What Became of You My Love?

by Maeve Haran

  She remembered with a flash of embarrassment that she’d been so enamoured of all things exotic that she’d attended lectures in a Berber wedding dress.

  ‘I seem to remember,’ Duncan teased, his blue eyes crinkling at the memory, ‘you had an Afghan coat which was so smelly it ended up as a rug on the floor!’

  Stella nodded, amazed he could remember.

  He picked up a chillum pipe, used for smoking the illegal substances so familiar in those liberated times. ‘Did you indulge?’

  ‘Once or twice. Too scared most of the time. You?’

  ‘Me neither.’

  ‘But you’re in the music business! What about sex and drugs and rock ’n’ roll? I thought it was obligatory!’ Stella stared down at the chillum. Suddenly the question seemed too intimate.

  ‘I’m the boring businessman, remember.’ He smiled winningly so that little creases appeared in his Californian tan.

  It seemed ridiculous now that they had ever thought of him as Dull Duncan.

  ‘Did you ever go to the Starlight Rooms? The club you had to go into Brighton?’

  ‘Of course I did.’ Stella could still remember running for the late-night trains back to Camley after watching her favourite groups there.

  ‘And the infra-red stamp on your wrist? How it seemed the height of cool? And you didn’t want to wash it off for days!’

  ‘I saw the Yardbirds there,’ Stella boasted. ‘With Eric Clapton!’

  ‘So did I!’ They began to sing ‘For Your Love’, the group’s biggest hit, oblivious to the strange looks they attracted from passers-by.

  They wandered back into the street past shops devoted entirely to dream catchers, beautiful turquoise Navajo jewellery, a shop selling wonderfully named vegetarian shoes and another, inappropriately next to JoJo Maman Bébé, devoted entirely to witchcraft. ‘Handy for Rosemary’s Baby,’ quipped Duncan.

  A sharp-suited man on a smartphone leaned outside a pub, looking as if he were an alien from the twenty-first century who had mistakenly landed in an earlier era.

  At the far end of the street a raggle-taggle band of shaven-headed young people dressed in orange turned the corner singing:

  Hare Krishna, Hare Krishna,

  Krishna, Krishna, Hare Hare,

  Hare Rama Hare Rama,

  Rama Rama Hare Hare.

  Stella grabbed Duncan’s arm and began to laugh helplessly. ‘Pinch me. I think we really have landed back in the Sixties.’

  He smiled, then looked at her intently for a moment. ‘Would you really mind?’ She had no chance to answer. They caught sight of a young busker, who reminded her so much of Jesse that her heart turned over.

  ‘Come on, less of this wading in the past,’ she said trying to be stern. ‘Where’s the first record shop?’

  ‘Just down here.’ He indicated a small shopfront a minutes’ walk away.

  Stella threw a pound in the young man’s hat and he gave her a melting smile of gratitude.

  She felt a hand touch hers and realized that it was Duncan and that he understood. ‘Don’t worry. We’ll find him.’

  They went silently inside the shop, manned by two bearded assistants. It was quiet at this time of day. The stock was a mix of CDs, vinyl records, books about rock music and posters.

  Stella glanced at the iconic album sleeves displayed on the walls.

  ‘They look a lot better than CD covers, don’t they?’

  Duncan shrugged. ‘And even CD covers are almost history.’

  Stella approached one of the two beards and got out the photograph of Jesse. ‘We’re looking for this young man. He’s my grandson. He’s very into old records. Have you by any chance seen him?’

  They both studied it. ‘Nice-looking kid, but sorry, no. Have you tried Vintage Vinyl up the road?’

  Vintage Vinyl turned out to be only a few hundred yards away. On the way Stella stopped for a moment, looking around. She pointed excitedly. ‘That used to be one of the first Body Shops! You could bring your own bottles and they’d fill them up for you!’

  Stella thought about the wonderful Anita Roddick, who’d founded the Body Shop. She hadn’t got stuck in the Sixties but had gone on striding forwards to try and change the world.

  Vintage Vinyl turned out to be surprisingly big for a second-hand record shop. Albums were at the front and then there were rows and rows of old forty-fives that seemed to go back forever.

