I hope it’ll happen – Narnia’s Children in the Top 20 would be so cool! – and that they get lots of publicity. When I last wrote to him, I told him I’d read a piece about them in the Record Mirror and he said they were all so thrilled.
On the 14th it will be a year since our first date and he only briefly referred to it. What does that mean? He wants me to come over, but dare I risk another rejection like last time? I do have time due to me and could go over for a long weekend, my Uncle is still happy to cover for me, but should I? Since starting work I’ve got to know some of Heidi’s friends, and another German girl, Isolde, who lives behind us in the strasse. In many ways Mum seems a lot easier about me going out – but she makes me pay for it later with moodiness and being horrid at every opportunity – so I’ve not been stuck indoors as much as before. And there’s Klaus to go to the odd disco and dance with. Mum and Dad think he’s the bees knees, but he’s getting all serious and lately he’s always trying to get me into bed. He knows about Scott, but chooses to ignore it. I shouldn’t have kissed him. It’s so intense all the time.
In my last letter to Scott I told him about Hannah, in the office, who it turns out is English, and married to a German who won’t allow her to speak any English. She told me everyone in my office speaks perfect English, they have to because of their jobs. Some have even been there since the end of the war. So what’s all this, ‘We no speak English’ rubbish all about? I’m so fed-up. I told him I’ve been saving like mad and I’ve been looking in The Lady magazine for jobs in England. Even a post as a live-in nanny or something would be good. I told Scott I’ve been babysitting for the families here, and have even taken on a young German girl whose dad works with mine, teaching her English, to help earn towards my savings. He never mentioned any of this in his reply I noticed.
He never took the bait about me going to discos with Klaus or out with Heidi and Isolde either, perhaps I’ve got him rattled.
He said it was cool I’d seen ‘Guess Who’s Coming To Dinner,’ with Spencer Tracey and Katherine Hepburn, and hoped I’d enjoyed seeing ‘The Anniversary,’ at the Mess. It wasn’t his kind of film. Can’t say it’s mine, but it’s something else to do. Beggars can’t be choosers.
I know Zak had his 18th birthday in early May and hoped they all got drunk and had a laugh. Knowing them I bet they did. I expect they went bowling and to a pub or to some clubs or something after they’d finished at Lords. Scott didn’t say anything about it in his letter.
I can’t help feeling annoyed at Scott having such a fab life whilst I’m stuck out here. I try not to let it show in my letters. And I don’t want him knowing I’m worried about him and all the girls who hang around the band. It wouldn’t be cool.
Marmalade were playing ‘Baby Make It Soon’ on the radio as I finished writing to Scott, and just before I sealed the envelope I asked him if he’d heard it yet and also if he likes ‘Chicken Shack’. I added a note asking where they might move to when they go back to the mainland. And another PS saying that a BBC Film Unit is at the base and to look out for anything on TV about the base. Not that I expect to be seen on film or anything, but you never know.
I’ve also written to Rich, suggesting he read ‘My Bed Is Not For Sleeping,’ written by Gerty Agoston which I’ve recently read. He must think I’m a sad bugger as I have hardly anything interesting to write about. I try not to go on about Scott, blokes don’t like that sort of thing.
Mo’s written to me again, suggesting I read Jean Plaidy’s books. He enjoys historical novels and he is writing one of his own. He’s always encouraging me to write as well. When I write back I’ll tell him I’ve had a dabble at writing some funny stories about the Gypsies back home. I think it’s all rubbish really, so perhaps I won’t. I don’t know, it’s just nice to correspond with like-minded people.
Scott thinks Mo has a soft spot for me, so he said last time he saw me, and given half a chance would try it on, but I think he’s got it wrong, Mo is just a nice boy looking out for a friend, and that’s all he is and ever will be to me. I know Scott was unconvinced – yes, some jealousy at last!
Stella’s Diary
June 26th 1969
The weeks have flown by. I felt as though I’d lived here with Scott and his family forever. Today, after Dan had left for work and Eva had taken Holly to visit friends, Scott and I sat on the floor in the sitting room – the room with the television in it which made me realise I have watched no television at all since I got here! Not even Coronation Street! Vix won’t believe it! – and played records on Dan’s much-prized hi-fi system.
