I’d always enjoyed going there – and at least I knew they’d only have a DJ and not a live group. I knew I couldn’t have coped with a live group.
It was dark and lively and packed – and nothing at all like Lords, thank goodness – and because I’d been drinking cider – I doubt if anyone had heard of rye and dry and even if they had I’d never drink it again – and not eaten, I was a bit numb and floaty, even managed to enjoy myself in a miserable sort of way.
The DJ played The Stones’ new record, ‘Honky Tonk Women’, and everyone rushed up to dance. I just stood there and swayed a bit. It was the most animated I’d been for weeks – even though Mick Jagger’s voice reminded me of Zak.
Then the DJ, in his phoney transatlantic voice, said he was going to slow things down and to get ready for a smooch.
He played ‘Nights in White Satin’.
It undid me. Completely. I barged through the swaying couples and managed to stagger into the Ladies and leaned against one of the sinks, clutching the taps for support. I could still hear it. Still hear those words…
“… oh, how I love you…”
I howled then. Really howled. A girl came out of one of the cubicles, looked at me in horror and ran out of the door.
Vix came in, searching for me, took one look at me and gathered me up in her arms.
‘Don’t…’ I managed to splutter. ‘I’ll ruin your dress…’
‘Bugger the dress,’ Vix said, moving me gently away from the sink and splashing some cold water on my face. ‘Come on, Stella… cry it out…’
The Ladies’ door opened.
‘Get out!’ Vix howled. ‘Now! Clear off! This lav is out of order!’
The door closed again.
I sniffed back the tears that clogged not only my eyes but also my nose and my throat.
‘Don’t try to stop crying,’ Vix said, manfully ignoring the mess I’d made of her brand new blue and white gingham Bardot frock. ‘Let it all out. You’ll feel better when you’ve…’
The door opened again. Vix got rid of whoever it was in the same way as before.
‘It’s all my fault,’ I hiccupped. ‘All my own fault. I knew this would happen. I bloody knew. And yet I kept kidding myself that it wouldn’t end like this. I hate myself for being such a fool!’
‘Oh, Stella,’ Vix smoothed my hair away from my face. ‘It’s no one’s fault. It happened. You fell in love. You’ve had the best time, probably a better time than most girls can even dream of. Yes, ok, it’s probably over – but you’ve done it and had it and one day you’ll look back and enjoy the memories.’
‘I don’t want memories!’ I howled. ‘I want Scott!’
‘Ok… right now that’s not what you want to hear – but trust me, it’s true. Now, wash the worst of the gunge off your face – I don’t think we’re going to be able to rescue your eyelashes or the sequins… I’ve got some mascara though, so we might be able to do a bit of a repair job… come on, Stella. You can do this.’
Vix dived into one of the cubicles and came back with a mile of toilet roll and got me to blow my nose and wipe my eyes.
‘That’s better,’ she looked at me. ‘Trust Auntie Vix – ooh, no – I think I said that once before and look what happened. Anyway, come here… let’s sort you out and turn you into a human being again.’
Between us we sort of managed to make my blotched and bloated face and washed-out eyes look reasonably acceptable.
‘Thank you,’ I sniffed. ‘I don’t deserve you.’
‘Don’t be daft,’ Vix grinned, hugging me. ‘It’s what best friends are for. You’d do the same for me, wouldn’t you?’
I nodded.
‘Good – then let’s go and face the music – oh, not that music – that one’s finished.’ She linked her arm through mine. ‘Tell you what, I’ll go and ask the DJ to play some Engelbert shall I? That way we’ll all be in bloody tears.’
And I actually laughed.
Stella’s Diary
September 7th 1969
I hadn’t written anything in this diary for ages. There hadn’t been much to say. However, since the night in the Stage Club I’d tried really hard to take Vix’s advice and pull myself together. No one could change my life but me, I realised that, and despite the heartache, I made some tentative plans for the future – my future – my future without Scott.
