by Maeve Haran
As Debora departed, not giving the poor man a chance to change his mind, the regulars stared at him as if he had just announced he intended to ascend the throne of England.
She was equally enthusiastic about the vintage market and promised to use her contacts to get them a really good movie to kick off their outdoor cinema.
‘All we need now,’ Stella sighed, ‘is some funding. Actually, we thought of asking Cameron to do a gig.’
‘Excellent idea. Don’t bother asking Cameron. Duncan will organize it all for you.’
‘Isn’t he just a fixer?’ Stella asked, bemused. ‘He told me he called the cabs and made sure Cameron got his Americano.’
Debora roared with laughter. ‘Naughty Duncan.’ She looked thoughtfully at Stella. ‘I wonder why he’s being so edgy with you? Not Duncan’s usual style. Duncan is the business brains. Haven’t you wondered how Cam could live so well? It’s all down to Duncan and his clever investments. Cameron owns a golf course in California. And a hotel in Cap Ferrat. He’s invested in tech companies. Cameron’s had a lot of hits but even before the download revolution beggared the business, his sales were declining. Duncan is the one who’s made Cameron’s fortune – and all of ours, actually.’
‘Is he such a good business brain?’ Suze was amazed. ‘He used to be rather a nonentity. As a matter of fact, we called him Dull Duncan.’
‘If you think Warren Buffett’s dull, or Bill Gates is dull. OK, Duncan doesn’t flash his position around, but let’s say we’re all very grateful to him. Long live dullness!’
‘So why all this? Why is Cameron suddenly going on tour and coming over here to revive his career?’
‘Because Cameron insisted. Cameron wanted to find his lost inspiration.’ She smiled wickedly at Stella. ‘He wanted to find you.’
‘And what do you imagine he thinks now that he has found me? I mean, for God’s sake, he remembered me as a pretty young thing. Now I’m sixty-four!’
‘That’s an interesting question. How’s he been so far?’
‘Rather sweet, actually.’
‘He can be sweet. It’s one of his saving graces.’
‘Have your children forgiven him for going off with Hallelujah and now this Roxy?’
‘They have now there’s talk of a divorce. Anyway, I’m grateful to Roxy for one thing. At least she’s shown him how to use his cellphone. He used to ring me in the middle of the night from his hotel room asking me how to do it. Right now,’ Debora announced as if she were divvying up tasks for the WI, ‘we have to keep Cameron relatively sober and concentrate his energies on rehearsing for his debut. Duncan might have made Cameron rich but he can’t stop the vultures descending if he can’t carry off these concerts.’
‘Surely they wouldn’t, would they?’
‘They’d enjoy nothing more. I can just see it now. Forget a comeback, this is a throwback to times best forgotten. That’s why we all have to look after him.’
Suze rubbed her hands together. ‘Then it looks like we’re in for an interesting summer.’
‘There is one benefit to touring,’ Debora pointed out. ‘At least Cameron will move his Airstream out of your back yard for a bit.’
‘You mean he’d consider coming back?’ Stella asked faintly. She had rather hoped life would go back to normal.
‘Almost certainly. But go on, admit it, I bet he’s made things a lot more colourful.’
Five
————
As it turned out, Cameron’s arrival in their midst was only a temporary distraction from Stella’s everyday problems. When she returned from her newest pet commission a couple of days later, it was to find two of her grandchildren ensconced on her sofa watching The Simpsons.
‘Hello. Was I supposed to be picking Izzy up?’
‘Hiya, Gran.’ Izzy gave her a small smile but with none of her usual look-at-me bravado.
‘Mum and Dad were both out,’ Jesse explained. ‘Rube’s at the babysitter’s and Izz needed a hand with homework. Eleven plus maths. I’m sixteen and I still can’t fathom all those pie charts and rotating cubes so I couldn’t really help.’
‘Me neither,’ Stella sympathized. ‘Have you asked Pappy?’
‘He’s too busy on some incredibly important Internet search. It seemed to involve power tools.’ Power tools now vied with William Morris among Matthew’s current obsessions.
‘Right,’ Stella announced in a tone of steely decisiveness. ‘We’ll see what we can do about that.’
