by Maeve Haran
‘Oh come on, Matthew’s not in Fabia’s league. He couldn’t even keep her in Arctic fox!’
‘No, but Roxy says the man who gave her the fox has dumped her. Fabia knows her charms are fading and there’s something reassuring about Matthew.’
‘Gabriel Oak to Fabia’s Bathsheba?’
They both laughed, but Stella couldn’t help thinking it wasn’t a bad analogy. And then she remembered she’d never liked Gabriel Oak.
As they came out into the bright sunshine, Stella almost tripped over a young man with his ancient Labrador sitting on the ground outside the exit, begging. He had made a large sign out of cardboard with one word written on it: SMILE.
There was something so vulnerable and touching about him that Stella could hardly bear it. Before Jesse disappeared she’d seen the homeless as part of the backdrop, now she noticed every fragile young girl or boy, realizing that they were somebody’s missing child.
She pulled a fiver out of her purse and gave it to him.
‘Thanks, missus.’ He looked up at her, surprised.
‘Suze, I’ve made up my mind,’ Stella suddenly decided. ‘If Stuart and Emma can’t find this Kirsty, I’m going to.’
‘You don’t think they’d class that as interference?’
‘Sod interference! Duncan and Cameron are in Brighton next week. I’ll pretend I’m just going to watch the show. I can’t just sit here doing nothing.’
‘Speaking of shows, what’s happening with this fundraiser in your garden?’
Stella looked stricken. ‘With all this stuff about Jesse I hadn’t really given it any thought.’
‘Why don’t you delegate it to Matthew? Give him something else to think about apart from the Argentinian tango queen. Unless you want him to help with Jesse?’
‘He’s worse than Stuart. Stuart’s just busy, Matthew actually thinks Jesse is hopeless. Apparently, it’s all his parents’ fault for giving him a girl’s name. Do you know, he once asked me if I thought Jesse was gay?’
‘Well, Emma may call Dora a little slag but at least she’s put everyone right there.’
They were about to get back into the car when they both stopped and stared at each other. The brown paper lining the window of Fabia’s Retro Emporium had come down, revealing an amazing interior.
In the window was a display unit made up of about twenty irregularly sized wooden boxes, all painted a different colour; orange, jade, bright blue, yellow and red. Inside each box was a different item – an art deco cake stand, a pair of leopard-skin stilettoes, a silver teapot, a vase, a jewellery box and 1940s hat on a bronze wig stand. Through the gaps in the boxes customers could glimpse the rows of alluring clothes: Twenties beaded jackets, floor-length satin gowns, kimonos and tea dresses, silk nighties and feathered boleros. Along another wall exotic curtains were displayed in velvet and chenille, lace and tempting Indian fabrics.
‘Bloody hell!’ Suze said, amazed. ‘You have to hand it to her. This on top of all the other stuff she’s doing. It’s like walking back into Carnaby Street or Kensington Market! Where do you think she got all this stuff?’
‘From her own wardrobe, according to Debora. If she’s really flat broke, that’d be one way of making money.’
They peered in to see if anyone was inside but the shop was obviously empty.
‘All that trouble to make it look inviting and then it isn’t even open!’ Suze complained. ‘That’s one way to piss off your customers. I loathe shops that say, “Back in five minutes” and still aren’t back in half an hour.’
‘I’m not sure it’s officially trading yet.’
‘One good thing.’ Suze looked at her friend sneakily. ‘At least once it opens she’ll be too busy to tango with Matthew.’
‘I wouldn’t be too sure. I bet this was what he was helping her with. He’s quite handy with a hammer.’
When Stella got home Matthew was out again, so she couldn’t find out or approach him about organizing the concert. She went upstairs to change. The usual wet towels decorated the floor of the bathroom. Stella bent to pick them up and decided, no, why the hell should she?
She had just put on a skirt and clean top when she heard the front door open. Matthew came in and stopped to see what post was on the hall table. He was humming ‘Hernando’s Hideaway’, and what struck Stella was how happy he sounded.
Stella stood at the top of the stairs listening. There was, she had to admit, something indefinably different about Matthew. He seemed younger somehow, jauntier, less grouchy.