I was still working in the shoe shop but I hated it more every day. That was the first thing I could change – find somewhere else to work, or find another way of life altogether. I’d started spending a lot of time in the library, making plans – some of them really mad, others, I thought, might, just might, make a difference and give me a purpose again. In the meantime, I’d sent out a lot more fan club stuff – again some of it totally plucked from the air because I was so out of touch with the band now. I’d also had the next hospital appointment and it wasn’t the greatest news.
There will be further operations to remove all the rest of the old scar tissue and to deal with any fresh lesions inside me – and possibly a full hysterectomy because everything was such a mess, even though I’m so young. They told me all this in medical detail and sorrowful voices, but I didn’t care. I really didn’t care.
I tried putting on a brave face all the time and Mum and Dad and Vix were being so kind, but I should have listened to them all those months ago – I should have known this is how it would be without Scott. I’d played with fire and now I’d been well and truly burned.
However, there had been one bright spot – although I’d told no one about it – I’d had a very brief letter from Scott! Oh, nothing romantic or anything like that, (it started “Dear Stella” – not anything more affectionate or Twinkle any more) but telling me – in case I needed to know for the fan club stuff – that Stephan had found Narnia’s Children a flat in Pinner, and the address – and the phone number. And he’d ended it with “love, Scott”. No kisses.
It was better than nothing. At least I knew where he was now – and if he hadn’t wanted me to know, he wouldn’t have told me, would he?
Renza’s Diary
September 12th 1969
Scott decided to write at last. It’s only the second letter I’ve received since I got back from my visit in July. Today’s letter was from North Kensington where he’s staying at Stephan’s flat whilst a new place is found for the band. He thought they’d got one in Pinner, Harrow, but it wasn’t confirmed at the time of writing. The others are all staying with friends in other parts of London for the time being.
Despite all his talk of me spending time with him in Jersey and my saving up and booking time off work, he’s sorry he didn’t make it happen, things got too hectic.
Reading this I started to panic, worrying that now our relationship had moved on in a grown-up way, he wasn’t interested any longer; that’s the real reason my trip to Jersey fell through I bet. My mind was a mess. I thought everything between us had been sorted and now I can’t be sure of anything. He didn’t want me after-all.
They’ve been gigging all over the country and things seem to be going well. They’d been in the studio again and recorded eight songs which had been sent to them by a guy who’s a really well known song-writer. They’ll be recording a song called ‘Morning Papers’ as their next single, and the B side is possibly going to be ‘ Putting it All Behind Me.’
A Radio One producer will be producing it and so that should help plug it on radio. They’re not using the same record producer who produced ‘Livin’ with You.’ Scott didn’t say why, but mentioned that their managers had just moved to really plush offices in London now that Doc Holliday was such a star and making them loads of money. Stephan who is still their Personal Manager is going to earn vast amounts from Doc and his band. Doc as well. No wonder he has a posh flat.
There were the usual declarations of undying love and how much he missed me. He said as he was writing he was playing his favourite record at the moment, ‘Gotta See Jane,’ by R. Dean Taylor, an
d it made missing me so hard. He said he always substituted Renza for Jane when singing it, and thought that would make me happy. Oh yeah! He wanted me to know he was having a guilty conscience about treating me badly recently, not writing often, and being a bit quiet on the phone, and he wanted to make it up to me soon. I could feel my heart filling with happiness as I read it, but in the back of my head the little voice of doubt started chattering again. What to believe?
His Mum, Eva, who I’ve yet to meet, sent her love and said I can visit whenever I like, and I could go for Christmas if I wanted. I don’t know if I can get time off – but I can try.
The last few months have been so difficult. I’ve been job hunting in England, sending out endless applications for job vacancies I’ve found in good quality magazines like The Lady and English Newspapers, a bit half-heartedly because of Scott’s ever-changing attitude; nothing from him for ages and then he’d write again of his love and how he can’t stand being away from me any longer, so I’ve started looking for a job in earnest again.
