Love Lives

by Emlyn Rees

  Finding the romance of the music, Verity swayed slightly on the long piano stool, realising that the notes had finally lodged in her subconscious and she knew it by heart. Then, closing her eyes, she transported herself to Denny’s arms as she played the soundtrack to her most romantic fantasies.

  ‘What are you doing?’

  Verity swivelled round to see her mother, a set of freshly ironed tablecloths draped over her arm.

  ‘I thought you were supposed to be practising. You stopped about five minutes ago.’

  Verity picked up her diary and closed it. ‘I didn’t know you were listening.’

  ‘Only if you’re going to waste your time daydreaming, you can help me instead. I’ve got a hundred things to do –’

  Verity drowned her mother out by starting a scale, belting out the notes as fast and evenly as she could.

  But her mother wasn’t finished. She came and stood by the piano. ‘There was a phone call earlier for you,’ she shouted.

  Verity stopped playing immediately, just before the scale reached its conclusion at the top of the piano. The sudden silence left an urgent atmosphere in the air.

  ‘I think it was … Daniel? Darren?’

  ‘Denny,’ Verity gasped, furious with herself for not having given him her mobile number. How could she have made such a stupid mistake? ‘When? When did he ring?’ she asked desperately.

  ‘Some time this morning.’

  ‘You could have said!’ Verity exclaimed, hastily shutting the piano lid.

  ‘I’m telling you now.’

  Verity took a deep breath, forcing herself to keep her anger inside.

  ‘Who is this Denny character, anyway?’ her mother persisted. ‘Are you at school with him?’

  ‘No,’ said Verity, standing and gathering up her music.

  ‘How do you know him?’

  ‘I just do, OK?’

  Where’s he from?’

  ‘Mum!’

  ‘I don’t see why you’re being so secretive. Is there something wrong with him? He’s not into drugs, is he? Verity, answer me. He’s not a rough type, because –’

  ‘He has his own shop,’ Verity interrupted.

  ‘What kind of shop?’

  ‘Does it matter?’

  ‘Why are you being so defensive?’

  ‘I’m not being defensive. I just don’t see why I should have to give you every single detail.’

  ‘What he does for a living is hardly intimate information, Verity.’

  ‘OK, OK. If you must know, he owns Wave Cave. Satisfied?’

  Verity got up with her diary and, with a fake smile, passed her mother and left the room before she had a chance to say anything. Since her mother knew just about everyone in Shoresby, she was bound to have some sort of received opinion of Denny and Verity didn’t want to hear it.

  Upstairs, Verity looked up the number for Wave Cave in the phone book, then with her finger just below the number, she took a deep breath. This would be the first time that she’d ever spoken to Denny on the phone. Her nerve almost deserted her. What if he didn’t want to speak to her? What if he’d called to say he didn’t want to see her again? But her fingers seemed to ignore her doubts, dialling the number.

  ‘Wave Cave. Can I help you?’ Denny asked, on answering the phone.

  ‘Hi, Denny, it’s me,’ Verity said, her hand making the phone tremble against her ear.

  ‘You,’ Denny said, pausing dramatically. ‘Wow. You have got the sexiest telephone voice I have ever heard. People must have told you that before, right?’

  ‘Denny, stop it.’ Verity giggled, hugging her knees against her.

  ‘I hoped it would be you,’ he said. ‘What are you doing right now?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Then come and see me.’

  ‘What? Now?’

  ‘Yes. Just stroll on down the road and I’ll meet you at the shop. It’s quiet, so how about we shut the shop up and spend the rest of the afternoon at my place?’

  ‘Denny, I can’t!’ Verity cried, as she paced across the carpet of her bedroom. ‘I’d love to, but I’ve got stuff to do. Work and stuff.’

  She felt so feeble saying it, but Denny just laughed.

  ‘OK, Miss Conscientious. I won’t lead you astray this time. You do your work and meet me later. How does that sound?’

  Verity thought of the piano lesson she would have to blow out. But what the hell, she thought. Missing one wouldn’t hurt and she could use it as an excuse to get out of telling her mother where she was going. ‘Perfect.’

  ‘I’ll see you later, then.’

