by Debbie Chase
Poking my head around the sitting-room door, I dragged James out before Dad could regale him with any more “food” stories. Holding firmly to his arm, we ambled slowly down the garden path, my heels clacking like castanets, and onto the High Street beautifully lit up for Christmas, with multi-colored lights looped between the lamp posts interspersed with smiling snowmen, Father Christmas’s, and trumpeting angels. It was a clear starry night, the sky black and shiny, the air frosty and white. I shivered and pressed myself closer to James’s warm body.
“Wow, you’re looking good tonight, Ruby.” He held me at arm’s length so he could get a better look.
Secretly I’d hoped he’d say that. I’d dressed carefully in a short black dress, the bottom and neckline decorated with silver sparkles. I wore long silver earrings that glimmered when I moved and tights decorated with tiny colored jewels that shimmered as I walked. My make-up and hair followed the same sparkly theme, and I wore a silver shawl around my shoulders and carried a silver clutch.
“You’re stunning,” he told me as he pulled me close and nuzzled into my neck. “Umm, you smell good too.”
“It’s called Babe, your favorite.” I was buoyed up and happy, looking forward to a glass of wine and to seeing Rose and Steve, Craig and Vanessa. I felt better than I had for ages. Totally revitalized, I intended to put Blake Edwards behind me and forget all about him. I was with James now, and that’s where I intended to stay.
The pub was packed with warm, heaving bodies. Robert had been right. Live music was certainly bringing in the punters. Groups of people stood at the bar waiting to be served, and Robert, Michael, and a young girl I hadn’t seen before, with short bleached hair and a nose ring, were rushing around pouring the drinks. Rose appeared from the crowds and beckoned to us with an outstretched arm, wearing a dress very similar to mine. I did a double-take. How did she know? They already had our drinks on the table as we gratefully sat down, and, reaching for my wine, I took a deep swallow of the ruby red liquid.
Vanessa, wearing her usual tiny mini-skirt and clingy top, long blonde hair falling around her shoulders in waves, clutched a massive glass full of a pale blue liquid teeming with cherries and slices of lemon on cocktail sticks and a little wooden umbrella. “Ta da,” she said, holding her glass high. “Viva Espana!”
The band that Michael had raved about, Two’s Company, appeared with a fanfare and launched into a cover of the Supremes “Floy Joy.” The crowd went wild and started singing along and waving their phones in the air, clicking pictures from every angle. The two women had enormous curly afros threaded with tinsel and wore tight white cat suits that clung to every curve, showing acres of dark flesh. They had deep husky voices, and their dancing was smooth and fluid.
Annoyingly, I noticed that the television behind the stage had been left on. Nobody seemed to be watching it because they were concentrating on the act, so really, what was the point? I know I’m in the minority here, but I can’t understand why people want to watch the telly when they’re on a night out, especially on a Christmas do! Oh well, the subtitles were on and no sound. I suppose Robert must have forgotten to turn it off earlier.
After a foot-stomping encore, the two ladies went off to have a well-earned break. I saw them go outside, sashaying in their high heels, fur coats draped over their shoulders, clutching drinks and cigarettes. Somebody turned the telly up, and a band started playing.
“Wow,” squealed Vanessa, looking in awe at the television screen. “It’s that really cool new band, The Pilgrims. You must check them out.” She pulled Craig to his feet and started whooping it up on the dance floor, followed by Rose and Steve, and James, looking at me questioningly, held out his hand.
Shaking his head, he rolled his eyes at Vanessa’s excitement, whispering that she’d had too much to drink, and then smooching closely, we both stared curiously at the screen where a band fronted by a cool looking dude strumming a guitar was playing catchy rock music. Gyrating sexily, the lead singer wore tight black trousers and a waistcoat, but no shirt, showing off his lean, tanned arms and chest, and a trilby that he wore tilted rakishly on his long dark hair. I noticed that his beard had been replaced by sexy designer stubble.
Vanessa squealed again, “Oh my God, the lead singer is gorgeous. Blake something. Check…him…out…!” She made a thumbs-up sign and carried on cavorting around the dance floor, Craig hot on her heels, followed closely by Rose and Steve.