‘He said he’d help later,’ Jesse added, clearly not wanting a confrontation.
Stella strode towards Matthew’s den.
‘Gran,’ Jesse got up and followed her, quietly closing the door, ‘maybe best left. She got into a terrible state about it. I’ve never seen Izzy lose it like that. She’s usually brilliant at these test papers. She likes competing with herself. But not today for some reason.’
‘Something at school?’
Jesse shrugged.
‘Oh dear, something at home?’
‘Mum and Dad don’t seem to be talking to each other at the moment. As soon as one comes in the other goes out. It’s pretty tense.’
‘OK, I’ll just sit down and have a cuddle. Are you OK?’
He shrugged, sweeping his usual curtain of hair across his face so that she couldn’t see his eyes.
‘Always come and see us if you want to.’
‘Yeah.’ He seemed to deliberately straighten his shoulders. ‘It’s great having you round the corner. A lot of kids in my class don’t have grandparents. They lost contact when their parents got divorced. That wouldn’t happen with us, would it?’
Stella held out her arms and he came into them in a brief and bumpy embrace. ‘Never. And your parents aren’t going to get divorced.’
She made a cup of tea and brought it back with a plate of chocolate biscuits and sat down between them. Thank God for The Simpsons. Funny that such a dysfunctional family could seem so normal and comforting.
Izzy had always reminded her of a more extrovert version of Lisa Simpson. They watched three episodes before the doorbell went. Stella jumped up, expecting her daughter or son-in-law, but it was Debora with Duncan Miller in tow.
‘I’ve just been discussing the “Concert for Camley” you’d like Cameron to do. Duncan says no problem at all if it can wait till after the tour’s finished.’
‘Fantastic! You’re sure Cameron’ll be up for it? I mean, he may not want to admit he comes from around here. It’s not exactly the Bronx or the Badlands of New Jersey.’
‘Cameron’ll be fine,’ Duncan reassured her.
‘By which he means Cameron’ll do what he’s told,’ Debora translated, helping herself to a chocolate biscuit. ‘I love the way you Brits have tea whenever there’s any kind of crisis. What’s been the trouble today, people?’
‘Oh, nothing at all. Izzy was struggling a bit with her ghastly test paper and I’m about as much use as a fish on a bicycle, so we’re having tea and telly instead.’
‘My granddad said he’d help,’ Jesse smiled winningly, ‘only he’s a bit taken up with power-tool attachments.’
‘I hear you’re a pretty good guitarist,’ Duncan commented.
Jesse blushed.
‘You must come to one of our concerts. Not your kind of music, but we could show you backstage.’
Jesse lit up like a light bulb.
‘We’ll have to sort something out. Can I have a look?’ Duncan picked up one of Izzy’s papers. ‘I used to quite enjoy these, though I expect they’re all different now. Right. Why don’t we pool our brainpower?’
‘Better than Countdown, anyway.’ Jesse grinned, knowing Countdown was one of Matthew’s favourite programmes. Duncan started reading aloud: ‘Look at the bus timetable on the right.’ They all stared at it helpfully. ‘Jemima lives on Hart Street. She wants to arrive at Maple Lane before ten-fifteen. What time should she catch the bus from Hart Street?’
‘Nine-ten?’ Izzy asked ten
tatively.
‘Absolutely!’ congratulated Duncan. ‘Next. A bar chart! I used to love making bar charts!’ He showed Izzy the illustration. ‘Twenty-five per cent of children like ham. How many like tuna?’
Izzy studied it. ‘Fifty per cent?’
‘Wah-hay! Who said you couldn’t do it?’
Izzy giggled, looking considerably happier.
‘Here’s another one. Shania has three pieces of wool . . .’
‘Shania?’ demanded Debora. ‘As in Shania Twain?’ She grabbed Stella’s hand and they both started to sing the chorus of one of her greatest hits: ‘. . . Let’s go, girls!’ so loudly that Matthew appeared at the door. ‘What the hell’s going on?’
‘We’re all helping Izzy with her test paper.’
