Only One Woman

by Christina Jones

  I read it through quickly, then, because if he replied, the post – even by airmail – would take ages, I added my work phone number and office extension just in case he was able – or wanted – to ring me. Then I sealed the envelope and dashed off back into the village to the post office before they closed for the interminably long Easter holiday.

  ‘This for your young man in the rock’n’roll group?’ Mrs Norris in the post office peered at me as she weighed the pink envelope and studied the address. ‘In Germany now is he? You been writing him a love letter, have you? Your Nan said you and him was living over the brush somewhere. Left you now, has he? Taken up with some foreign gel, I’ll be bound. I know you’ve been ill young Stella, and always been spoiled rotten, but honest to God, what your parents are thinking of letting you go and live in sin with someone who plays a guitar I have no idea. You’ve got a bad name for yourself now, my lady, and you’ll never shake that off – you mark my words.’

  I just smiled sweetly and tried hard not to laugh. No one could ever keep a secret in Harbury Green, and Mrs Norris heard and saw everything, made it a million times worse than it really was, and couldn’t wait to pass it on, richly deserving her nickname of Nosey Norris I always thought.

  I paid the postage, watched as Mrs Norris thumped both the stamps and the blue “par avion” sticker on, and made sure she finally dropped the pink envelope into the sack behind her. My letter to Scott was on its way.

  Then, still smiling, I practically skipped all the way home.

  Renza’s Diary

  April 17th 1969

  Scott has written! Halleluiah and pass the gravy!

  They’re in Kaisterslautern, staying at The Hotel Garni, which Scott says isn’t too bad. He wants to see me but doesn’t think he can spare time to come here, and there’s no way I can get to him, even though he’s offered to pay my fare and hotel bill. It’s way too far – as if Mum and Dad would allow me to go! Besides, I’m not sure I’d get time off work and what a flipping nerve anyway, expecting me to be at his beck and call. I ached to go.

  Scott says the record is now being released on 23rd April and on 1st May in Europe. I just wish it would come out; so much faffing about, it’s beyond me.

  Frankfurt is a bit of a dump apparently, and so is the club they’re playing at, and they aren’t keen on it. There are a lot of American GIs hanging out there and some of them are seriously screwed-up and start fights with everyone, getting drunk and abusive, he said the Germans hate them.

  Scott said a couple of the soldiers have taken a shine to the band and hang around them all the time, some have been in Vietnam and are psychopaths, whatever that is. They told stories about taking Viet Cong up in helicopters to question them and when they did or didn’t ‘talk’ they threw them out of the helicopters without any parachutes. He said they’re sickening and so boastful about the atrocities they committed against the Vietnamese, even those supposedly on their side! Scott wouldn’t tell me all of it, because it was like a scene from a horror film. So I’m not too bothered about going to Frankfurt or Kaiserslautern to visit him if there are people like that there.

  When they go back to England they probably won’t be going back to Leighton Buzzard because Stephan has to find them another place, so they’ll be in Jersey for a while. He thinks they’ll be headed back to Jersey for the summer, if everything works to plan. Bully for him! He’s never mentioned me going to Jersey again, so I suppose it’s never going to happen and I’m not going to mention it. I feel gutted and disappointed with him messing me around all the time. I just don’t get it. I wish he’d stop making promises and asking me to go here, there, and goodness knows where, when he knows he doesn’t mean it and I can’t go anyway. .

  They’re going to be on TV next week, on a famous show called, ‘Beat Club.’ Lots of famous bands, even The Beatles, have appeared on it. I’m excited for him, of course I am, but it’s all so distant to me, I feel so uninvolved and for the life of me I can’t understand why he’s keeping me hanging on, just like that damn song ‘You Keep me Hanging On,’ by The Supremes, which has been on the radio a lot this week. Marjorie Proops would say he’s covering his bets, having his cake and eating it. I saw her reply to a letter someone in a similar situation had written to her in her latest agony column. She’s right of course. I don’t understand why I’m still hanging on either, but I am.

  Renza’s Diary

  May 3rd 1969 – 4:30pm

  The post room was quiet, so thankfully my call to Scott was private. I didn’t have much money so it had to be quick. He’d sent a card from Jersey, asking me to ring him today. I hoped nothing was wrong.