Mesmerized, I gazed at the screen as the cool dude spoke, subtitles flashing. “Hey, yeah, I’ve been playing pubs and clubs in France, mainly St. Malo, desperate for my music to hit the big time. And now...well, man, this is a dream come true! I jammed with friends, and The Pilgrims were formed. We’ll be touring the UK over the next few months. Dates to be released very soon. It’ll be great to see all our loyal fans getting down and rocking at our concerts. Peace and thanks, dudes!” He made the two-fingered peace sign and gave a brilliant white smile, his glassy green eyes flashing, attractive lines crinkling at the corners of his eyes. I was rooted to the spot, the pub and the crowds ebbing and flowing around me as if I were in the middle of the sea. I could feel James’s hand, steadying and warm, against the small of my back.
And then the announcer, his voice full of excitement, said, “Wow, check that out! That was Blake Edwards, the enigmatic lead singer with up and coming new band The Pilgrims. They’ll be touring in the New Year, but in the meantime, check this out too…their debut single, ‘Baby, You’re a Doll’!”
My face frozen into place, I laughed and smiled, expecting at any moment for it to crack like a thin sheet of ice. Blurry and unsteady, a glass firmly in my hand, I watched the band as they performed on a massive stage lit with roving colored lights, watching Blake as he cavorted and preened as if he were born to it. His voice was amazing, even more strong and rocky than ever and, if I hadn’t been so upset at his total betrayal, I could have been really proud. “Yeah, baby, you’re a doll!”
It was okay, though, because nobody noticed the turmoil I was going through. Not even Rose, who, even though she knew about Blake and my broken heart, obviously hadn’t put two and two together—hadn’t thought for one minute that the “enigmatic” front man of this brilliant new band was her sister’s lost love. And thank God, even James didn’t seem to have a clue. “Lost in France?” Bonny Tyler, you don’t know what you’re talking about!
~*~
I’m dancing on a stage wearing red hot pants with bib and braces and high-heeled leather boots. The lights are so hot they’re making me sweat so that my make-up, thick and dark, smears all over my face and my neck. There’s a band playing, and the lead singer wears leather low-rise trousers, and his chest is bare. He strums a guitar and circles his groin seductively at the hectic crowd. His neck is corded as he screams into the microphone. The music is loud, so loud that it reverberates through the soles of my boots, tingles all the way up my legs, and flutters into my stomach and my chest.
He comes closer, and we dance together, shaking our bodies and swirling our heads around and around until our hair weaves together as one long glistening dark plait. “Hey, Ruby Tuesday,” he suddenly says, “Listen to my song. ‘Goodbye Ruby Tuesday, who could hang a name on you, when you change with every new day, still gonna miss you.’”
“For God’s sake Ruby, will you shut up? You’re mumbling and wriggling about—are you dreaming or what?” A hand roughly shaking my shoulder woke me up, and, opening my eyes with difficulty, one eyelash at a time, I saw Rose’s angry face glaring down at me. “Shut up, or get up. Please!” she said nastily as she thumped back to bed, pulling the duvet over her head in disgust.
I lay there for a few minutes, recalling the dream. I remembered the manic dancing and the weird costume and the lights, sweat pouring down my face and stinging into my eyes. And then the dream faded and the night before came crashing into my mind. Blake and his band on the big screen, their growing popularit
y, talks of touring and excited screaming fans. He was on his way up, and I was just a woman he once knew. A woman he had a fling with for one holiday only. One hot summer holiday in St. Malo.
My anger grew, and my heart beat fast as I lay there thinking about the words of love he’d whispered in my ear—that he would be in contact, that he would come to Emsworth to be with me, and that he cared. Lies, all lies! The urge to confront him was so great I wanted to get out of bed and travel all the way to France—right now! Why hadn’t he contacted me? I really felt I couldn’t live the rest of my life without knowing that crucial piece of information. The feeling was so strong I imagined sitting on the trundling bus as it heaved its way into Portsmouth, following the slow-moving crowds onto the bobbing ferry, where, in the same little café for breakfast, I would gaze from the window at the shiny, glassy sea as it rocked and rolled its way to St. Malo.
