An evening out would be nice for a change, I thought, as I rummaged through the corner cupboard in the kitchen where we kept coats and shoes and lots of other miscellaneous stuff. Dad always called it the avalanche cupboard. It was aptly named, I thought, as I fought my way through a mass of coats until I found my PVC mac.
Vix and I had bought or macs at the same time – hers was electric blue and mine was scarlet – and they just skimmed the tops of our thighs. We had matching long white PVC boots, too. The rest of us, in between, got wet.
Mum shook her head, chuckling. ‘You both look very sweet and fashionable, but neither of you look exactly waterproof. You need a good gabardine and a sou’wester apiece.’
‘Mrs Deacon!’ Vix pulled a face. ‘Really! You’d make us a laughing stock! Come on, Stella – let’s go.’
Ten minutes later, having splish-splashed our way along Harbury Green’s darkening, deserted and wind-swept roads, with rain dripping from the edges of our umbrellas, trickling down our macs and leaking into our boots, we reached our destination: Vix’s Nanny Ivy’s house.
For as long as we could remember, Vix and I had shared our grandparents, so Nanny Ivy’s house was as familiar to me as my own. I loved it: it was crammed full of fat furniture and every surface was covered with nick-nacks and ornaments, all mementos from Nanny Ivy’s many seaside coach trips.
Nanny Ivy shook her head. ‘Lovely to see you both, but what a night to pick for visiting, our Vix. More like Christmas than early September. Come along in the pair of you! You look like drowned rats! Here’s some towels, no Vix, love – don’t put those macs there – let ‘em drip in the sink – I’ll get the kettle on and make us a nice cuppa. You go through to the living room. I’ve lit the fire.’
So there we were. Me, Vix and Nanny Ivy, sitting round her little table in front of the fire, drinking tea from big white cups, listening to the rain pitter-pattering against the windows and Vix’s Grampy Wilf snoring softly in his big armchair.
It was lovely and cosy of course, but a bit disappointing and surely not what Vix had meant as a treat in store?
Nanny Ivy beamed at me. ‘Now, Stella, Vix says what with your tummy troubles and you and young Mike not courting any longer, you want to know what the future holds, is that right?’
And then the penny dropped! With an almighty clang!
I grinned at Vix. ‘You! You might have told me!’
‘And then you wouldn’t be here,’ Vix chuckled. ‘I know you don’t believe in Nanny Ivy’s fortune telling, but I do and I thought if she could give you some good news about the future it’d stop you worrying.’
Nothing was going to stop me worrying, least of all Nanny Ivy’s sooth-saying, but I thought it would be rude to say so. ‘But what if the future looks bad?’ I asked. ‘I mean, I might not believe in any of it, but…’
‘I never give bad news,’ Nanny Ivy interrupted. ‘I’ll always warn against something and suggest another path to take if the portents aren’t good – there’s always a choice to be made. And no! Leave that cup, Stella! I’ll do your tea leaves as well.’
I obediently returned my cup to its saucer. ‘As well as…?’
‘The tarots, my love. The tarots.’
Oh, the tarots – of course!
Vix and I had played with Nanny Ivy’s many sets of tarot cards for as long as I could remember. We’d played Snap and Happy Families and built card houses, and I’d loved the ancient mystical illustrations and the jewel-colours – but as for their alleged fortune-telling properties, I’d always been a total disbeliever.
Mind you, Nanny Ivy had lots of regular clients in Harbury Green who called for readings – including my own Nans – and they all swore by her and her turn of the cards.
‘Shall we get started?’ Vix switched off the standard lamp, so the only illumination in the room came from the dancing, flickering fire. ‘I’ve never been allowed to sit in on a reading before and I can’t wait to find out what’s going to happen.’
I glared at Vix across the table and shook my head, as Nanny Ivy handed me the pack of cards. Vix grinned back at me. She knew she’d won.
‘Hold them tight for a moment, Stella.’ Nanny Ivy said. ‘That’s right. Good girl. Now cut them… and again… lovely… now I’ll have them back – thank you.’
Nanny Ivy took the cards I’d handled, deftly shuffled the pack, and started dealing out the ornate cups, wands, coins, hearts and pentangles before turning them face up.