  ‘Hi babe, how’s it hanging?’

  ‘OK thanks, how is it, er, hanging with you?’ I’ve never quite worked out what that means, but the band always ask.

  Scott burst out laughing. ‘Yeah, good, everything’s good. Sorry we never hooked up when we were over, it was mental. TV and Radio stuff going on and playing the club every night, well you know how it is.’

  ‘Oh, that’s all right, I never really expected to see you,’ I lied. ‘I’m glad it went well.’

  ‘Yeah, it was cool, but if we could’ve got together it would’ve been better.’

  ‘Why did you ask me to ring? Is anything wrong?’ My body shook with worry at what he might say.

  ‘No, nothing’s wrong, except that you’re there and I’m here. I just wanted to hear your voice again. I miss you so much it hurts.’ He lowered his voice and it’s tone sent shivers of delight through me.

  ‘Thank goodness,’ I said. ‘I mean, that nothing’s wrong.’

  Scott went quiet so I quickly added, ‘I really miss you too.’

  ‘Cool,’ he said and then went quiet again.

  Conscious of the money running out I said, ‘Is that all?’ Stupid bitch! I kicked myself as soon as the words left my lips.

  ‘Well, I guess so, sorry for bothering you.’ Scott snapped back.

  ‘No, no I didn’t mean that, it’s just I haven’t any more money if the operator comes on.’

  ‘I’m sorry I can’t afford to ring you. Stephan hasn’t paid us yet, and you know how things are…’

  ‘I know, I didn’t mean how it came out.’

  ‘I’ll write and let you know what’s going on. Perhaps you could come over?’

  ‘I’d like that but I don’t know, what with work and Mum and Dad, and the cost of it all…’

  ‘We’ll sort something.’ Scott shouted as the pips started to go. ‘Love you.’

  Stella’s Diary

  May 6th 1969

  It had all been a bit of a whirlwind in the weeks since Easter.

  Scott – back from Germany and now living at home in Jersey – had been phoning me at work! And I’d been phoning him back! It was amazing! We’d talked for ages and ages several times every day, and when Mrs Everton peered across the office and said ‘Do you have a problem there, Stella? That phone call seems to be taking an awfully long time.’ I’d just shrugged and sighed and said things like ‘Oh, it’s those ferry receipts for Ben Becula. They seem to have gone missing. I’m just chasing them up.’ Or ‘The hotel in Belgium has muddled the payments for last month, I’m just sorting it out.’

  I was, sadly, becoming quite adept at not telling the truth.

  In fact, I wasn’t telling the truth to anyone. Even my parents.

  Because I was going to Jersey.

  To stay with Scott and his family – well, his mum and step-dad and small step-sister (Holly, as she was born at Christmas, he said) – for the summer.

  Narnia’s Children were already in their nightly residency on the island at the club called Lords and expected to be there until the end of July at least – and Scott had asked me to go and stay. This was his “suggestion for us meeting up in the summer” and it was way beyond my wildest dreams.

  I’d even spoken to his mum – ‘call me, Eva’ – on the phone, and she’d said as long as I could pay my way and maybe cook – ‘
I loathe cooking, Stella’ – she’d be really happy for me to come for a visit. Having assured her that I had money and loved cooking, she said she and Dan – who I guessed was the step-father – would welcome me, as a friend of Scott’s, for as long as I wanted to stay.

  Neither Eva nor I mentioned Renza, but I guessed that as I was classed as a “friend” and not a “girlfriend”, and she obviously knew that Scott and Renza were engaged, she therefore had been told by Scott that I was the fan club secretary and a good mate to everyone in Narnia’s Children.

  Actually I had asked Scott about Renza during one of our phone calls. I’d wondered, just casually, why she wasn’t going to be spending the summer with him in Jersey. After all, I knew she was only 17, so I assumed she’d have long school holidays and I simply couldn’t imagine why she wouldn’t want to spend them with him.

  ‘Renza is working now,’ Scott had said. ‘But even if she could get leave, her parents wouldn’t allow it.’

  ‘So you’ve asked her? Invited her?’