Suddenly Stella found she wanted to cry. As cranky and conservative Matthew grew younger before her eyes, she was feeling older. What was the matter with her, for heaven’s sake? If Matthew and the police thought Jesse would walk back in, why didn’t she?
Not suspecting she was watching, Matthew did a funny little side step as if he were on the dance floor, and smiled to himself.
Stella held tightly onto the banister. Her anxiety wasn’t just about Jesse. It was about her and Matthew as well. The truth was unavoidable. Matthew was falling for Fabia. And Stella had a question to face that was much harder than she had ever imagined: did she want to fight for him or stand back and let him go? Stella was shocked to find that she wasn’t sure.
The sound of a text beeping on her phone made her jump. A message from Duncan telling her to look at their website.
It was a welcome distraction from facing Matthew and his new-found happiness. She searched Cameron Keene’s website for the details of his tour. At the end there was a mysterious message. Jesse: get in touch or come and see the show – The Hangman’s Beautiful Daughter awaits you.
What on earth could it mean? To Stella it even sounded faintly sinister and cultish. She was about to contact Emma and see if she understood it any better when the doorbell rang.
She heard Matthew answer it then shout up to her, ‘Stella, someone to see you!’
To her amazement it was Dora. ‘I hope you don’t mind me coming round like this. I didn’t dare go to Jesse’s parents. I felt I’d caused enough trouble already.’
‘Have you heard from Jesse?’ Stella asked hopefully.
‘No, sorry. But I have found the address for Kirsty Weatherall. Someone in our class had it.’
Stella could have kissed her. ‘Thanks, Dora, I really appreciate it.’
The girl hesitated. ‘I really like Jesse, you know. You will let me know when you find him?’
‘Of course. Thank you, Dora. It’s a real help.’
Stella opened the front door to let her out. Dora hung back as if there were something more she wanted to say.
‘He’s really fond of you too,’ Stella added gently.
‘I have heard from him!’ she blurted suddenly. ‘He is in Brighton. Only he told me not to tell anyone!’
‘Do you know where he’s staying?’
‘He didn’t say anything else. I don’t know if he wants to be found. He’s pretty angry with his mum.’
‘Thanks so much, Dora. We just want to make sure he’s all right.’
Dora nodded and turned towards the door.
This time it was Stella’s turn to hesitate. ‘By the way,’ she said, getting out her iPad, ‘do you have any idea what this means? A friend put it on Cameron Keene’s tour website.’
Dora smiled, displaying perfect teeth. She read the cryptic words out loud. ‘“The Hangman’s Beautiful Daughter awaits you.” The Hangman’s Beautiful Daughter is an album by The Incredible String Band. Clever of your friend to think of it. He obviously understands Jesse a lot better than his mum and dad.’
She saw the girl out, feeling as if a huge stone had been lifted from her chest. Her beloved grandson was only forty miles away in Brighton.
‘What was that all about?’ Matthew asked.
Stella debated whether to tell him that Dora had heard from Jesse and decided to wait. ‘She’s found an address for Jesse’s friend who moved to Brighton.’
‘Does she know why he ran away?’
‘She said he was very angry with Emma.’
‘I’m not surprised. If I thought my mother was having an affair with a tech millionaire I’d be angry too.’
The thought of Matthew’s mother, aged ninety and in a care home, having a liaison with anyone was so funny they both laughed.
‘We may laugh but Ma told me they have a big problem with Alzheimer’s,’ Matthew announced, suddenly serious. ‘Apparently, people keep forgetting they’re married and start falling for someone else. It’s really sad.’
‘I can imagine it would be.’ This was the moment when she could say, ‘So are you having an affair with Fabia?’
Instead she asked if he could take on organizing the Rock for Regeneration concert.
The old Matthew would have said, ‘Bloody typical of you, Stella, you never do what you’ve promised.’ The new Matthew smiled and said, ‘Yes, why not, it sounds rather a laugh.’
Then she rang Emma. To her huge disappointment there was no reply.