  ‘OK.’ Verity giggled.

  ‘But I warn you,’ Denny said. ‘I’ll be counting the minutes …’

  Verity smiled uncontrollably as she rang off, a squeal of joy escaping her.

  By Wednesday Verity had skipped another piano lesson, two study periods and had elaborated a complex web of lies in order to be with Denny. She knew she should be working for her mocks, or practising for her piano exam, but Denny insisted that he wanted to see her and she couldn’t turn him down. After all, she wanted to see him too.

  Just hanging out with Denny in his shop made her feel special. He talked to her and looked at her the whole time, making it clear that he was deliberately tearing his eyes away when she caught his eye.

  ‘He’s just so romantic,’ she gasped to Treza, as they packed up their books by the lockers in school.

  ‘Come to the café, I’m dying to hear all about it,’ Treza said. ‘You’ve hardly told me anything.’

  Verity looked at her friend, realising guiltily that for the first time she hadn’t even thought about Treza for the past few days. Now, as Treza looked up at her, she saw the same expectant look in her eyes that Verity knew so well. But even so, Verity didn’t want to share all the intimate details of her relationship just yet. It was too new and too exciting. If she told Treza everything she was feeling, it would just be like all the other times they’d talked about boys. And Denny wasn’t the same at all. Not even in the same league. ‘I’m sorry, Treze. Not tonight. I’ve got to dash. We’re going to the cinema later.’

  ‘Wow!’ Treza said, smiling, but Verity knew her well enough to tell she was disappointed. ‘You’re not wasting any time, are you? Are you sure this isn’t going too fast?’

  ‘It doesn’t feel like it. And anyway, Denny hasn’t been pushy at all. I feel like I’ve known him for ever.’

  ‘It’s only been a week or so. Don’t you think you should … you know … stretch it out a bit?’

  ‘You sound like my mother,’ Verity laughed. ‘Talking of which, if she calls, I’m with you, OK?’

  In the cinema, Verity could hardly concentrate as she sat with the box of popcorn on her lap. She surreptitiously glanced at Denny, looking at the shape of his legs beneath his jeans and, once again, she couldn’t help wondering what he’d look like naked. She wouldn’t mind betting he would be incredible. She felt a flush of excitement run through her just thinking about it. The more she saw of Denny, the more she fancied him and every cell of her body yearned for physical contact.

  The only problem was that Denny still hadn’t made a move. Part of the reason Verity hadn’t wanted to talk to Treza had been that there weren’t very many intimate details to share.

  Before their date, when Denny had kissed her on the cheek in the street and in the supermarket, Verity had been convinced that Denny would want things to happen quickly between them, as soon as they were properly dating. But then, on Saturday, when he’d driven her back from the restaurant he’d hardly even kissed her.

  Now, enough time had passed for Verity to get paranoid. The longer they didn’t kiss, the more she wanted to, but never having made a move on a man before, Verity was clueless about what to do. She knew Denny fancied her – well, she hoped he did – but what if he was waiting for some sort of signal from her?

  Verity couldn’t help feeling hopelessly inadequate and out of her depth. Maybe other girls De
nny had been with had been more comfortable physically with him. But just the thought of Denny’s sexual experience compared with the complete lack of her own made her feel even more nervous.

  As if sensing her troubled thoughts, Denny looked at her and smiled. ‘Come here,’ he said, putting his arm round her.

  Verity smiled happily as she leant into his embrace. Even though the arm of the seat dug into her ribs, she didn’t care. She closed her eyes, breathing in the scent of Denny’s aftershave and nuzzling into his neck, taking no notice of the film at all. All she wanted was for everyone she knew to see her right now, just for a second. Just so they would know she was Denny Shapland’s girlfriend.

  Later, Verity was still glowing as she walked back along the Esplanade hand in hand with Denny. She was in no particular hurry to get back to the hotel and, since it was a clear night, she’d jumped at his offer of a stroll along the seafront.

  Verity had never thought of Shoresby as being remotely romantic, but now, as she walked along with Denny, she realised she’d been wrong. Above them, the white lights along the Esplanade shone across their path and cast silver fingers into the dark water that gently lapped against the sea wall. ‘Isn’t it amazing that we’ve hardly known each other any time, and yet I feel like it’s been ages,’ she ventured, noticing the soft glow from the old street lamps for the first time.