  As if pulled by a magnet, they started looking through the singles.

  ‘Al Stewart. “The Year of the Cat”.’ Stella sighed.

  ‘Girls’ music. We boys preferred Roy Wood. Look, Tubular Bells!’ Duncan bowed his head in awe. ‘We’re uncovering history here!’ He suddenly grinned delightedly. ‘“For Your Love”!’ I’m buying that for you. To bring back old times.’

  He took it to the front of the shop.

  Stella watched him, smiling. She didn’t like to mention that she didn’t have a record player. What did it matter anyway? She’d stick it on her wall. She pushed away the question creeping into her mind about where that wall would be.

  The next shop on their list was called Feeling Groovy.

  ‘Like hairdressers,’ Stella commented.

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘Hairdressers always have these funny names. Mane Attraction. Lunatic Fringe. Curl Up and Dye. And a fabulous one I saw the other day – Ryan Hair!’

  Feeling Groovy was upstairs, above a tattoo parlour. Stella got out her photograph again. The assistant, who had large holes in his ears, kept open by stainless-steel rings that made Stella think of stationery reinforcements, shook his head. He’d never seen Jesse, he said.

  Duncan had wandered to the back of the shop.

  What had grabbed his attention was a small display dedicated to The Incredible String Band. Not unusual in Brighton, but quite a coincidence all the same. He was about to call Stella over, then stopped and decided to do a little research of his own before getting her hopes up. He knew she was pretending to be strong but he sensed the fragility beneath. Family happiness had been such a strong part of Stella’s idea of what she’d achieved in life and lately, with her daughter’s affair and her grandson’s disappearance, all that seemed to be falling apart. He’d like to help give it back to her.

  It was funny. So many people had asked him if he’d missed having children and he’d always said no, out of courtesy to Connie. But when he’d met and liked Stella’s family and glimpsed what it was like to be a grandparent, for the first time he had felt a sense of loss.

  All the more reason to help her find Jesse.

  He’d get Laurie or one of the other members of the crew to take it in turns to keep an eye on this place for a day or so. They were free now till the final show. Hanging around in a record shop would be Laurie’s idea of fun anyway.

  She left her mobile number with the reinforced-eared assistant, just in case, and they headed down the stairs. Stella was all for continuing the search but Duncan, eager to brief Laurie, wanted to get back to the hotel.

  The Old Galleon seemed oddly quiet. Normally there would be sounds of chatting, glasses clinking, music and the tap of snooker cues. But not tonight.

  They turned the corner into the dim interior of the horseshoe-shaped bar. It was empty except for Amber. She was sitting alone, wearing a red dress that matched her lipstick. Even her drink was red. Just above her was a spotlight. The whole effect reminded Stella of that painting by Hopper, Nighthawks. Except that this was, in Stella’s view, undoubtedly a pose. Right down to the teardrops that sparkled on her cheek. But would Duncan see through it?

  ‘Amber . . .’ Duncan approached her with genuine concern in his voice. ‘Are you OK?’

  ‘Not really.’ She held up a piece of A4 paper. It was a photograph of a large bead of honey-coloured liquid inside which a dead insect was clearly visible. Underneath it, in large letters, were the words TRAPPED IN AMBER.

  ‘Oh, for God’s sake,’ Duncan muttered irritably. ‘We all know who did this. S
tella, why don’t you order yourself a drink?’ He strode angrily out of the bar towards the lift.

  Reluctantly, she pulled up a bar stool and asked the waiter for a glass of wine.

  Amber turned to her. ‘You may not have put it up, but I know you’d like to.’

  Stella stared at her in astonishment. ‘Why on earth would I want to do that?’

  Amber sipped her red drink. ‘Because you’re jealous. Because you can’t accept it’s someone else’s turn. Because you’re old and you’re still pretending to be young and it’s really pathetic.’

  For one glorious moment Stella almost threw her wine in Amber’s face. But that was probably what Amber wanted. Instead she climbed down from her bar stool.

  ‘The sun’s come out on the terrace bar. I think I’ll share my wine with the seagulls. The company’s more congenial.’

  With the sweetest of smiles she turned her back on Amber and walked to the front of the hotel.