Vix leaned forward. ‘Oooh look, Stella – the tower – oh no it isn’t – it’s the lovers!’
‘Hush,’ Nanny Ivy frowned, but kindly. ‘These are turning up for Stella, not you.’
I watched as Nanny Ivy’s heavily-veined hands flicked at the cards. The Lovers… the Hanged Man… and Death… Oh my God.
Vix gave a little scream.
Nanny Ivy sighed heavily. ‘For heaven’s sake, girls! Shush!’
‘But it’s death!’ Vix said, sounding rather too ghoulishly excited for my liking.
‘Shut up,’ I groaned.
Nanny Ivy sat back. ‘Right. Stella. These cards are fascinating – because they all link to your health and your future.’
‘And death,’ I sighed. ‘So please don’t tell me anymore. I honestly don’t want to know.’
‘Yes you do,’ Nanny Ivy insisted. ‘The Death card doesn’t mean the end of life – far from it! Death just indicates the end of what’s happening to you now. It signifies change, transformation and healing… so it’s a really good card for you.’
I said nothing but I wasn’t convinced. Not even a little teeny weeny bit convinced. I still thought it was all mumbo-jumbo.
‘Look, Stella,’ Nanny Ivy continued to tap the cards. ‘The Hanged Man here means that you will soon be given a chance to let go of your past life and experience something new. That could be a new job or…’
‘A new boyfriend!’ Vix chirped happily. ‘See, Stella – it’s all really cool.’
Nanny Ivy frowned again at the interruption. ‘Well, yes, maybe. However, the Hanged Man turned together with Death, means that all the current bad times will be taken away. In a nutshell, the cards are telling you that you will get better, you will feel well again and your health won’t be a problem anymore.’
‘Really?’ I frowned. ‘Are you sure? You’re not just being kind?’
‘No, my love,’ Nanny Ivy smiled gently. ‘The cards are always truthful – and so am I.’
‘But,’ Vix said, ‘you’ve left out the Lovers card, Nan. As well as Stella getting better it must mean she’ll have a new boyfriend. And hopefully a much better one than Mike.’
Nanny Ivy shook her head. ‘Don’t be reading too much into the Lovers, young Vix. None of these cards should be taken at face value, you should know that by now. No, the Lovers usually mean a person being a bit torn. They can mean that your heart wants to do one thing but your head advises another. It could mean a new boyfriend for Stella, of course, or a new job, or a new way of life – but whichever of those it is, Stella will have to choose between her head and her heart. And it won’t be an easy decision.’
Still nonsense. I giggled. ‘Thank you. That was fun… I may not believe in it, but it all sounds ok.’
‘Ah, but we haven’t finished yet – the tarots have given us the story so far – but there could be more.’ Nanny Ivy said briskly. ‘Give us your tea cup Stella, there’s a love.’
I watched, fascinated, as Nanny Ivy swirled the dregs of my tea, upturned the cup into the saucer so quickly it was like a magician’s sleight of hand, and then peered into the remaining leaves.
‘Well I never!’ Nanny Ivy’s eyes shone. ‘There’s a turn-up!’
‘What?’ Vix and I said at the same time.
‘Well,’ Nanny Ivy sat back in her chair. ‘You’re a lucky girl, Stella. The cards have said you’ll soon be cured of your illness and have the chance of adventures – and now the tea leaves have predicted that you will have a new love in your life
– and very soon.’
Wow! I really tried not to laugh.
‘Cool….’ Vix breathed. ‘See, Stella – I told you it was all going to be ok. When is he going to be here, Nan? Is it someone we already know? Who is it? Is it -?’
‘Hold your horses,’ Nanny Ivy chuckled. ‘That’s the funny thing – the tea-leaves have never been so strong in their message. They say that Stella’s new love is going to be a tall, dark handsome stranger from over the seas…’
My shriek of derisive laughter drowned out the drumming of the rain, the crackling of the fire, Grampy Wilf’s snoring, and Vix’s whoops of excitement.
Dear lord in heaven! I really should have seen that one coming! The tall dark stranger line! What a load of complete twaddle!