  ‘Yes.’

  I’d sighed. ‘And because she said no, or won’t be allowed to go, you’re asking me? As second best?’

  ‘No.’ He’d laughed. ‘You’ve never been that. I want you to come over. I want you to spend the summer with me. I miss you so much.’

  ‘But you also love and miss Renza very much?’

  He’d laughed again. ‘Yes.’

  ‘But because she’s still ruled by her strict parents and I’m a bit of a free bird, if you can’t have one of us, you’ll have the other?’

  ‘Something like that…’

  Of course I probably should have told him to go to hell at that point and spent my summer sobbing broken-heartedly in my bedroom – but to be honest, I loved him, he said he loved me, and whatever else I was in Scott’s life, if it meant we could be together, then none of the Renza stuff bothered me at all.

  I’d told him he was a letch – and a lucky one at that – and that I’d buy him the Lovin’ Spoonful LP so that he could carefully listen to the words of ‘A Younger Girl’ and ‘Did You Ever Have To Make Up Your Mind?’, and we’d both laughed because we both knew the score, then changed the subject, and Renza wasn’t mentioned again in that or any further phone calls.

  So, so far so good. But of course there was one other huge problem. Much, much huger than Renza.

  Going to Jersey indefinitely would mean leaving work. Leaving work would involve handing in my notice and working for at least another month. And there was no way I was going to be able to do that. Waste a month when I could be in Jersey with Scott! Not a chance. And I couldn’t take leave – even unpaid – because I’d already had so much time off sick.

  So, I simply made my plans and didn’t tell anyone what I was going to do.

  I wrote an extra-long fan club letter and got Barry to print out the hundreds of copies needed – telling everyone that the boys were back from Germany, and were playing in Lords in Jersey for the summer, and that ‘Livin’ With You’ had just been released and was getting masses of airplays on Radio One and Luxembourg (I hadn’t actually heard it yet but I didn’t say so!) so they must all rush out and buy it and request it on the radio shows, and that as soon as Narnia’s Children were back on the mainland I’d write again and let everyone know the next exciting instalment in the group’s life.

  I added the usual snippets (some of them made-up!) about each of the boys, and promised to send a new group photograph after the summer season. Then I posted them all out (including copies to Renza and her brother and sister), using Stephan’s supply of stamps and various post boxes in Harbury Green to avoid the inquisition from Mrs Norris, and reckoned that would keep everyone happy until I got back from Jersey.

  Next, I went to the railway station and bought an open-ended return ticket on British Rail’s morning ferry from Weymouth to Jersey. I’d catch the train from Harbury Green to Reading, change there for Basingstoke, then on to Weymouth. I’d arranged this with Scott during our phone calls and would be sailing on May 17th.

  Not long to go…

  Then I sorted out my wardrobe. As I had no idea how long I’d be staying, and as I assumed Jersey was practically tropical, I managed to get most of my tiny mini-dresses washed and ironed and folded away in my orange and pink tote bags.

  I bought a very daring black bikini – my lovely surgeon had been right, even though the pants were tiny they just covered my still-massive and livid scar – and a floaty chiffon turquoise and lilac shirt to wear over the top. Shoes…? No shoes… but definitely three pairs of long boots – white, pale blue and pink; and my going-out sandals, flat, toe-post, made up of tiny silver rings.

  All my underwear I squished up into the bottom of the largest bag; and my all new make-up (Mary Quant’s Make-Up To Make Love In, because Scott hadn’t yet seen me totally au naturelle and never would if I could help it) and Cosmedin cleanser and Oil of Olay face cream and my trusty Body Mist deodorant and every other cosmetic-aid I could possibly need went in the bottom of the other one; oh, and perfume – I bought Yardley’s new Sea Jade specially. And the matching talc and bath foam and the body lotion too. Because it smelled gorgeous and because it was like a turquoise sea and looked fab. And because it would always, always remind me of Scott and Jersey.

  All this I squirreled away and hid in the bottom of my wardrobe.

  Then I withdrew everything from my Trustees Savings Bank – just over £100 – and hid that, along with my train and ferry tickets, in various bags and pockets too.

  I was almost ready to go and counting the hours.

