t read your letter. Not until a week ago. I went to the gig at the Rialto, but I didn’t have a p-pass. I c-couldn’t get backstage. T-too many people. Then I didn’t know where you were.’

  ‘You could have called me.’

  ‘D-didn’t have your number,’ she said. ‘And Windy wasn’t answering his calls. Until yest-t-terday.’

  ‘I thought I’d blown it.’

  ‘You had.’

  He couldn’t believe she was really here. ‘I never lied to you about Sigrid,’ he told her urgently pulling back, so he could look at her. ‘As soon as we left the Hall, I flew out to her and told her it was over. She wouldn’t believe me fo
r a while. Then she wanted to keep it quiet. I was a mess, I was busy, I didn’t care. When she finally told everyone it was over, she made it seem like … In Sigrid’s world, nobody leaves her. It’s not possible. I wanted to tell you the truth. But I had to make you trust me first.’

  She simply nodded. ‘I kn-know.’

  Something had changed in her. Though she stammered with the cold, the flicker of uncertainty was gone. Now she was all fire, despite the snow. Oh God, the snow. She was freezing. He quickly led her through the open door and reached out a hand to brush the melting snowflakes from her hair.

  A group of raucous people spilled out of the dining room into the hall and stared briefly at the girl in the coat before turning their eyes to him. ‘Come and dance, baby!’ Verushka cooed seductively, holding out her hands and undulating to the music.

  Not again …

  But before he could answer, he felt Nina’s arms snake around his waist. ‘Don’t dance,’ she said. ‘Not yet.’ She pulled him in close.

  ‘I wasn’t going to,’ he murmured. He looked into her eyes, amazed. She was smiling. Hope, and something stronger, sparked in his chest. ‘You were wrong, by the way,’ he said.

  ‘What about?’

  ‘I remembered your name.’

  ‘Oh that. I noticed.’

  ‘And your birthday.’

  ‘You did, didn’t you?’ she grinned.

  ‘Forgiven?’

  The last time he had tried to kiss her here, she had pulled away. This time, ignoring the watching crowd, she looked at him with heavy-lidded eyes and pulled him to her.

  The world disappeared. Even the sound of Angus laughing in the background didn’t matter. ‘Finally. Finally …’

  Kissing Nina Baxter was hot, and fierce, and wonderful. Time exploded into a million precious moments. For ever started now, and it was beautiful.

  Abeach wedding, on an island in the Caribbean. The bride is one of Rory Windermere’s favourite people, he says. No expense has been spared.

  Today, I’m wearing a long, strappy dress by an American designer. At least this time they’ve been given my proper dimensions. It fits me with almost indecent perfection.