Scott and Rich went into one of the bedrooms for a chat and I had a cup of tea with the band and listened to the songs they’d recorded on a very small reel to reel recording tape. The songs were good, I thought. Some had even been written by Zak and Scott.
They told me that one of them was written for me called, ‘You Didn’t Have To Go Away.’
That was news to me. Scott had written it on his own. Another one written for me, so they said, was called ‘Because Of You Girl.’ I was so overwhelmed by it all. I glowed inside and couldn’t stop smiling. Scott promised me I could have tapes copied which is cool because Dad has a tape player with him in Germany.
After a while, Scott and Rich came back. I said goodnight to the band and Scott and I left the flat and made our way down the stairs. At the bottom he turned to me, took me in his arms and said, very seriously, ‘Rich says, will you marry me?’
‘What? Marry Rich? Why?’ I was really taken aback and confused.
‘Err? No, not Rich – me. Will you marry me?’ He looked deeply into my eyes.
He was so earnest I almost laughed.
‘Well? Will you marry me?’
‘I can’t, don’t be silly, I’m only sixteen. My parents would kill me.’ I still wasn’t sure if he meant it – he looked serious enough – or if he was really messing with my head for kicks.
‘Well, I don’t mean now of course, I mean later on, maybe in a year or two.’
Scott kissed me again and I tried to focus my thoughts and take in what he was saying. My heart was doing a jitterbug in my chest and good old Keith Moon was on the drums in my ears again.
I stood looking at him in the light from the overhead lamp, eyes shining, hair flopping over his forehead, his lovely mouth half smiling as he waited for me to answer him. I thought about his gorgeous body, long slim legs and those sexy hips and I knew, just knew, I was going to say yes.
Bugger Mum and Dad.
Renza’s Diary
August 1st 1968
Talk about floating on air. I know I was behaving strangely, but I couldn’t help it. I was going to get married to the most gorgeous, wonderful boy in the world, and I kept breaking into song without warning, and for some reason Gilbert and Sullivan’s, ‘Three Little Maids from School,’ was great to sing at the top of my lungs.
Mum caught me singing heartily, dancing round the washing as I pegged it out, and banged on the kitchen window. ‘What the hell are you doing? Half the bloody village can hear you. Put a cork in it!’
The Rottweiler next door stuck her head out of the bedroom window and made a big show of sighing and tut-tutting and when I blew her a kiss and waved, she nearly fell out. Even Donald sneaked a look from behind the sitting-room nets. I blew him a kiss too. I reckon I made his day.
Even doing the vacuuming wasn’t such a chore. I danced back and forth with it, singing over the noise which made the kids giggle and Lucy hide behind the sofa.
I didn’t care. Scott and I were getting married.
Soon they were all going to be history.
Renza’s Diary
August 3rd 1968
I thought Mum would stop me going for a walk with Scott this afternoon when he called round, but she didn’t say a word. Not like this morning.
‘What the hell’s wrong with you, all this bloody singing and dancing?’ she asked when I skipped round the kitchen putting crockery from breakfast away, singing my head off. ‘Are you drinking?’
‘What? No of course not, how could I be drinking?’
‘Well, something’s going on, I’m not stupid. What’s with the non-stop Victor Silvester and bloody Maria Callas all of a sudden?’
‘Nothing, nothing’s going on. I just feel like singing, I’m happy I guess.’
‘Well that’s a bloody first then!’ She peered at me hard and shrugged. ‘If it’s that apology for a male specimen you’re getting loved up about, forget it. As soon as you’ve gone he’ll be on to the next one.’
‘Nothing to do with Scott and he’s not a specimen or an apology for anything, That’s horrid.’
‘You mark my words my lady, you are just another ship in the night. I know his sort.’ She prodded my shoulder hard. ‘You’d better not be up to no good either, or your father will tan his hide within an inch of his life, and you’ll have me to answer to. Understood?’