‘For God’s sake, Stella,’ he fumed. ‘The whole point of these tests is that they’re done to time and she doesn’t get any help, else what’s the bloody point?’
He grabbed the paper and demanded, ‘OK, if you’re all so clever: what is twenty-one point seven times nine point four? Is it a) two hundred and eighty-seven point sixty-eight; b) four hundred and thirty-two point forty-two; c) one hundred and seventeen point twenty-four; d) two hundred and three point ninety-eight; e) four hundred and twelve point ninety-six?’
‘D – two hundred and three point ninety-eight,’ Duncan replied, winking at Izzy, who was beginning to look distressed again.
Maybe Duncan’s involvement was making him feel guilty at his own lack of grandparental input but Matthew grumpily reached for the answer sheet. ‘It says here you can use estimation to work it out. How bloody ridiculous! Whatever happened to mathematical accuracy? Imagine if NASA tried estimation to get rockets to the moon!’ He turned to Duncan. ‘Shouldn’t you be doing something useful like setting up security or booking tour buses?’
‘The promoters book security,’ Duncan answered calmly, refusing to take offence. ‘And our tour manager books the buses.’
‘Then what the hell do you do?’
Duncan eyed him evenly, refusing to take the bait. ‘As I told you,’ he replied, ‘I get the Americanos.’
‘Well, why don’t you go and get some now? I want some peace alone with my grandchildren.’
Debora laced her arm through Duncan’s. ‘Come on, Duncan dear, we’ve overstayed our welcome.’
‘As a matter of fact,’ Stella blazed, ‘you’re welcome any time you want!’
She went to the door with them. ‘I’m so sorry. That was outrageous.’
‘Don’t worry,’ Debora soothed, ‘we’re used to outrageous, aren’t we, Dunc? Outrageous is when Cam has an audience of five thousand people waiting and doesn’t turn up.’
‘He’s never done that?’
‘It has been known.’
‘By the way,’ Duncan added, ‘I really like your grandson. The way he looks out for his little sister. Not many sixteen-year-olds would do that.’
‘Yes,’ Stella nodded, ‘Jesse’s a good guy.’ She just wished he didn’t need to.
When she went back into the sitting room Matthew ignored her and began ostentatiously to change channels on the television.
‘I’ll take Izzy and Jesse home,’ Stella announced. ‘I may be some time.’
When they got the car out, Izzy jumped in the back without staking her usual claim to the front seat.
‘What was the matter with him today?’ Jesse shook his head in amazement. ‘He used to be quite fun. When did Granddad turn into an old grouch?’
Stella busied herself with reversing out of the drive. It was the question she’d been avoiding asking herself.
When they’d met a year after Cameron’s abrupt departure, Matthew had been the only person apart from Suze who could cheer her up. He was no Cameron Keene, but in his own way he loved music and there had been something touching in his desire to take care of her.
It had struck Stella that Matthew’s mix of wild enthusiasms and down-to-earth-practicality was just like her beloved dad who’d died a few years earlier.
Stella had been going to ask Matthew one more time if he wanted to get involved in the Save the High Street campaign, but she was so angry with him that she decided to just get on with it without him. It would be a delight to get away. Besides, it was a gorgeous sunny day, the kind of day when people had to get out into their gardens, or sit outside in pavement cafes. The kind of day people felt would bring good things. With all the criticisms Matthew would raise about her ideas, he would somehow manage to make the sun go in. It was quite a skill.
She decided to start with the pop-up studio instead of at home. If she turned it into a reasonable working space, she could spend a lot of time there and since she had expertise in this area she’d at least know what was needed. Of the row of shops, the site of the now-defunct video store looked the most likely. It was big enough to have a photographic area to the left, and a studio space to the right of the store. There was even a tiny kitchen and an even tinier loo at the back.
Before anything else it would need a new coat of paint and some furniture, most of which she could bring from her studio at home. She wondered if she could persuade Jesse to give her a hand. Since the council had only given them a short window to prove themselves she’d better get on with it. She texted Jesse to see if he could round up some friends in aid of a good cause, if they were provided with pizzas and Coke.