We were going to meet the rest of the band on the beach at St Helier this afternoon for a sort of picnic/party and then going further along the coast to meet up with Eva for a lift home in time to get ready for Lords.
Scott had the new Zombies LP, Odessey and Oracle and played ‘Time of the Season’, one track that he loved, over and over again. He said he’d bought the record in Germany and the track had been released as a single everywhere else but not in Britain.
Goodness knows why not – it was fabulous. It gave me goose-bumps – and the words seemed very apt… I loved it! When I read the sleeve notes I realised it had been written by Rod Argent who I’d interviewed for Romeo a couple of years previously. He was another lovely bloke and a very accomplished musician – and now he’d written this wonderful, evocative and sexy song that would definitely find its way into my musical memory box.
Coincidentally, the next record was The Who’s ‘Magic Bus’ with Jess Roden, The Alan Bown’s singer, adding his brilliant raucous blue-eyed soul vocals. I’d interviewed The Alan Bown, too – and again they were really down-to-earth and friendly and helpful and I loved their music and had bought all their records.
I told Scott all this and that I’d also interviewed the wildly original and far-out World of Oz on the same night as Argent. He said it must be nice to be a groupie and get paid for it. I hit him.
We met the rest of Narnia’s Children – and Mo’s girlfriend Cassie, who was gorgeous and looked like Cher, and some of her friends – at Havre des Pas. This was a really popular beach in St Helier and it had a swimming pool. On the beach! How cool was that? Well, apparently sometimes on the beach, other times actually out in the sea depending on the tide. This afternoon the tide was out and the swimming pool was packed.
We had a fab time. I wore the black bikini under my new white shorts and with the floaty shirt on top. I even got brave enough to strip down just to the bikini and join everyone splashing about on the edge of the pool. Joss had brought a beach ball and we all played a mad kind of football match – boys versus girls. Of course the boys won – but it was really good fun – if hot and exhausting so we all had to go in the sea to cool off.
The sea was warm! I mean, really warm! Zak teased me about not being daring enough to actually swim because of my false eyelashes and spiky back-combed hair. He bet me as many rye and drys as I could drink that I wouldn’t do it.
I soon showed him – even if I did get a bit bedraggled and almost lose an eyelash – and told him he’d be buying the drinks at Lords later!
When we’d eaten the sandwiches that Mo had brought – his mum made them and there were loads – and washed them down with bottles of Oranjeboom, we all went our separate ways. It was cool knowing that I’d be seeing them again in a few hours at Lords – and yes, I loved the way the holiday-making girls on the beach recognised Narnia’s Children and stared at them and clearly envied me.
I am so lucky!
Hand-in-hand, Scott and I walked for ages through the sea as far as we could, then still barefoot, along the scorching sandy pavement. We were meeting Eva at somewhere called Quaisne – Scott said it was another beach, around the coast from St Aubin. I was really glad when we got there – I think we must have walked miles!
We climbed up on to the rocks and waited for Eva who’d been visiting one of her very rich friends who had a sea-front house. Scott said he’d been there once and
it was like a Spanish villa. It seemed that everyone in Jersey lived in luxury detached houses – not like our streets and streets of red-brick rented semis at home.
Today, sitting here on the scorching granite, watching the sea’s diamonds dance in the sun, with Scott’s arm round my shoulders and feeling the heat prickling gently on my salty, sandy skin, home seemed a million miles away.
I knew I’d have to go home one day – but hoped and prayed it wouldn’t be any time soon.
Stella’s Diary
July 1st 1969 – a day of two halves, part 1
This has been a real Oh My God sort of day! Honestly!
I’d finished reading both Frenchman’s Creek and the Edna O’Brien book Mum had given me and had raided Scott’s Dennis Wheatley collection. I was sprawled out in the garden in the morning sun scaring myself silly with The Devil Rides Out when Eva appeared in the doorway.
‘Stella – phone call for you. It’s your dad.’