  Stella’s Diary

  May 16th 1969

  I left work today. I still hadn’t said a word to anyone, and Sally, Debbie and I joined the massive crowds filing out through the main gates, all excitedly chattering about the hot weather and what they’d be doing on the weekend ahead.

  Oh, if only they knew!

  I really, really hoped I wouldn’t get stopped by one of the security guards for a random search because I’d emptied my desk drawers and stuffed everything in my shoulder bag at the last minute. I’d got all sorts of handbooks and information packs which we were all given when we started work, and I’d slotted Scott’s letters and photos into them and simply didn’t have time to sort them out without anyone noticing. So they were all in my bag to be dealt with when I got home, and I knew there’d be very awkward questions if I was searched.

  I held my breath as we neared the gates, but thankfully the guards just glanced at our passes, smiled as they waved us through and wished us a lovely weekend.

  Phew.

  It wasn’t quite so “phew” when I got home though.

  Mum and Dad were in the living room – and so were all my bags from the wardrobe! Mum looked as if she’d been crying and Dad just looked cross. In all my nearly twenty one years they’d never raised a hand to me and, only very rarely, their voices.

  ‘When were you going to tell us?’ Mum said, sniffing a bit. ‘I mean, running away from home… why, Stella? Why?’

  ‘I’m not!’ I said quickly, hugging her. ‘I’d never do that! But – oh…’

  And then I told them. Well, almost all of it. I managed to fudge the truth again about work because I knew they’d be really cross about that – so I sort of hinted that I was merely taking unpaid leave.

  Dad nodded. ‘Well, that all sounds so much better than we’d feared, Stell. I just wished you’d told us sooner – we could have helped you sort things out – given you a lift down to Weymouth… you know we’re not too sure about what you’re doing with Scott – but you’re a grown-up and he seems like a nice well-brought-up lad and he makes you happy, and it’s a wonderful opportunity to go to Jersey.’

  ‘And very kind of his mum and dad, too,’ Mum had brightened up considerably. ‘I must write and thank them. I do know how much you’ve missed him… you’re a lucky girl, Stella – it’s a holiday we could never afford to give you, and you don’t have another hospital appointment for ages
so I think it’ll do you all the good in the world.’

  Yes, I felt horribly guilty. I loved them so much. They were the best parents anyone could wish for.

  ‘And we weren’t snooping in your wardrobe,’ Mum nodded towards the collection of tote bags. ‘I was just putting some of your washing away… but actually, it’s all worked out rather well.’

  Dad chuckled. ‘We’ll have to give you one of your birthday presents a bit early. We’d managed to pay off the last bit to the tally man… here, Stell… what do you think?’

  He stood up and took a big bag from behind the sofa. ‘I know it’s not your 21st til September, but I think you’ll find this useful now.’

  I scrabbled at the paper and could hardly see through my tears.

  They’d bought me one of the brand new Samsonite suitcases!

  Lightweight, with zipped compartments and lots of pockets and masses of space inside both the shells, it was in a gorgeous pale turquoise green colour. It was absolutely perfect!

  I couldn’t speak. I just hugged and kissed them.

  ‘Thank you so much…’ I eventually managed to gulp. ‘It’s the best present ever. And I know you can’t afford it – and I’m so grateful. I will make it up to you – promise. And I know I should have told you sooner, but…’

  Mum kissed me. ‘We’ve always given you your freedom, Stella. And you’ve always used it wisely. And, if – no, let’s be realistic, probably when – this relationship with Scott comes to an end, you know we’ll be here to pick up the pieces.’

  By then we were all in tears and Dad hurried out into the kitchen, followed by the dogs, to put the kettle on.

  After we’d finished re-packing my things in the Samsonite case (I still needed one tote bag for “essentials I’d need on the voyage” – Mum’s words even though none of us had actually ever been on a voyage and had no idea what to expect), and I’d given them Scott’s address and phone number in Jersey – for emergencies only of course – I made two brief visits to both sets of grandparents to say goodbye. They were shocked and pleased and a bit anxious in equal measure but I promised to send them a postcard every week and both my grandpas pressed a five pound note into my hand as I was leaving.