Love Lives

by Emlyn Rees

  Verity nodded, hardly listening, as she tried to look over Mr Peters’s shoulder, but it was no use. It seemed as if the whole town had turned up for the event, probably because Ellen was filming part of it and they wanted to get their faces on the television. She could see all sorts of familiar people, including most of her teachers from school.

  ‘Good luck,’ said Toby, one of the young boys in the choir, as he trooped past her up the steps to sit in the semicircle of chairs around the piano.

  Verity smiled and ruffled his fluffy blond hair. ‘You too.’

  ‘I’ve never been on telly before,’ he said.

  ‘Verity, you’ve got your microphone on, haven’t you?’ Ellen asked as she approached her, and Verity fiddled with the small black dome that was clipped on to the front of her dress. There was something stern and businesslike about Ellen and she felt hurt that Ellen’s warmth and friendliness towards her on the shoot had, for some reason, stopped. She’d been so lovely last week, but ever since the dress rehearsal today, Ellen had been offhand, as if she no longer really cared. She looked different, too. Her usually bright complexion seemed haggard and tired. She must be stressed, thought Verity. It was probably the strain of all the filming she’d been doing. She tried smiling, but Ellen didn’t smile back at her.

  ‘You can use the main mike as normal, but the radio mike will pick up everything that Scott needs. He’ll be filming from the back now, where we’ve set up. We’ve scrapped the plans for a close-up during the concert as it’ll be too disruptive.’

  ‘Do you need some more lipstick?’ Verity’s mother asked. ‘You don’t want to look plain.’ She now peered around Ellen’s shoulder at her daughter, as if she were some professional lackey of Ellen’s.

  ‘Mum, stop fussing!’

  ‘Two minutes to go,’ Mr Peters shouted, as the house lights went down and people finally took their seats. ‘Will everyone sit down!’ Then he hurried over to Verity. ‘I’m counting on you, darling. If you get us off to a good start, then they won’t notice how dreadful it’ll be.’ He nodded to the audience. ‘Don’t let me down.’ Then he was away up the steps past her.

  Verity saw Jimmy then. He was at the back of the hall, dodging past people as he hurried down the edge of the aisle towards her. She waved and he smiled at her, and she felt her heart jump with the knowledge that he was here at last. She smiled eagerly at him, as he eased past an old lady in a wheelchair.

  Verity started down the steps towards him, but at that moment, almost out of nowhere, Denny arrived at the front of the central aisle, walking towards Verity with his arms outstretched.

  He looked smarter than she’d ever seen him looking, with a black jacket on, a mauve shirt and black trousers. He’d trimmed his goatee beard, so that she could see more of his mouth, and he smiled at her, revealing his perfect white teeth. She’d always imagined being in public with Denny, but now she felt nothing. No tummy flips, no heart palpitations. Nothing.

  ‘I made it,’ he said, as if expecting Verity to applaud, before folding her into a tight hug. Verity tried to pull away and see Jimmy, but Denny cut her off, planting his lips on hers and darting his tongue into her mouth. ‘I missed you,’ he said, pulling away, his breath hot in her ear.

  Verity wriggled away from him, putting her hands on his chest to push him off.

  ‘Leave it!’ Clive said gruffly, appearing from the other side aisle in his long leather coat and raising his eyebrows at Denny. ‘You’re on, Verity,’ he announced, grabbing her arm and pushing her on stage, as Mr Peters, impatient to start, struck up with the piano introduction to ‘Bridge over Troubled Water’.

  ‘Break a leg,’ Denny called after her and Verity glanced back, watching as he took a place in the front row. Desperately, she looked around for Jimmy, but he’d vanished.

  There was almost complete silence from the audience by the time Verity had made it to the front of the stage. She glanced over to the side aisle where Jimmy had been, but the lights were in her eyes and she couldn’t see anything but darkness.

  She was smarting with humiliation, hardly able to believe that Denny had had the nerve to kiss her in front of everyone. She could sense his gaze on her, making her feel vulnerable, as if she were naked in harsh midday sun.

  She thought back to the last time she’d seen Denny a week ago, as he’d stood at his window watching her leave in a taxi. He had no idea how much that night had changed her for ever. He had no idea how much he’d hurt her and how ordinary he’d made her feel.