Renza’s Diary
September 14th 1968
Something terrible has happened. Dad rushed home from work at lunchtime with a telegram from Mum’s brother. Nan has had a stroke or something and is in a coma in hospital and it seems she won’t live.
Mum took the news really badly. We all did. Apparently Nan had been on a coach trip to Derry and Thom’s in London, where she’d had afternoon tea on the roof garden with a friend. On the way home she’d complained of a headache. She wanted to nap, she told her friend, but when the coach stopped her friend couldn’t rouse her and she was rushed to hospital, but there seemed to be no hope.
Dad’s booked Mum and me on the first plane from Dusseldorf – he thought she would need me with her – and he’s taken time off to look after the kids, who are all in school except Crispin and Lucy, so the kids won’t be too much trouble for him to cope with.
We arrived in England early evening and my uncle met us at London airport with the news that Nan had died whilst we were in the air. She’d had a brain haemorrhage apparently and never regained consciousness. It was something of a blessing – poor Nan would’ve died of shame had she woken up in hospital without a change of undies. Nan was terrified of hospitals.
Through my tears and grief, I chuckled at this thought, a bit of her Irish coming out in me. Sorry Nan.
I kept thinking of poor Nan, telling us she would never see us again and wondering how she knew. She died almost a month to the day we’d said goodbye to her.
Renza’s Diary
September 20th 1968
Nan’s funeral was so sad. It rained the whole time but there were so many people there, even people who had known her since she first came to the village back in the twenties. It was clear that she was much loved and respected by many, from all walks of life too.
Mum and her siblings have spent the last few days going through her things, sorting out her affairs, and I’ve tried to help as much as possible. It’s just awful.
But, every cloud and all that – tonight I’m seeing Scott. Narnia’s Children have two nights booked for the opening of the local Country Club, performing with Grapefruit, an amazing group I love. I adore their songs, especially ‘Elevator’ and ‘Dear Delilah’. It’s so exciting.
I couldn’t believe Mum said I could go when I’d asked her. She didn’t argue or moan, she just said yes. I felt bad asking her, considering what had happened, but it’s going to be a chance to be with Scott and I honestly don’t care what they all think.
This is part of their tour and they’ve been playing in Reading and other local places, and it’s just luck – or fate – that they’re going to be in the next village at the same time. Scott wrote telling me his dates and their schedule in his last letter, so as soon as we got back to England I phoned him at the Leighton Buzzard house and let him know I could come to the gig.
He was amazed to hear my voice and it was magic for me too.
There’s someone from Capitol Records, Apple – the Beatles’ new company – and also from President Records, coming to see them play tonight and the band’s really nervous. It’s a really important gig for them. The record company executives had asked the band to perform some of their own compositions, because they were interested in their song-writing, just as much as their image and performance.
Good job things with Joss have been sorted out and all the bad feeling since the big fight’s forgotten. I’m really nervous for them, too.
Scott said that Brian Auger and The Trinity, featuring one of my favourite girl singers, Jools Driscoll, were going to be there as well, though he wasn’t sure if they were going to play. I love their song, ‘Wheels on Fire’.
‘Wow, you look beautiful!’ Scott grabbed me the minute he saw me, and he took my breath away with a long soft lingering kiss which sent shudders of delight throughout my body, and good old Keith was back, drumming with a vengeance, only this time he had company.
If we ever made love I seriously believed I wouldn’t survive.
‘You don’t look bad yourself.’ I stood back and took deep breaths. His hair had grown longer and was shining under the lights of the dressing room. He was bronzed still and his turquoise eyes twinkled as I remembered. His lips were pink from our kiss and I felt the urge to kiss them again. And again and again.
‘Where are the others?’ I asked looking round the cramped dressing room with all their clothes strewn about, Coke bottles and crisps packets scattered over every available surface. I could smell aftershave and that ‘male’ odour rooms take on when a number of men are shut up together for some time. Not nice.
‘Chatting up some girls they met earlier, waiting outside for us,’ he smiled and ran his thumb over my lips. I nearly fell backwards at the jolt of electricity that shot through me.
‘I’ve missed you so much, I haven’t been able to concentrate – been drinking far too much trying to put you out of my mind’ he said huskily as he took me in his arms and pressed himself against me, his lips finding mine again.