  Denny shrugged. ‘People always tell me that I rush into relationships, but I guess I’m just in touch with my feelings.’

  ‘Well, I like you that way,’ said Verity, putting her other hand on top of Denny’s and smiling up at him.

  ‘So, what are you doing tomorrow?’ Denny asked.

  ‘More of the film thing up at Lost Soul’s Point.’

  ‘Oh, yeah?’ said Denny. ‘What have they got you doing this time? Are they getting you dressed up as that dead girl again?’

  Verity nodded. ‘I’m doing some sort of romantic scene with Jimmy Jones. He’s playing Caroline Walpole’s lover.’

  ‘Romantic?’ Denny asked. ‘What do you mean?’

  Verity was surprised at his tone. ‘Just looking-into-each-other’s-eyes romantic,’ she reassured him. ‘Boring stuff. Nothing more.’

  Denny nodded. ‘Jimmy Jones,’ he said. ‘I know him. I reckon he nicked some trousers from the shop a couple of weeks ago. Not that I can prove it. I’d have thought he was a bit of a loser anyway to be playing a role like that. Couldn’t they find anyone better?’

  Verity looked at the ground, her loyalties torn. Jimmy had seemed so nice last Thursday that she didn’t want to say bad things about him. She’d really enjoyed the filming, but now Denny’s reaction wrong-footed her. She assumed the fact that she was being filmed at all would make her seem sophisticated and interesting, but Denny’s low opinion of Jimmy meant she now felt foolish. ‘I guess Jimmy can be a bit weird,’ she mumbled.

  ‘Yeah, well,’ Denny said, a warning tone in his voice. ‘So long as it’s all hands-off between you on camera as well as off, then I don’t mind. I don’t want you doing anything that we haven’t …’

  Verity gasped and stopped. ‘With Jimmy? No way!’ Then she smiled reassuringly at Denny. ‘I’ve just got to pretend to be in love with him. It’s nothing, really.’

  ‘If we’re together, I’ve got to be able to trust you,’ Denny said seriously, turning towards her and holding her shoulders. ‘I’m a very jealous guy. I can’t help it. If I’m with a girl, then she’s mine.’

  Verity felt as if she’d been sprinkled with fairy dust. She was Denny’s. And she wanted him to know it, completely. ‘You can trust me. I’d never do anything like that. With anyone. I promise, Denny. I’m all yours.’

  Denny lifted her up then, as if overtaken with passion and when her face came level with his, he kissed her for the first time, his tongue parting her lips. Verity squeezed her eyes shut, feeling his teeth bump with hers and she thanked God with everything she had that she’d had her braces removed in time for this, the best kiss of her life.

  After a while, she tried to pull away, but Denny slid his hand into her hair and cupped the back of her head, drawing her closer and kissing her more and more deeply. Verity tensed as his tongue darted further into her mouth.

  At last, as his grip slackened and her feet finally touched the ground, Denny groaned. Verity’s lips were stinging from where his stubble had grazed them. She could feel his penis through his jeans, pressing against her thigh. She let him fold her into his embrace, her eyes open, as her nose pressed against the soft wool of his jumper. Inside, her heart raced with panic and excitement. What was she meant to do now? Did Denny expect her to touch him? What if she did it wrong? Too frightened to move, she heard Denny’s low groan.

  ‘God, Verity,’ he said. ‘I want you so badly. It’s killing me, I want you so much.’

  The next day, up at Appleforth House for the Thursday filming session, Verity knew that it was only a matter of time before things got really serious with Denny, but after last night something had changed. She was ready for him. It was as if in his declaration of desire he’d finally turned her into the woman she was meant to be.

  In one of the downstairs storerooms near the back kitchen, Verity sat on a low stool, in front of a mirror, as Edith from Shoresby Styles curled her hair into ringlets with hot tongs. Verity looked at the dress hanging from the back of the door that she would soon put on in order for her to be transformed once more into Caroline Walpole. She knew, now, how the dead girl must have felt: desperate with love, determined to be with her lover at any cost, despite her father’s disapproval. Despite everyone.