‘For crying out loud, now I can’t sing or do anything. This is so unfair.’ I ran out of the kitchen and upstairs to the bathroom, locking the door, tears burning my eyes and hatred searing my heart.
‘Don’t get too comfortable up there, I want to do my face before my appointment.’ Mum yelled after me. I’d forgotten she had to have her wrists checked by the nurse this morning. I’d really like to do her face, I thought, as I blew my nose.
Scott came round after lunch and we went for our usual walk around the Rec. We couldn’t stray far as the band was gigging later.
‘Don’t talk until we get to the Rec, she’s got radar for ears.’ I whispered as we closed our gate. Peg was behind us with her excuse for a dog – her Toy Poodle or whatever it’s called. She supposedly ‘walks’ it every day though how the poor thing gets any exercise I don’t know. She carries it everywhere.
He pulled me to him as soon as we got into the Rec out of sight of prying eyes.
‘You’ve been crying.’
‘I’m all right.’ But I wasn’t. Tears welled as soon as I spoke.
‘Don’t cry, I hate it when you cry.’ He hugged me close and stroked my hair. ‘What happened? Has your mum been on at you again?’
‘She’s just so – you know – horrid. She can’t be nice for one second. Always saying nasty stuff and getting at me for no reason. I can’t stand it.’ I sniffed and fished in my pocket for my hanky.
Scott took it and wiped my eyes and nose and kissed my cheek. ‘Don’t let her get to you, she’s just a miserable old woman who hates everyone and everything.’
‘She says you’ll forget me as soon as I’ve gone. I’ll be another ship in the night.’ More tears fell and Scott wiped them away again.
‘What’s with the ships?’ He laughed. ‘Flipping heck.’
‘It’s not funny. I was happy then she started on about me singing, and you and me…’
‘I heard you singing, it was lovely. You should sing more often. I loved it.’ His turquoise eyes twinkled as he looked into my red rimmed, swollen eyes. I hoped my nose wouldn’t drip.
‘I like it when you’re happy and you’re not a flipping ship passing me in any night, so stop being silly. Come on, give me a lovely smile.’ He tipped my chin towards his face and bravely kissed my nose. I tried not to sniff.
‘Nearly, try harder,’ he laughed as I tried to smile.
After a few more kisses on my nose, I couldn’t help myself – he always made me smile. And my nose miraculously dried up.
‘There, that wasn’t too hard was it?’
We walked for a while longer, chatting about the future and getting married. It was all a dream really. I couldn’t believe it. When I was with him everything seemed possible.
‘You should do one of those postal courses, you know, for journalism.’ It came out of the blue. ‘I’ve seen them advertised in the papers, The London School of Journalism, and you can do it even if you live overseas. I’ll try and get the details for you if you want. You mustn’t give up on your dreams Renza, even when we get married, you should follow your own dreams.’
‘I’ve never heard of it, I bet it costs an arm and a leg. I can’t afford anything like that and Mum and Dad wouldn’t pay for it either, but thanks for thinking of me.’
‘When the band makes some money, I can pay for it. Don’t worry about them. I want you to be happy and if doing something like that makes you happy, I’d pay anything,’ he said and kissed me long and hard.
In that moment I believed him.
Renza’s Diary
August 15th 1968 – 8am
Scott and I said goodbye before the taxi arriv
ed to take Mum, the kids and me to the station, a short walk normally but with so much luggage we had no choice but to book one.
Nan had been round yesterday with my aunt and uncle to say goodbye and it broke my heart to see her face and her tears. She looked such a lonely figure as she walked back home with them. We watched and waved her out of sight. My aunt and uncle would look after her, but….poor old Nan.
Since they didn’t have a gig, I’d managed to say goodbye to the band and Rich, spending the rest of the evening with Scott yesterday, after Nan had gone. We were both so choked up we could hardly speak as we had our last ‘date,’ walking in the College for the last time.
When we did speak it was about keeping in touch, not forgetting about getting married and when, if ever, we should tell our parents, and when we could see each other again. I couldn’t bear it. Tears were near the surface the whole time and I kept thinking three years is a lifetime and what if I never got to come back and visit before then?