  Now, she could hardly stand seeing him again, or bear the obvious smugness with which he carried around the knowledge of their physical contact. She felt something shrivel up inside her when she thought about what had happened between them.

  Ever since she’d locked herself in the bathroom on Saturday night on her return from Denny’s she’d been feeling soiled. She’d written the bare, horrible facts in her diary, almost as a punishment to herself for being such a fool. All week she’d waited for Denny to call, to give her back some shred of dignity. But he hadn’t. And now here he was, staring up at her from the front row as if she were his property.

  What am I doing this for? she thought, catching a glimpse of her mother, who looked at her anxiously. Maybe it was the presence of Denny and her mother and just about everyone else she knew in Shoresby, but Verity felt cheap, as if she were some kind of performing monkey. She didn’t even want to be here in the first place and what’s more she hated this song.

  Mr Peters struck a chord on the piano. It was her cue to start singing, but Verity was frozen. Didn’t these people realise she was a fake and a fraud? She was aware of all the expectant faces ahead of her, waiting for her to perform, waiting for her to be Verity Driver, the town’s talent show. In the distance, at the back, she could make out a red dot on Scott’s camera.

  Part of her was tempted to run off stage, but the greater part of her knew that was the cowardly thing to do.

  She could feel Mr Peters’s panic as he sat at the piano beside her. She couldn’t let him down. The show must go on, she thought, as he played the introduction again. Somewhere out there in the hall was Jimmy. She opened her mouth and let the song soar above the heads of the audience, but her voice was destined only for Jimmy’s ears. All the while, as she sang, she thought about being in the chapel with him and the way he’d been about Ryan when she’d questioned him on the path. For the first time, she finally understood the enormity of Jimmy’s loss. The person closest to him had gone and he hadn’t been able to do a thing.

  She realised how strong Jimmy was and how much courage he must have had to have carried on and coped with Ryan’s death on his own. He was amazing, Verity thought. Jimmy was amazing, and no one apart from her knew. She thought back to the film he’d made of her on the chapel wall, and how she’d felt when she’d seen it. She’d been shocked, but something inside her had realised what it had meant for him to have done that for her. And now she had to tell Jimmy. She had to tell him all this, before it was too late. As the final note hung in the air, she took no joy from the applause that greeted her.

  Clive walked on to the stage, clapping with the audience. ‘Thank you, thank you,’ Clive said, breathily into the microphone. ‘And thank you to the ever-talented Verity Driver.’

  Verity dipped her head at the further applause and sat down near the back of the stage.

  ‘Tonight, we are here to celebrate the life of one of our own,’ Clive began. ‘We all knew Ryan and on this, the anniversary of his tragic death …’

  Verity scanned the rows further back, watching her mother nodding with false sincerity, her head cocked to one side. Moving on, she squinted against the light, searching each seat for Jimmy, but he wasn’t anywhere to be seen.

  By the interval, Verity knew in her heart that Jimmy must have left and she couldn’t bear sitting still, but with the camera on the school orchestra there was no way she could leave her seat without everyone seeing her. Impatience filled every cell of her body.


  She had to find Jimmy and she had to find him now.

  When the school orchestra had finished, she was the first out of her seat. Seeing Denny get up, she hurried to the other side of the stage, where she knew there was a small space where she could jump down to the audience. She could see Jimmy’s friend Tara standing and putting the programme back on her seat. She was wearing a black dress over jeans and she had a black hat on. As Verity got closer, she could see that she had a green sparkling stud in her nose. ‘Tara?’ Verity asked, pushing through the crowd to get to her. ‘Tara, have you seen Jimmy?’

  Tara looked Verity over scornfully, her eyelids heavy with dark-grey eyeshadow. Verity wondered how much Jimmy had told her about their relationship and everything that had happened, but she didn’t have time to worry about it now.

  ‘He was here,’ Verity explained, not having time to be offended by Tara’s sullen manner. ‘I need to talk to him, but I can’t see him anywhere.’

  Tara sniffed and folded her arms, slumping down on to one hip. ‘Yeah, well, it figures,’ she said. ‘He’s probably done a bunk. His gran died today. He’s pretty chewed up.’

  ‘I’ve got to go,’ Verity muttered, hurrying away down the aisle. She felt an ache of sympathy spread through her. After what Jimmy had told her up at Appleforth House about his gran and how close he was to her, she knew that her death was going to have knocked him sideways.