  It was unusually sunny outside, and Ellen and Scott seemed anxious to get on and make the most of the light, beckoning to Verity to hurry up as she finally emerged through the back kitchen door in her costume. She picked up her skirt and hurried along the old stone path to where Scott, Ellen, Roy and Jimmy were waiting for her underneath the arbour. Various lights were set up around the bench against the stone wall where Jimmy was sitting, already in costume.

  Ellen squeezed the top of Verity’s arm as she sat down next to him. ‘Just hold on one minute, you two,’ she said and Verity smiled at her, envying Ellen’s trendy designer glasses with large brown lenses. She was wearing a frilly white shirt tucked into hipster jeans, with an expensive-looking blue jumper slung casually round her shoulders. As she walked back to where Scott was standing near the monitor, Verity couldn’t help thinking how elegant Ellen was. How lovely it must be, she thought, to be like her. She looked so in charge and in control.

  ‘You look happy today,’ Jimmy said to her, as Verity arranged her skirts over the bench.

  ‘Do I?’ she replied. She knew she sounded haughty and offhand, but after what Denny had said, she didn’t really want to get too friendly with Jimmy.

  But Jimmy didn’t pick up on her tone and wasn’t letting her off the hook. ‘Yeah, you do.’

  ‘Well, it’s nothing to do with this costume. I feel ridiculous.’

  ‘I wish my gran could see you,’ Jimmy said almost to himself, sighing wistfully.

  What did Jimmy’s gran have to do with anything? ‘Your gran?’ Verity asked, surprised.

  ‘It doesn’t matter,’ Jimmy said.

  But Verity couldn’t help being intrigued by his sad look. She realised she didn’t know anything about his family background. ‘Tell me about her,’ she said.

  She listened, amazed at Jimmy’s connection with his paternal grandmother. As he told Verity about how his gran had bought him up, she could hear the regret in his voice that she wouldn’t be coming out of the hospice. She’d always assumed that Jimmy was detached and didn’t really care about anything, but this small insight into his personal life made her realise that her opinion was entirely wrong. The way Jimmy spoke about his gran – with real love and compassion – took Verity by surprise. It made it clear to her how sensitive Jimmy was. She’d assumed he was typical of the other guys of their age, who took the piss out of the town pensioners and pour
ed scorn on the old people who made a fuss about graffiti and litter. But she couldn’t have been further off the mark.

  Now she felt ashamed that Jimmy had all these responsibilities in his life and yet he never complained, while she sat in her hotel suite every night thinking about how difficult her life was. ‘Do you think your gran will see us on TV, though?’ she asked.

  ‘I don’t think she’ll make it,’ Jimmy said. ‘It’s such a shame. I’d love for her to see me like this. To give her a laugh. And to see you, of course. You’ll look great on TV.’

  Verity winced. ‘Don’t. I don’t even want to think about it.’

  ‘You’re kidding?’

  ‘I’m not. I’m terrified about it. There’s no way I’m going to watch it. I’m just going to hide away when it’s on.’

  ‘I don’t understand. I thought you liked the filming.’

  ‘It’s not the filming that bothers me, it’s what it’s going to look like on screen. Everyone says that you look really different on television and I bet I’ll look awful. I’ll look ugly.’ Verity gestured to her hair and what she considered to be her ghoulish make-up.

  ‘You could never look ugly,’ Jimmy said.

  Verity snorted with denial.

  ‘I can get Scott to show you the rushes on the monitor if you like,’ he offered.

  ‘No, it’s not the same. His screen is tiny. I mean on a big screen. I guess I’m just being stupid, but the whole thought scares the hell out of me. I’m going to die of embarrassment. I know it.’

  ‘Right,’ said Ellen, interrupting Jimmy’s quizzical look and saving Verity from explaining herself further. Scott came to adjust one of the large lights and then stood back by the camera, his legs wide apart, as he looked through the viewfinder. Roy stood next to him, holding a big fluffy grey microphone on the end of a large boom. He adjusted his headphones and nodded at Scott.

  Verity looked deliberately at Ellen, pouring all her concentration into what she was saying.