Honestly, my heart stopped beating. My mouth was dry. I felt violently sick. Dad? On the phone? From the phone box? Or work? I knew he’d only phone in the direst emergency.
Oh goodness – it must mean something awful had happened to Mum, or my grandparents, or Vix, or one of the animals… It had to be bad news.
I stood up and my legs were shaking. The sun, scorching from a cloudless sky, suddenly drenched me in icy cold fear.
I hurried into the hall. Eva had left the receiver on the phone table at the foot of the stairs and I picked it up and nearly dropped it my hands were so clammy.
‘Hello? Dad?’
‘Stell?’
‘Dad? Where are you ringing from? It’s not a hospital or anything?’
‘No. I’m ringing from my boss’s office. I’ve got to pay for the call too. Tight wad, he is.’
I’d never spoken to Dad on the phone before. I was surprised how Berkshire-gruff his voice was.
‘Oh, but Dad – what’s wrong. What’s happened? Is it Mum? Is it…?’
‘Nothing like that, Stell. Don’t panic, love. Everyone’s ok here. But we have got a bit of trouble.’
I gulped in relief – it didn’t matter what it was – as long as everyone was ok. But I still knew if something awful had happened it was my fault – it was karma – retribution for me so silly and headstrong and selfish and wanting adventures and telling so many lies this year.
‘What sort of trouble?’
‘We’ve had the police here, Stell. At home. Well, not the real police, but the security people from the Atomic… they want to know where you are.’
‘What? Why?’
‘Because they say you’ve broken The Official Secrets Act.’
Oh my God! I’d go to prison for that!
‘What? How? Dad – I don’t understand…’
‘Well, neither did we at first because of course you’d told us that you’d taken unpaid leave to go to Jersey.’
The accusation hung unspoken in the air. I knew I should have been honest with them.
‘Yes, sorry. I’m really sorry. I should have told you the truth – but I knew you’d be cross with me.’
‘Not half as cross as we are right now.’
‘No – sorry – I’ve been so stupid. But, Dad, how could I break the Official Secrets Act? I only did subsistence claims – I didn’t deal with anything classified… I don’t know any Russians or anything… I’ve never told anyone anything about work because I only worked in an office moving paper around and -’
‘Stell! Listen. They gave you the benefit of the doubt for some time because Personnel said you’d been ill – but when you didn’t come back – they had to act. You vanished and no one knew where you’d gone.’
‘Well, yes – I mean, no – I didn’t tell anyone…’ Well, apart from Vix and presumably they hadn’t got hold of her yet. ‘But I only walked out of a job – I didn’t steal state secrets.’
Dad sighed. ‘No, love – but what you did do is sign the Official Secrets Act when you started working there – it’s standard if you remember, being a government establishment.’
‘Oh… yes… right, and…?
‘That means, if you leave, you give notice, you have a debrief and a signing-off session and hand everything over. You don’t just disappear – with all your handbooks, certificates, classified employee information and, more importantly, your security pass. And you apparently did, didn’t you?’
Oh God! All those documents! All those things in my desk that I’d swept up and stuffed in my tote bag on the last day! I hadn’t even thought…
‘Yes. Oh, blimey…’
‘Blimey isn’t what we said here, Stell, I can tell you. Your mum was very angry – very angry indeed. They seem to think you could have passed all this, particularly the pass, on to – well – people who would love to infiltrate a secure government establishment. You can see how serious this is, can’t you?’
Oh lord yes!
‘Dad – you didn’t tell them where I was, did you?’ I had visions of all of Jersey’s Honorary Police Force storming Scott’s home with battering rams and Alsatians, arresting me and throwing me into some Dickensian-type prison. ‘Oh, Dad – what did you say?’
‘What could we say, Stell? They wanted to search the house! We told them you’d gone on holiday – because you’d been ill – and we didn’t know exactly where you were.’
‘Oh, Dad! You lied for me!’
‘Yes,’ he was very gruff. ‘We did. And we know we shouldn’t have done. Anyway, they want us to let them know when you get in touch and they want to know where all the official paperwork – and the security pass – is. Where is it, Stell?’