  She had to find him. She had to find him. Now.

  People were already queuing at the counter for tea and she had to edge through the crowd to get to the central aisle. Everyone she passed wanted to pat her and congratulate her. She kept batting away compliments and forcing herself not to snap.

  Finally, she made it to where Scott was checking a cable up to the stage.

  ‘Hey,’ he said. ‘Nice singing.’

  ‘Have you seen Jimmy?’

  ‘He left,’ Scott said, standing up.

  When?’

  ‘Before your solo at the beginning.’

  ‘But –’

  ‘Around the same time you started kissing Denny.’

  Verity turned away, not even able to look Scott in the face. The last thing he’d seen was Denny punching Jimmy, and now he thought …

  But Verity felt sick with a greater horror than Scott’s opinion of her. Jimmy had seen her kissing Denny. He must have thought she’d wanted to. He had no idea of the truth. He had no idea how she really felt and now … now he’d gone … Desperation swept through her. This was all wrong. It wasn’t supposed to turn out like this.

  ‘Verity, Verity, there you are,’ her mother said, hanging on to her elbow.

  Verity shrugged her away. ‘Not now, Mum, OK?’

  ‘Ellen has said she’d like to do an interview at the end with you and me,’ her mother bulldozed on, and Verity could see her almost glowing with anticipation. ‘She wants to end the documentary on a positive note and we thought that we could talk about the future hopes for the young people in Shoresby. And future hopes? Well, I said that’s you, of course! We can talk about how we’ve nurtured your talents and how you feel –’

  Verity felt an enormous surge of energy, as she looked at her mother with unbridled disgust. ‘You know what, Mum,’ she interrupted. ‘I’m sick of people telling me how I should feel and what I should do.’

  ‘There’s no time for histrionics, Verity. You’ve got to think of your future.’

  Future? What would her mother know about what Verity wanted for her future? Right now, all she needed for her future sanity was to find Jimmy, but Verity couldn’t tell her mother this. And even if she did tell her, she wouldn’t understand. ‘Oh, for God’s sake, Mum!’ she said.

  ‘Don’t take that tone. Ellen is an extremely useful contact. Your future in –’

  ‘Give me a break,’ Verity said, her pent-up anger threatening to choke her. She lowered her voice ominously and glared at her mother. ‘It’s not about my future, is it?’

  ‘Verity?’

  ‘All this is about you, Mum. It’s always been about you.’

  ‘You can’t say that! That’s not true –’

  ‘If you care so much about being on TV, then do the interview on your own. I’m sure you’ll find plenty to say.’

  Cheryl Driver gasped.

  ‘You see, I don’t give a shit,’ Verity continued, speaking very slowly. ‘Do you hear me? I don’t care about any of this. I’m not doing an interview with you, because it would all be lies. I hate singing in public. Haven’t you noticed that yet? I hate what you’ve forced me into becoming.’

  ‘What you’ve become? What you’ve become? I’ll tell you what you’ve become. Don’t think I don’t know you’ve been sleeping with that Denny Shapland –’

  Verity willed herself to remain calm. ‘And how do you know that? Been reading my diary, have you?’

  Cheryl Driver reddened and patted her hair. ‘No,’ she said, but she was tipped off balance from her tirade for a split-second. ‘It doesn’t matter how I know, I just know and –’

  Verity had heard enough. The enormity of her mother’s hypocrisy overwhelmed her. Steeling herself, she forced herself to look her mother in the eye as she said, ‘I know some of your secrets, too, Mum. So before you continue making judgements about my life …’ Verity could feel herself shaking. Her voice caught as she struggled to continue, her words coming out as no more than a whisper. ‘I suggest you sort out your own.’

  Then, before her mother could say anything, Verity turned her back and walked down the central aisle, trembling with a strange kind of victory, hardly able to believe that for once in her life she’d silenced her mother.

  ‘Verity, where are you going?’ It was Denny who stood in her path now.

  Why couldn’t she get out of here? It was as if she were trapped in some kind of hellish obstacle course. ‘Please, just let me go, Denny,’ she begged, trying to push round him.

  ‘Verity,’ he whispered, as he stepped towards her. ‘What’s got into you? I’ve made a big effort to be here tonight.’