Scott told me the band had a possible tour of Germany on the cards at some point, but he didn’t know when or where they might go. He was going to Jersey in October and would be staying there for Christmas as they’d been booked at The Tropicana, and then they were off to France for New Year playing in Paris and Toulouse, before coming back to Leighton Buzzard where they were meant to move during the next week or so.
I felt a wave of panic. What if I never got a forwarding address?
Scott laughed and said that he would never let me go and would always find me wherever I was. We were meant to be together forever, and we would be.
He hummed softly in my ear as we held each other round the side of the house waiting for the taxi, The Marbles’ latest song, ‘Only One Woman,’ now forever, ‘our’ song.
‘Don’t ever forget the words; they mean what I mean.’ His voice broke as he whispered to me.
I sobbed silently into his shoulder. ‘I won’t.’
‘Don’t forget to send me a photo for under my pillow.’
He squeezed me tight and I clung to him unable to speak. I nodded. I’d soaked the front of his black shirt, but I didn’t care. I knew I looked a mess.
After a while I managed to whisper, ‘Don’t forget to write to me. You’ve got the address of the base where Dad is, and when you get the photos from Madeira printed, promise you’ll send me one. I’ll sleep with it near my heart every night and as soon as the moon is up, don’t forget, we both look at it the same time and think of each other like we agreed.’
‘I promise. I promise everything. Don’t forget I love you and you are the only woman for me – I want only one woman – he sang quietly for the last time; and I’ve got the picture of the woman I love etched on my heart forever. I love you, Renza.’
I loved the way lyrics of songs meant so much to him and how he sang them to me. He had one for every occasion. So romantic. I’ll never be able to hear The Marbles without reliving this moment.
‘I love you, too, and I’ll find a telephone somewhere so I can ring you when you’re in Jersey, and I’ll write with the days and times I’m able to ring you, once I know.’
‘I hope your Nan will be all right. I know I’ve never met her, but do you want me to call in on her and see if she is all right, while we are still in the village, I mean?’
‘Oh, that’s so sweet, but my uncle and his wife are close to her and will keep an eye on her, and she has a good friend she goes out and about with sometimes – Mrs. Dubarry – so I think people are going to keep her company while she gets used to us not being here, and Dad wants her over for Christmas anyway.’
How wonderful of him to offer, I thought.
He kissed me again, his voice choked up, on the verge of tears. ‘Make sure you write to me tomorrow, even if you’re tired out. Don’t go messing around with those German blokes either, or I’ll be over there to sort them out.’
‘I won’t – and you make sure all those girls keep their distance and you aren’t tempted,’ I whispered, trying to smile and make a joke of it.
‘Renza! The taxi is here. Come and sort these bags out,’ Mum called through the open front door as Crispin shot round the corner to find me.
‘Renza is kissing! Renza is kissing!’ he started to shout as I put my hand over his mouth and he tried to bite me.
Scott let go of me and Crispin head-butted him somewhere he shouldn’t have, and poor Scott doubled up in agony as Crispin shot off before I could break his neck.
Our special last moments together had been ruined and we didn’t get a chance for any further conversation or a proper goodbye kiss. It was all go with bags, giant pandas, and rounding up kids and scrambling into the taxi.
Scott shouted goodbye to Mum and the kids and looked longingly at me and I bit my lip as I watched him fade into the distance, waving and waving us out of sight.
Renza’s Diary
August 15th 1968 – 10pm
Dad was waiting for us as our plane landed at Dusseldorf airport. He had a mini-van with a driver on loan from the base. We were all too tired to speak much as our plane had been delayed, so by the time he collected us, the kids were whining and Mum was in one of her ‘Don’t you dare say a word,’ moods. Wonderful.