She knew how worried they must be so she left a message that Dora had heard from Jesse, that he was indeed in Brighton and that Dora had also found the address for Kirsty. All in all, Stella thought, Dora was far from a slag. In fact, they all ought to be grateful to her.
Although she might appreciate the improvement in his mood, there were other aspects of Matthew’s transformation from grouch to gigolo that were beginning to infuriate Stella.
‘He’s taken to shaving every morning!’ she told Debora as they lunched next day at The Glebe to try out the products of Debora’s cookery course. ‘And leaving all the hair in the sink for me. And he’s suddenly obsessed with looking old. “I look like a bloody judge!” he announced yesterday. Debora, this pâté is amazing!’
‘Thank you.’ Debora smiled delightedly. ‘I totally understand how you feel about all this crap. Men are so transparent. Of course, with Cameron, I worried more if he was sober, because if he was sober it meant he was really misbehaving. When he was drunk he couldn’t get it up anyway, so that was OK, though some of these girls did their best, I can tell you. They probably got repetitive strain injury just trying. The pâté is good, isn’t it?’
Stella giggled; the trials and tribulations of being married to a rock god rather put her own into perspective. She tried to resist it but found herself asking what Debora thought about Amber O’Riordan.
A cloud appeared on Debora’s calm face. ‘I’m not sure. I mean, I’m happy for him in one way. He’s a good guy, he loved Connie and he was actually faithful to her. They weren’t like anyone else. They were like lovers! Always catching each other’s eye and smiling. Connie liked Amber. She said her honesty reminded her of Tracey Emin, but Amber hasn’t got a tenth of Tracey Emin’s charm. She’s about as subtle as a Russian Internet bride. I know it’s kind of ridiculous, but I mind on behalf of all women!’
‘Do you think he wants to have children?’
‘When he already has Cameron, you mean? Christ, I hope not. I loathe those men who boast about being fathers at his age. They’re all over the music business, men with no hair and great fat paunches, with wives that look younger than their children.’
Stella found, for some reason, that she didn’t want to think about Duncan and Amber having a baby. ‘And yet you had to cope with Hallelujah and Roxy. It sounded really tough to me.’
‘Yes, but Cameron gets what he deserves. Duncan’s different. Anyway,’ Debora grinned, ‘I don’t think Roxy counts. It was all Fabia’s doing. Roxy knew it was a mistake from the start.’
‘Why aren’t they divorced, then?’
‘The situation must suit them, I guess, weird though it sounds.’
It was time, Stella realized reluctantly, that she gave her own marriage some serious thought.
She looked around the restaurant. Informality was not the order of the day at The Glebe. Each table boasted a crisp white tablecloth, pink linen napkins, a bunch of fresh roses which were changed every day, polished silver and a plethora of shining glasses. Even the set lunch was fifty pounds, so God alone knew what à la carte would come to.
A new guest arrived in the room. She was a woman about Stella’s age. She was blonde and attractive in a motherly sort of way, her clothes comfortable rather than smart.
‘Table for one, madame?’ Was it Stella’s imagination or was there a slightly dismissive edge to the maître d’s tone?
The woman was led not to a discreet table in the corner which she might actually have preferred, but to one where she was highly visible to anyone coming in or out of the restaurant.
With a display worthy of a music-hall conjuror, the waiter removed the place setting opposite her which, conversely, had the effect of drawing attention to her single state.
The new arrival scanned the menu and placed her order.
‘Will you have wine, madame?’
Her head went up. ‘Yes, I will, thank you. I’ll have half a bottle of white.’
‘The house white?’ the waiter enquired, face deadpan.
‘No, I’ll see the wine list.’ After she’d ordered, the woman looked around. Phones, those saviours of the uncomfortable social situation, were banned and she hadn’t thought to bring a book.
Stella hoped to catch her eye and give her a smile of solidarity, but then felt embarrassed at the intrusion and looked away, as you did with someone in a wheelchair, not out of rudeness but because you didn’t know how to respond.
The woman noted her reaction and raised her chin. She stared at Stella combatively. ‘Because I am a woman alone you are treating me with pity. How dare you?’ her look said. And Stella almost died of embarrassment because it was true. That was exactly what she had done. And worse, it was because Stella was thinking, what if soon I am that woman alone?