  ‘Oh! Almost as big an effort as you made to call me over the past week?’

  She stared at him, revulsion and regret raging inside her. Why had she ever found him attractive? Why had she ever let herself get into the situation she had? He’d disrespected her and hurt her feelings and now she wanted to hurt him back.

  ‘I was busy,’ Denny said, shrugging. ‘I told you I was on business.’

  ‘Poor you.’

  Suddenly, she could hear her voice through the loudspeaker system. Scott must have accidentally turned on her microphone, which she’d forgotten to take off. But she didn’t care. She didn’t care who heard what she had to say.

  ‘Come on, babe,’ Denny said, glancing nervously around him. ‘Maybe we should talk.’

  There was ripple of laughter through the crowd, as people started to understand what was going on. Denny grabbed the top of Verity’s arm.

  ‘Let go of me,’ she said, her voice booming out. ‘It’s over, Denny. Do you hear me? Whatever pathetic thing we had, it’s over. I don’t want anything to do with you. I’ve been such an idiot and it’s taken me until now to realise that I don’t even like you.’

  ‘Go, girl!’ Tara shouted, whooping over the crowd.

  ‘You can’t speak to me like that!’ Denny said.

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because I’m your boyfriend.’

  There was another ripple of laughter and Denny spun round furiously to try to catch the culprit.

  ‘No you’re not,’ Verity informed him. ‘You think you’re so great. But you’re the most conceited, arrogant pig I’ve ever met. And … and you’re crap in bed,’ she added, before she ripped off the microphone from her dress and ran down the aisle of the Community Hall, pushing people out of the way.

  Verity didn’t care. She knew she’d overreacted. Denny wasn’t the most conceited, arrogant pig she’d ever met. Just one of them. No, the real reason she didn’t want Denny Shapland an
y more was because she wanted someone else.

  She could hardly believe how easy it had been to stand up to him. It was as if all the scales had fallen from her eyes. She’d finally snapped out of whatever spell she’d been under and now, at last, she could see the truth.

  At the door, she handed Scott the microphone and he unclipped the receiver box from her waistband at the back. ‘Thank you,’ she said. Then she opened the door and ran out into the night, to find the only person who mattered, knowing where he’d be and hoping with all her heart that it wasn’t already too late.

  Chapter XXII

  THE FREEZING AIR bit like teeth into Jimmy’s knuckles and the snarl of the scrambler’s engine filled his ears. Switching gear, he twisted back on the throttle, taking the stolen motorbike past thirty miles an hour. Up ahead of him the beam of the headlight picked out rocks and sticks and potholes on the path. Jimmy swerved right, then left, then right again. Almost everything outside the headlight’s reach was in silhouette. The barrier of brambles and holly to his left was nothing but a mass of moonlit purple, and the three feet of eroded scrubland to his right an uneven streak of black.

  But beyond that – there, where the coastal path along which he was racing gave way to thin air – everything became clear. There, an infinity of starlit sky stretched away from him. There, the moon was a perfect circle. There, a million waves winked up at the sky. And there – if he were to skid sideways now, or get thrown by a rut from his seat – he’d disappear over the edge of the cliff and his future would become clear, too. Because he’d have none. Because he’d be dead.

  Two red pinpoints flicked on in the hedgerow further down the path, the eyes of some animal transfixed by the headlight. But whether it was a fox or a stoat or an owl, Jimmy didn’t know and couldn’t care less.

  He was blitzed, half a bottle of Smirnoff Red down. The vodka bottle was zipped inside his leather jacket, pressed up against his heart. He’d picked it up from the Wreck not five minutes ago, having ditched the bike as near as he at could on the path, and walked the rest of the way and kicked in the door. The Smirnoff had been inside the rusted army surplus ammo box behind the altar, stashed alongside the sealed packet of Orkney Island smoked salmon, the loaf of brown bread and the mini-bottle of Moët & Chandon champagne. The salmon had passed its sell-by date and the bread was going mouldy. Jimmy had picked up the champagne bottle and hurled it against the wall. The vodka aside – which Ryan had left behind last year – Jimmy had got it all from the supermarket two days ago, before he’d taken Verity up to the Wreck to show her the projector and tell her how he felt. He’d planned on a picnic if she’d told him she felt the same way. But she hadn’t.