The bathroom mirror showed a tired troubled face, my skin still covered in make-up and glitter, sad remnants of the night before. Wearily I wiped it away with cotton wool and cleanser and crept back to the bedroom to find some clothes, careful not to wake Rose, the angry sleeping beauty.
I thought of James and his cold peck on the cheek as we’d parted the night before. I’d thought he had no idea about Blake, but did he? Had he hidden his feelings last night when The Pilgrims had been on the screen in all their glory? With a sudden panicked jolt, I tried to remember if we’d made plans to meet, but nothing came to mind. I would have to text later.
In the meantime, I had to clear my head, so, whatever the weather, I needed to be outside walking. Wrapping myself warmly in coat, gloves, and hat, I made my way downstairs. The kitchen smelled of frying bacon, and Dad, still wearing his dressing gown, was busy at the cooker. Mum, sitting at the table talking on her mobile—I assumed to Michael, as she mentioned court dates and visiting rights—gave me a little wave of her fingers as I let myself out the back door.
The cold hit me straightaway, making me gasp, a needling cold that pierced my thick layers like little darts. I almost envied Rose, snug as a bug curled into her warm duvet. The whole world was white and frosty, and I breathed out in soft plumes as I walked carefully down the slippery garden path and made my way to the harbor.
Frost rimed boats bobbed on the sea that, white and frozen as a painting, barely moved in the chilly breeze. Mist hovered above the water like a ghost. I walked briskly, breathing deeply, hoping to clear my hungover brain from thoughts of James and Blake, but however hard I tried, they just wouldn’t go away. There was hardly anyone up and about at this hour, just a couple of dog walkers, their pets bounding along, tongues lolling, seemingly oblivious to the frigid air, so it was a shock when a figure suddenly loomed out of the murk. A very tall figure, so tall I had to crane my neck to look into his face. James.
My heart was beating so hard, and so fast I thought I might faint, yet with no hesitation, I gazed straight into his eyes.
“Well, well, Ruby Tuesday. Why aren’t I surprised to see you here this early in the morning?” he asked with a grin.
Although his grin comforted me, being called Ruby Tuesday by James was a bit of a shock, yet I simply replied, “I couldn’t sleep.”
“No, neither could I.”
“Look, James. I met Blake long before you and I started seeing each other, and….” I knew I was gabbling, but I couldn’t stop.
He hunched his shoulders to his ears and said, shivering, “Why don’t we grab a coffee somewhere warm? It’s too cold out here to talk. That little place on the High Street, Café Mocha, is good.”
The place was almost empty, just a couple of people sipping drinks and a man tucking into a full breakfast, but toasty warm, the large windows foggy with condensation. The smell of roasting coffee beans filled the air. James brought the steaming drinks to the table, plus a plate of assorted flaky croissants and Danish pastries. We sat in silence for a few moments, stirring our drinks and looking at the food, although, on my part anyway, without hunger at the moment. The young girl behind the counter yawned, her mouth wide and cavernous.
“I’m glad I saw you,” I told him brightly. “I was going to text later.”
He nodded as he took a big slug of coffee. “Yeah, I suppose we need to sort this out.”
“Yeah. James, I met Blake when I was in France, in St. Malo.” I spoke very quietly, almost whispering.
He nodded, watching my face, staring at it intently. “I guessed that you had. There was something about the way you watched that band, so intense.”
“I met him on the ferry. An up-and-coming musician, very sure of himself, very cool.” James nodded again. “We arrived in St. Malo, and he disappeared, said it was good to meet me, and then gone in a puff of smoke.” I took a swig of hot chocolate and carried on. “After about a week, I went to a local place called La Bar—a really good place…you’d love it—and bumped into him there. He was the regular act. We saw each other for the next three or four weeks of my stay—you know, before Rose got in touch about Michael turning up. He assured me that he would be in touch and that we would see each other again, and that…. Well….” I glanced at him apologetically. “That he cared about me and would come to Emsworth.”