To be honest I think I might get a job in England whether we’re together or not. I’m so fed up here and I need to get on with life. I can’t – won’t – work at the base forever, but Dad says I can’t leave home legally until I’m eighteen and he won’t let me have my own passport until then. At the moment I use my parent’s passport to travel. It looks as if I’ll be stuck here until my birthday next year.
Heidi and I have been out shopping now and again, she is fanatically into clothes, and we’ve been out to have coffee and cake: English people go to the pub, Germans eat cake. She’s called round a few times to see me – Mum seems to approve – and I’ve spent a little time with her at her home chatting about England mainly. She loves hearing me talk as it helps improve her English and she is helping me with my German. She’s heavily into British history, even the war, which I find a bit embarrassing discussing with her, she being a German after-all. She knows all about Scott and thinks it is too romantic for words. Her fiancé is a bit boring she says, and I have to wonder why she is engaged to him. She met Klaus recently when I was in Dortmund with him, at a disco, she was there with Mr Excitement himself and we bumped into them. We shared a table and she kept giving Klaus the eye. He didn’t seem too interested but I’m afraid I couldn’t care less. I wouldn’t be surprised if she’d given him her number.
Yep, that’s the most exciting thing that’s happened to me in ages, well, not if you include ‘Hair,’ which Isolde and I went to see in Essen when she was home from College.
Poor Isolde nearly passed away in shock when the cast of men decided to walk across our seats from the stage, naked as the day they were born. I had to laugh at her poor face. I’d been half expecting it having heard all about it in England last year. But no one prepared us for the live sex on stage. I’ve never been so interested in my own shoes in years. She sat and giggled, hanging on to my arm as I gazed steadfastly at my shoes, tears of laughter and embarrassment washing my black eyeliner down my cheeks. She kept nattering away in German as she tried not to look. I hadn’t a clue what she was saying but laughter is laughter in any language, and both of us were doubled up. How we didn’t get chucked out I’ve no idea. Everyone kept telling us to shhh!
I kept recalling the poster of dishy Oliver Tobias in Carnaby Street, advertising Hair, when I went with Gideon, and one thing was as plain as the er…nose on his face; the German actor was no Oliver Tobias!
I hope Mum and Dad don’t discover what ‘Hair’s’ all about. I told them it was a musical set in a hairdressers, when they got tickets for us to go. They think Isolde is studying hair dressing at college.
Stella Deacon has been in touch with Sophia and Jasper, writing to them as Fan Club Secretary, and we’ve had a few exchanges of letter as well. The fan club address is in Harbury Green, Berkshire. It sounds familiar but I can’t think why. I know I’ve never been there. Anyway, Stella seems very nice and efficient. The kids enjoy hearing about it all – it’s exciting for them.
Sometimes I’m tempted to write to Stella and ask her if she knows whether Scott has other girls or not, but how stupid that would be. Besides, she might think I’m some stupid kid and laugh at me. What if she told Scott what I’d said – he’d go nuts if he found out I’ve been checking up on him.
So it’s just as well I can go out with Klaus now and again, and Heidi when she’s not with her fiancé. I’d go round the bend otherwise. I don’t see much of Isolde as she’s mostly away at College, which is a pity, she and I get on really well and she likes a good laugh. There’s only so much reading and listening to music on my own I can stomach, so when I get a chance to go out with Heidi or Klaus, I’ll go.
I shall rub it in when I next write to Scott, just to throw him off balance like he does me. Somehow I think I need to let him know I’m not sitting here withering away waiting to hear from him, even if that is exactly what I’m doing.
Stella’s Diary
September 26th 1969 – my 21st birthday…
I’m not sure where to start with writing about today. My 21st birthday. It was all a bit higgledy-piggledy really. Ok – Mum and Dad had said ages ago that they wanted me to have a birthday dinner at home, because Mum wanted to cook something special. My grandparents were going to be there and I’d invited Vix and Jeff much earlier in the year.