  Duncan, discovering Cameron’s room was empty, returned to Amber in the bar. ‘What happened to Stella?’

  ‘She went to sit outside. I expect she finds the pace a bit exhausting. At her age.’

  ‘Stella’s the same age as me,’ Duncan reminded her, his sympathy diminishing, just as Cameron and Laurie came in through the revolving doors with Stella in tow.

  ‘Hello, playmates,’ Cameron greeted them.

  ‘Did you stick up that sign on our door?’ Duncan demanded.

  ‘I might have.’ Cameron smiled insultingly at Amber. ‘How did you know it was me?’

  ‘Maybe because you’re the only one who’s watched Jurassic Park eighty-three times. Why, for God’s sake?’

  ‘There are those amongst us who feel you are becoming a trifle uxorious.’

  ‘What the hell is he talking about?’ demanded Amber.

  ‘I think he means Duncan is thinking more about your comfort than his,’ enlightened Stella.

  ‘Is this about the size of your room?’ Duncan demanded.

  ‘It is a lot smaller than the bridal suite you are occupying,’ agreed Cameron. ‘But it’s not just that. We rarely seem to be sharing your company these days.’ Stella almost jumped to Duncan’s defence by pointing out that he was actually spending his time looking for her grandson but decided it would only fan the flames.

  ‘I think you owe Amber an apology.’

  ‘Your Royal Wombness, I abase myself,’ Cameron announced with a bow, not looking sorry at all.

  ‘Apology accepted.’ Amber was smart enough to know when to back down.

  Stella decided it was time to leave them to it. ‘Now if you’ll all excuse me, I have some quite important things to be doing.’ She headed through the bar towards the Ladies. Once inside, she took several deep breaths. She looked in the mirror, adjusted her lipstick and ran a comb through her hair. Behind her in the mirror she caught sight of Amber entering.

  ‘I just wanted to say that there’s one thing you should remember. Duncan’s wife introduced us because she thought I would cheer him up, which I intend to do. So don’t get any ideas about him. He just feels sorry for you.’

  Stella turned round to face her, realizing that Amber was clever enough never to show this animosity in front of Duncan.

  ‘Then it’s a pity for Connie’s sake that she didn’t know what a silly bitch you are, isn’t it?’

  As she walked briskly back towards her hotel, Stella wondered again what it was that Connie had seen in Amber. By all accounts Connie had been a lovely woman and she had obviously loved Duncan. It took a huge act of unselfishness to imagine your beloved husband’s future without you and not be bitter. Even more so to imagine him with another woman.

  But in a less dramatic way, wasn’t that what was happening with her and Matthew? But Stella wasn’t at all sure she was as unselfish as Connie.

  The two remaining record shops were on her way back to the hotel and she decided to check them out briefly. With both of them she drew a blank.

  Just before her hotel she came across a cafe right on the beach and flopped down, watching the sun sparkling on the sea, with the pier beyond, its rollercoasters and amusement arcades, its toffee apples and candy floss, beckoning invitingly to holidaymakers.

  She checked her phone and found four messages from Emma. Clearly she was desperate for news. Stella wished she had some. Before she could reply her phone rang.

  It was Debora.

  ‘Hi, how are all the arrangements going for the big day?’ Stella asked her.

  ‘Not bad. Mortal combat threatens between Suze and Fabia.’

  ‘Oh dear.’

  ‘In your interests Suze is insisting that Matthew and she keep one foot on the ground at all times to prevent any hanky panky. Why is sex called hanky panky in this country, by the way?’

  Stella felt a flash of purest anger at her husband. All this time she had been tolerating his interest in Fabia and while she was here trying to find their grandson he was openly parading it.

  ‘It was all getting a bit too much for me,’ Debora continued calmly, ‘which is why I am walking towards you at this very moment.’

  To Stella’s delight she saw her friend approaching along the seafront only a few yards away.

  She jumped up and embraced her.

  ‘This is so great. It’s getting hairy here too. Cameron can’t stand Amber.’

  ‘Can anyone stand Amber?’

  ‘No, but not everyone puts up a photograph from Jurassic Park with “trapped in Amber” written on it.’