What colour should she go for? She surveyed her recent paintings which were stored on her iPad. She really liked the new brightly coloured backgrounds she’d started using and decided that the acid-green one was the most effective. Home-base in Camley had a whole selection of acid-greens and she chose one which was the colour of a new leaf. To her delight she found a bean bag in their sale section which would do perfectly for the pets to pose on. She added filler, cheap brushes and yellow gloss paint for the front door and window frames. It might not be tasteful but it would certainly be eye-catching. Now she’d have to think up a clever name.
The total came to more than she’d expected and it made her stop and think. It was one thing to pay for tarting up a single shop, but there was a whole row to be renovated. Stella flagged momentarily, realizing that they were going to have to get hold of money now, and, more than money, people too. As an artist who worked alone, Stella had a horror of committees, with their incessant arguments and bickering that seemed to take up far more time and energy than the task in hand.
It was Debora who came up with the solution in the end. California was way ahead of Camley in these things, it seemed. ‘You should use Facebook! Remember all those horror stories about party invitations going on the Internet and five hundred people turning up? That’s what you want here. But first you need to draw up a list of exactly what needs to be done. Goodwill doesn’t last long.’
‘But what about the funds?’
‘Oh, Cameron’ll donate something. It’ll be good for his image. In fact, why don’t you get Duncan on the case? He could get Cam to come down here – for the press, obviously – and announce the date of his Campaign for Camley concert and hand over a cheque.’
‘But we haven’t even sorted out a venue for the concert yet.’
‘Didn’t you say something about your garden? It’s plenty big. You don’t need a million people. Just ask the ones with money. You could make it a mini rock festival!’
‘We could sort that out, Stell,’ Suze endorsed.
‘As well as the renovations?’
‘Weren’t you just a bit bored with life before all this?’
Stella thought about it. There was something in what Suze said. Without realizing it, she had adopted a certain mindset that said ‘I’m sixty-four, I’ve raised a family, have a career of sorts, made a home, have terrific grandchildren. It’s enough.’ She remembered a visit to the Chelsea Flower Show of all things, which seemed populated by happy octogenarians, walking hand in hand amongst the roses and lilies, and hoped one day to be just like them. But Matthew didn’t seem to be interested in spending
time together. And he certainly didn’t want to hold her hand.
‘Right. What are we hanging about for? Let’s get on with it!’ Suze and Debora both clapped.
Following Debora’s advice, Stella started by looking for Duncan. Debora had suggested he’d probably be at their hotel, since he’d set up his informal office there. She’d heard a great deal about how luxuriously The Glebe had been transformed from the run-down manor house where they’d recorded ‘Don’t Leave Me’ so long ago.
The Glebe had been owned for centuries by the Woodfield family. Its last owner, Celia Woodfield, an enthusiastic but dead-broke socialite, had enjoyed irritating her aristocratic neighbours by renting it out to various rock bands for such a reasonable rent that they ignored the manor’s shortcomings – antediluvian plumbing, rising damp and the occasional infestation of mice or bats. But that was all a distant memory. The Glebe had been sold to a luxury hotel chain long ago.
Stella realized that she actually felt quite nervous as she gave her name at reception and asked to speak to Duncan Miller.
While she was waiting she wandered out into the glorious garden. The borders blazed with colour – roses in every shade from palest pink to vermilion tumbled over the rope trellises, filling the air with their heavy perfume. Bees hummed and the occasional thrush or blackbird trilled its tune, as delighted as she was with the burst of glorious weather. The ancient house with its gabled roof and mellowed honey-coloured stone seemed to doze in the midday sun.
Could it really be nearly fifty years ago since she’d last been here, a shy eighteen-year-old, with so little confidence that she never believed anyone who told her she was beautiful? Stella could see now that she’d had the right looks for the extraordinary moment of the Swinging Sixties. The aristocratic models of the Fifties had been thrown out of the window by ordinary suburban girls like Twiggy and the barefoot Sandie Shaw and Stella had fitted the mould. Slim and waiflike, with her long blonde hair and huge eyes, which she’d lined with kohl so as to make them even bigger, she’d embraced miniskirts as well as the floating silky garments of the hippie trail.