‘Upstairs. Here. In my bag – where I shoved it all the day I left. Oh – what do I do now?’
Dad sighed heavily. ‘Nothing, Stella. Nothing. The last thing we want is for the real police to get involved – which they might do if they think you’ve left the country with government information. We’ll tell them you’ve phoned us, but we still don’t know where you are, that you understand the severity of the situation, but it was an oversight on your part. We’ll tell them all the security things are safe and with you.’
‘Thank you – oh, thank you…’
‘It’s been a proper to-do here and no mistake. Look, love, when you know when you’re coming home let us know. We have a phone number to contact the security people and tell them. They’ll want you to go back to work immediately for the dressing down and everything – and of course handing over all the papers and signing off your pass. It won’t be pleasant.’
Understatement!
‘Ok. I promise I’ll let you know the minute I’m coming home. And, Dad – I’m really, really sorry.’
Dad almost chuckled. ‘I’m sure you are, love. I just hope it’s all been worth it. Are you having a good time?’
‘Fab – the best time ever. But – oh, God – I’m so sorry.’
‘No point crying over spilt milk, Stell. What’s done is done and we’ll just have to make the best of it. I’m sure it’ll be all right once we tell them it was all a big mistake and you’ll be happy to sort it out when you’re back.’
I wanted to kiss him. I didn’t deserve my wonderful mum and dad. ‘Dad – please, please say sorry to Mum – and give her all my love – and oh, now I miss you so much.’
‘We miss you, too, Stell. Look, give our best to young Scott and his parents – and we’ll say no more about this until you get home. We love you, Stell – don’t forget that.’
As if I could!
‘I love you too, Dad. So much. And Mum. And I’m really sorry.’
‘I’ve got to go, love. The boss is looking daggers. But as long as I’ve got something to tell the security people it’ll be all right. You enjoy the rest of your holiday and we’ll see you soon. Bye, Stell – bye.’
‘Bye Dad – I’m so very sorry…’
But he’d already hung up.
Stella’s Diary
July 1st 1969 – a day of t
wo halves, part 2
I knew I’d never mention the content of Dad’s phone call to Eva – I was pretty sure she’d make me pack my bags and clear off straight away. And I wouldn’t blame her. She certainly wouldn’t want that sort of trouble on her doorstep.
When she asked if everything was ok, I lied – I’m getting so good at it! – and said, yes, it was all fine and he was just wondering if there was anything I’d really like for my 21st birthday in September.
Yes, I know – it sounded pathetic even to me – but if she disbelieved me, she didn’t say so.
I was very, very scared – and dreading what I’d have to face when I went home – but as going home wasn’t even on the horizon yet, I decided to do yet another Scarlett O’Hara and “think about it tomorrow”.
Oh, I was getting really good at this head-in-the-sand stuff!
I told Scott though, swearing him to secrecy, and he was alternately shocked, impressed, worried, admiring, and finally amused and called me Mata Hari for the rest of the day.
That night, at Lords, after a rather fraught day, I was still a bit on edge, and as I tried to relax by people-watching, I noticed a new girl in the ever-growing mob of Dolly Rockers. She was small and slim and had very “done” blonde hair, all curls and swirls, and was wearing a neat little beige dress and matching shoes.
I noticed her particularly because she stood, on her own, right in front of Zak and never took her eyes off him. He – strutting across the stage in his sexy Mick Jagger mode – didn’t seem to have noticed her – yet. I thought she really wasn’t the type of girl he usually went for, but admired her persistence.
In Narnia’s Children’s first break, while we sitting round our table, she perched on one of the bar stools and stared across at us – or rather, at Zak. By the second break, while Scott was at the bar getting the drinks and chatting to a broad-shouldered man in a tuxedo, she’d introduced herself to Zak – ‘she’s called Sue or Lou or Prue or something,’ he said. ‘I couldn’t hear her properly. She’s over here to work for the summer season I think. She’s dead pretty, though. I’ve said I’ll see her after the gig.’
Only One Woman Page 39