Reluctantly, I managed to prise my mouth from his. ‘You’ll never believe how much I’ve missed you. I can’t believe you’re here, now, it’s like a dream.’
‘Come here and show me how much,’ Scott mumbled into my neck as I closed my eyes.
The gig was over far too soon. They were amazing, I couldn’t take my eyes off him, the way he moved, held his guitar and his voice. Sheer magic. The band sounded a lot tighter than last time and they played all of their own material. If I were a record company representative, I’d sign them. When the gig ended, the band went off to meet the various record company people who’d turned up. After spending about an hour with them Scott reappeared.
‘Sorry about that, you know how it is.’
‘Actually I don’t, not really, but I know it’s important to you all.’ I watched his face flushed with excitement. Perhaps one day I’d be au fait with it all.
‘How did it go?’
‘Ace, it was ace. There were five labels out there tonight and all of them stayed to chat with us.’ He couldn’t stop grinning.
‘What does it mean?’ I started grinning too, his was infectious.
‘It means that Stephan and Psychedelic Smith have a lot of negotiating to do we hope. Stephan thinks there’ll be a bidding war.’
‘Wow.’ I couldn’t think what else to say as he grabbed me close. I’d no idea what he meant, but I didn’t care.
‘The others will be back in a minute, come here and let me say goodbye to you properly.’
Renza’s Diary
September 21st 1968
Before we returned to Germany Nan’s belongings were divided up between Mum and her sisters. It was so sad seeing her possessions being bundled up. She had drawers full of Christmas and birthday gifts still wrapped in the paper in which they’d been given to her; she’d not worn or used any of them – keeping them for best she used to say, or a rainy day. I cried when I thought about her saving things for a time which never came. I cried thinking of leaving her behind in that horrid grave yard, alone and in the rain, and I cried for Scott.
Our last moments together had been bitter-sweet. It hurt so much part of me almost longed to get it over with. The tension was too much to endure. B
ut leaving him behind was an altogether different kind of agony.
Stella’s Diary
September 26th 1968
Today is my 20th birthday. I’m no longer a teenager. There wasn’t an awful lot to celebrate to be honest. No boyfriend, a job that bored me, and of course, being ill.
I seriously don’t think I’ll be around to see my 21st. Does that sound over-dramatic? Maybe – but honestly, I feel so rotten. Again. So much for Nanny Ivy’s daft predictions of a cure! Mum, Dad, my grandparents and all my friends have sent cards today, Vix will be round tonight, and I’ve had some lovely presents, and been spoiled as usual, but I feel truly awful.
I’ve been off work all this week, in bed. The weather has turned really autumnal – usually my favourite season with the colours of the leaves and the frosts and mists and the cosy dark evenings – but it’s just dismally rained nearly every day. I’ve been reading Gone With The Wind, for the umpteenth time, and promised myself that one day, if I ever get better, I’m going to be just like Scarlett O’Hara and to hell with convention! The idea of crying ‘fiddle-de-dee’ and flouncing and stamping my foot in Harbury Green made me giggle despite the pains.
Because yes, the pains were back with a vengeance. And there was to be no more Feminax. Dr Kingston had made a home visit and practically shouted with horror when I told her how many Feminax I was taking. She tore Mum off a strip, too.
‘Honestly, Mrs Deacon, I’d have expected better from you. You’re an educated and intelligent woman – surely you must have realised that the amount of opium derivative contained in these tablets is a sure path to addiction? The instructions for use on the packet are there for a very good reason! You surely can’t have imagined that dosing Stella up with them like damn Smarties was a good thing?’
And Mum, always so gentle and quietly-spoken, had taken a deep breath, pushed her glasses more firmly on her nose, and glared at Dr Kingston. ‘Yes, of course I was aware of the risks – but they worked. They stopped the pain. She, Stella, is my child and she was in agony. I’d do it again if I had to. And, if you’d done your job and managed to prescribe something other than an Aspro and a hot water bottle and tell her it was ‘women’s troubles’ and tried to get to the bottom of what exactly is wrong with Stella sooner, then we wouldn’t have been left to try and treat the problem ourselves, would we?’
Only One Woman Page 17