  ‘He didn’t! He always was a stirrer. That’s why I’ve been summoned. To keep a bit of an eye on him. I didn’t realize I’d have to be a referee too. And now tonight we have to go to her damn show.’

  ‘Not me.’

  ‘Yes, you. It’s time we wives stood together against the invasion of the younger model. I liked Duncan’s wife. She couldn’t have really known what Amber was like or she wouldn’t have introduced her husband to him. I feel the need to right the wrong on her behalf. We need to open his eyes. If we could only think how. What do you think it is he sees in her? He’s usually such a sensible man.’

  ‘He said something about admiring her honesty. And that she doesn’t care what other people think.’

  ‘That’s what makes her so ghastly. And stop being so reasonable about her.’

  ‘All right, I think she’s utterly dreadful and I couldn’t bear it if he settled down with her.’

  ‘Then let’s do something about it.’ Debora smiled her most motherly smile. ‘Let’s get the bitch before she gets him.’

  ‘Well, actually,’ Stella’s eyes twinkled, ‘I do have a little plan. The only thing is, I will need Cameron’s cooperation.’

  The preview of Amber’s exhibition was from six-thirty to eight-thirty in a small but stylish gallery in the Lanes. The walls were also adorned with other hideous works of art that Stella couldn’t imagine anyone wanting to possess. There was a crucifixion featuring Jesus with a scarecrow’s face; a version of Ganesh the elephant god wearing false eyelashes; giant replicas of various Ecstasy-like tablets with smiley faces on them; a vast neon sign bearing the single word YES, and then there was Amber’s work: a series of enormous uteruses in different colours, with the occasional ovary or bladder for light relief.

  ‘God they’re ghastly,’ murmured Stella. ‘Someone should remind the customers about only owning things that are useful or beautiful.’

  ‘Ah,’ Debora replied with a smile, ‘but the art world would collapse if people followed that. And these are reassuringly expensive. The big ones are twenty grand.’

  But Stella was only half listening. She had just caught sight of someone the other side of the crowded room and it had set her mind whirring.

  Yes, it might be possible. She would have to see.

  A scarily elegant woman in an asymmetrical dress arrived to refill their glasses, handing them a list of the works on sale and a note about Amber being one of today’s foremost young artists.

 
; A red dot suddenly appeared on one of the biggest and most expensive paintings, signifying a sale. ‘Jeez,’ Debora muttered, ‘I hope they’re not hanging that in the dining room. It’d certainly put you off your muesli.’

  ‘Congratulations, Hal,’ Stella edged her way through the crowds, ‘you’ve obviously got a taste for the eye-catching.’

  ‘Hello, Mrs Ainsworth,’ Hal replied nervously, obviously thrown to see her here, given the circumstances of their last meeting. ‘I’m starting my own collection. I thought it made quite a statement about modern life.’

  ‘Yes, Stella,’ Debora winked at her, ‘it’s a Womb with a View.’

  ‘I hope we’ll see you at the Cameron Keene concert we’re hosting on Saturday. One of Amber’s works is up for auction at that too. Could be a terrific bargain for your collection.’

  ‘Of course,’ he mumbled, looking stunned to be invited.

  ‘That was Hal,’ Stella explained, as they walked back together. ‘The rich idiot who’s involved with my daughter Emma.’

  ‘I got that. So why are you inviting him to the concert?’

  ‘He’s part of my plan,’ was the mysterious reply.

  ‘So how’s the search for your grandson going?’

  Stella stared out at the darkening sea. ‘Oh, God, Debora,’ her voice suddenly cracked at the edges. ‘We’ve got nowhere. Maybe I shouldn’t have come.’

  ‘Hey,’ Debora stopped in the middle of the prom and hugged her, ‘you’ve been doing your best. More than anyone else.’

  They had reached their destination.

  ‘Come in and have a glass of champagne,’ Debora tempted. ‘Cheer us both up.’

  One good thing about The Old Galleon, apart from its great position on the seafront and the fact that it was near the Dome where Cameron was performing, was that there were various inviting nooks and corners where you could be private.

  Stella selected an inviting alcove with two armchairs upholstered in black-and-white devoré velvet dating from its headier days of art deco grandeur.