We’d been given two flats to live in, one above the other. It was all very German and bleak. The outside walls were grey concrete and there was a huge cellar which smelled funny and looked a bit creepy. I was given a room of my own upstairs, thank goodness, which I was going to be allowed to turn into a bed-sitting room. My parent’s room was downstairs and the kids had rooms next to mine.
The view from my front bedroom window looked out on to a sort of green with trees at the front, and behind the trees was a row of those horrid grey concrete flats the Germans are so fond of. Dad said these were married quarters for the army families.
The rear bedroom window opened out on to a sort of balcony which overlooked a short stretch of grass and bushes – hardly a garden – and behind was a row of houses belonging to German villagers. All pretty depressing, though Dad says there is a Sports Platz – playing field – up the road a way and from there the views of the river Ruhr are fabulous. I don’t care if it is the most beautiful place on earth, it meant nothing to me. I won’t be walking there with Scott.
How I missed Scott. I thought my heart would break.
Stella’s Diary
August 15th 1968
‘A week tomorrow and we’ll be going away,’ Patsy said, smirking. ‘I’ve almost finished my packing – just got a few more bits to buy. Are you excited?’
‘Not really,’ I didn’t look at her. ‘If any of you had bothered to ask me before you booked it, then I’d have said I wasn’t going. And honestly, right now I’d be scared to go. I mean, it’s hundreds of miles away and if I was ill…’
‘You sound like my Nan,’ Patsy spat. ‘Like an old woman! You can’t expect Mike to go on his own, it isn’t fair!’
‘He won’t be on his own. He’ll have you and Sam, and he’s paid for me so you’re not out of pocket and– ’
‘I don’t know why he puts up with you!’ Patsy glared at me. ‘You’re always moaning about being ill. I don’t even know what he sees in you. You might be a bit of a brainbox with your A levels and your story writing, but you’re no fun. Anyway, if you don’t want to go with him, I know someone who will.’
We were sitting outside the pub again. Mike and Sam were inside playing darts. My pains had been on and off – and I’d had an appointment through the post for Mr Glendenning’s clinic – in September.
‘Really?’ I raised my bald and un-sequinned eyebrows. ‘That’s what you said before. I didn’t believe you then and I don’t believe you now.’
Patsy gave a little smug shoulder-shimmy. ‘Well, then, that’s all you know, Miss Clever-Clogs.’
I leaned across the trestle table. ‘Go on, then. Spill. You know you’re dying to. But let me tell you one thing, I know Mike has quite a few girls who fancy him, but he’s going out with
me – and he won’t be taking any of them in my place. So, if you know so much, tell me her name. No, see you can’t, can you? She doesn’t exist! You’re making it all up and–’
‘Bernice Perkins.’
I sat, stupefied. Silent. It was a hot evening but I was suddenly icy cold. I just stared at Patsy.
Patsy stared back.
I swallowed. ‘And who is she when she’s at home?’
‘No one. No one…’ Patsy spluttered, going very red. ‘I just made her up to annoy you.’
But alarm bells were ringing. I wasn’t stupid.
‘No, you didn’t.’ I said. My voice sounded like it was someone else speaking. ‘You know her. That name just tripped off your tongue.’
‘I just wanted to make you cross,’ Patsy insisted. ‘Because you’re not coming to Cornwall… forget it, I was just being stupid.’
‘Rubbish!’ I started to shake. I wasn’t sure if I was angry or scared or both. ‘Who the hell is Bernice Perkins?’
Patsy looked as if she was going to burst into tears.
I shrugged. ‘Ok, I’ll go inside and ask Mike who she is, shall I? I mean, if he’s taking her to Cornwall in my place, I guess he’ll know who she is.’
I stood up, pushing myself away from the trestle table so violently that Patsy’s Babycham spilled.
‘Don’t! Stella! Don’t!’
I looked down at Patsy. I was freezing cold and felt faint – nothing to do with the pains – everything to do with the fact that this Bernice Perkins was real. I knew she was real. And so did Patsy.
‘Ok – before I ask Mike – you tell me who she is.’
Only One Woman Page 15