James drank his coffee, eyes downcast now.
The café door opened with a ching, and a couple walked in, stamping their feet and rubbing their hands together, faces red from the cold. They ordered breakfasts and drinks and rounds of toast in loud voices, shattering the quiet.
“Well, he kept in touch for the first couple of weeks I was back, then nothing—zilch. I texted him and rang, but nothing, no response whatsoever. And then last night I saw him on the big screen with his band. It was a shock, James.”
“Yeah, I should imagine it was.” He smiled a bit. “I could tell by your face that something was wrong, but obviously, I wasn’t sure what. Wow, I can’t believe he did that to you. What a jerk!”
“Yes. I have to admit I was surprised. I thought we had something, you know?”
James covered my hand with his, and it felt warm and steadying. “You have to sort this out, Ruby, one way or the other. We can’t carry on seeing each other if you still have feelings for this guy.” His dark eyes seemed to burn hot and shiny as he gazed at me.
“Are you dumping me, James?” I asked carefully, teasingly, hoping that my shaky voice wouldn’t betray me and that I wouldn’t burst into tears. Taking in James’s open, trusting face, I began to seriously question if I was doing the right thing.
“I have no choice, Ruby,” he said sadly. “I love you—always have, always will, ever since we were kids. But I can’t play second fiddle to anyone, let alone a hot shot famous musician. I can’t compete with that.” He shook his head vehemently.
“What do you want me to do, James?” I asked desperately. The couple were talking to the man who’d eaten the big breakfast about the weather and the tides, their voices still loud and overbearing, so I had to strain nearer to hear him.
He sat forward in his chair, elbows on the table, hands clasped. “I can’t help you there, Ruby. You have to work that out for yourself—only you know how you feel. And well, the thing that worries me the most is, if this Blake guy had kept in touch and had come here to see you, you wouldn’t have started going out with me, would you?”
I didn’t know what to say, so I sat there, dumb, tears threatening to spill at any minute, but then blurted out, “James, if I hadn’t seen him last night on the telly, I could have let it go. But…. Well, now I have to find out.”
James nodded and said carefully, touching my hand briefly with the tips of his fingers, “Yes, you need to set your mind at rest.”
I nodded, and my heart pounded as James drained his mug, stood up, and, after zipping his coat to the neck, gave me one final glance and said softly, “Take care, Ruby.”
Before I could find my voice to call him back, he was gone, the café d
oor banging closed in the draught, leaving only a blast of cold air swirling around inside.
Chapter Thirteen
Christmas passed in a blur with no James, and a heavy aching heart that, however positive I tried to be, wouldn’t go away. I carried it around as if I was wearing a hair shirt. He came by while I was out walking, with a beautifully wrapped present and a card full of loving words, which I can only assume he bought before our break-up. Rose said he looked drawn and upset but was still adamant that I sort things out with Blake before we see each other again. I knew he was right to instigate this separation, but I was hurt, and I missed him, even though I thought of Blake too, and knew that the time to confront him was getting nearer and nearer. The New Year was looming, and a visit to St. Malo, where I was pretty sure I would find him, was definitely on the cards.
In total contrast to how I was feeling, my brand new stepbrother, Michael, was on a high. The solicitor had tracked down Priscilla, who was found holed up in a crummy flat in Swansea with Leah and a new guy, somebody called Ray Lewis. The case was going to court the first week in January, with the assurance that visiting rights were a definite and that soon he could expect to be seeing his little girl on a regular basis. He went at his job behind the bar at the Coal Exchange with renewed vigor, the smile on his face as wide as the expanse of sea between Portsmouth and St. Malo, and, my God, that is wide!
To Rose’s great excitement, she got the job at Butcher & Steele, so she wouldn’t be returning to school in January. The decision to apply for the library job or not was pressing, and for the life of me, I couldn’t think what I wanted to do. I didn’t remember ever being in such a turmoil about so many things. So one day, over the Christmas break, I tracked down Mum, who was lounging in the sitting room watching It’s a Wonderful Life, and plonked myself down next to her on the settee for a talk. Luckily Mum had the whole Christmas break off from work too.