I had also, back in the distant happy days, invited Scott. And, make of this what you will, I phoned him in Pinner and told him the invitation still stood. I know... I know… Anyway, he’d been fairly non-committal – disinterested, even – no surprise there, but yesterday I’d had another brief letter from him:
“Dear Stella, if the invite to your 21st still stands I can catch a train and be in Harbury Green by 6 o’clock, I’ve checked. I must catch the last train back to London as we have a gig on Saturday. I can’t afford a card or a present but I would like to be there if your parents will allow me to come. Please ring me. Love, Scott.”
It had completely thrown me, I must admit – I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry and wondered what the hell he’d told Renza – and oh, yes, of course I wanted him to be there and to see him again, more than anything in the world – but would it be like ripping the scab off a wound that had just, only just, started to heal?
I’d told Mum. She just said: “if you want him to be here, then that’s perfectly all right with us. I think it might be a bit awkward, but it’s your big day. I don’t want him to ruin it for you, but if you think it’s the right thing to do, then of course he’s more than welcome. Yes, phone him, and tell him we’d like to see him – after all, his parents gave you such wonderful hospitality, so it would be rude of us not to do the same. It’s up to you, Stella.”
I rang him. It was an odd conversation. A bit distant and slightly stilted but friendly enough. Certainly not loving or romantic, but I hadn’t expected that. And he said he’d be there.
I didn’t offer to meet him from the train or anything, even though I really, really wanted to. I knew I had to play it cool. Anyway, Harbury Green was a small place, even if he didn’t remember where my house was – and why would he after all this time? – he’d be able to find his own way easily enough.
This morning, Mum and Dad had to go to work, and I had to be in the dreaded shoe shop by 8.30 – on my 21st birthday! – so they gave me their presents early: a brand new, latest model Singer sewing machine, a fab huge Lowry block print (Lowry was my favourite artist and one of the ones I’d spent two years studying and trying to emulate in my Art A level), and a silver bangle to add to the collection I always wore on my right arm.
I was in tears. I hadn’t expected anything because I’d already had the suitcase. I didn’t deserve any of it. I knew how hard they must have saved and gone without to give me such fab things. And all I’d done was lie and bring trouble to their door and be a complete misery!
I hugged them and cried and cried and said an incoherent thank you over and over again.
Then we all had to go t
o work – and it was just another day.
Until the evening.
Mum had been preparing and cooking for ages and the dogs and cats were getting in the way and the house smelled gorgeous. I hoped I smelled pretty good too – I’d used all the Sea Jade toiletries and made a special effort with my hair and make-up – and I’d worn a bright orange micro-mini dress – made last year but never worn – and the long white boots.
Vix – in her favourite pink thigh skimmer – and Jeff arrived at the same time as my grandparents (who’d clubbed together and bought me a tiny heart shaped gold wristwatch on a bracelet – so beautiful – I cried all over them too!), and Vix and Jeff gave me another lovely silver bangle for the collection.
I’d had lots of cards, too. I was being so spoiled!
My Nans both went out into the kitchen to help with the dinner and Dad gave the men a beer. I took Vix into my downstairs bed-sit room and told her about Scott.
‘And he’s coming? You’re bloody mad! Don’t expect me to speak to him!’
‘Please, Vix – I know it’s not right, but… oh, hell… look, I don’t suppose he’ll even turn up – but if he does, be nice to him, for my sake.’
‘Nice to him? I’ll ring his bloody neck!’
I laughed. I knew she’d be ok. She’d give me hell afterwards, but like Mum and Dad, I knew she wouldn’t do anything to upset my birthday and I loved her for it.
Scott arrived at 6.45. I opened the door to him and nearly fainted. Oh that sounds so pathetic again – but it was so incredible seeing him again after so long. He was wearing all black – which reminded me of Jersey – including the long coat, and his hair, still very long by normal standards, had been cut a bit. He was still the most beautiful boy in the world.
‘Um… hello… come in…’
‘Sorry I’m a bit late – the train… er – happy birthday.’ ‘Thank you.’
Only One Woman Page 42