‘Stella. Stella! Are you all right? This is the pièce de résistance. Pig’s cheek stuffed with apple. I always thought this rather reminded me of Cameron. What do you think?’
Grateful for wonderful Debora, she turned to the amazing dish on her plate meaning to give a normal, pleasant smile to the woman on the way out, but when she next looked up the unknown guest had gone.
When she got home the house was still empty. Still no word from Emma. Stella decided to go down to her studio in the garden and finish the oil painting of a rather sweet schnauzer which was way overdue. It was a glorious afternoon with the sun filtering in through the open door. She looked round at the row of photographs she’d taken of all the work she’d done in the last year. They were lively and likeable, and showed a certain talent, she knew. What made the difference between someone like her and a painter the art world valued and lionized?
She flipped open her iPad and searched for Amber O’Riordan.
The images that came up were startling. The first was of a woman’s torso painted in bright blue as if it were in 3D. At first glance the blue woman seemed to be wearing a pink bikini, but on closer inspection it became clear that the pink top was inside her body, formed by the flower-like arrangement of her milk glands and the bikini bottom, her uterus and ovaries. The shocking effect was somewhere between medical illustration and pop-art porn. The painting even had a catchy title: Airbrush this, Mr Hefner.
The next painting was simply a vast uterus with the two ovaries attached, forming the shape of a giant sheep’s skull. Again the clever slogan: One ovary or two?
But the one that Stella found really disturbing was the six-foot-large depiction of uterine cancer. Again the ovaries and uterus were in 3D, and all around were what appeared to be beautiful red flowers but were actually the invading cancer cells. This time the question was: Am I going to get better, doctor?
Studying it, Stella felt slightly sick. Amber O’Riordan had certainly done what the art world wanted: created work that was highly original and bore her individual signature. For an artist, as Damien Hirst attested, that was the way to get rich and famous.
But there was also something harsh and exploitative in the paintings, as if Amber had discover
ed this admittedly clever technique, but had no real feeling for the subjects. These weren’t real women, but animated illustrations. Clearly Amber had not had close friends or loved ones who had actually asked those questions, dreading to hear the answer, knowing that their futures depended on it.
They made Stella think not of the powerful questioning of the real artist but more of the sensationalism of those Allen Jones tables made out of women’s submissively kneeling bodies.
Was she just experiencing the jealousy of the older woman for the young? She turned to her wall of pets. ‘OK, guys,’ she grinned, ‘we’re not going to earn a million but maybe we’re not doing such a bad job after all! At least we make your owners feel a little bit happier.’
She had a feeling that Amber O’Riordan would not appreciate the argument.
She sat for a moment, Jesse intruding into her thoughts, and tried her daughter again. This time she got through.
‘Mum, this is fantastic! I was just about to ring you. I can’t tell you how relieved I am. At least we know he’s safe and we’ve got something to go on. Though she could have told us when we saw her, little bitch.’
‘I think we should be grateful to her that she’s told us at all. Jesse didn’t want her to so it was obviously hard for her to do it.’
For once Emma seemed thoughtful. ‘I’ll tell Stuart as soon as he’s back and we’ll decide what to do.’
Stella was in no doubt about what she intended to do herself. She sent a message to Duncan thanking him for the Hangman’s Daughter message and saying that now she understood it, she thought it was a great idea.
The answer came back surprisingly quickly. ‘Come to Brighton and we’ll all pitch in. Tour almost over now and no major mishaps. PS. Maybe I shouldn’t have said that. Duncan.’
She heard Matthew’s car come to a crunching stop on the gravel outside and realized that rather than rushing out to say hello, she preferred the solitude of her studio. The realization hit her with a shock. How much of their life did they really share any more? She couldn’t say that he didn’t have the power to ever surprise her because he had surprised her in the last few weeks, but it had been Fabia, not she, who had brought the transformation about. Trying to recapture a sense of normality, Stella made herself get up and cross the garden, think about supper and pick up the pieces of everyday life.