My musical memory box had two tunes going round and round in my head as I headed towards the house for the last time: Bobbie Gentry’s ‘I’ll Never Fall in Love Again’ – oh, never had a woman sung truer words! And Cilla Black’s poignant ‘If I Thought You’d Ever Change Your Mind’ – my current theme song.
I’d phoned Scott a couple of days ago and he’d told me casually, among other things, that Renza was coming over to stay with him for Christmas and would probably be moving in with him permanently in the New Year if her dad would let her have her own passport. He sounded ridiculously happy about it and didn’t seem to notice that I’d gone quiet at all.
Men!
Anyway, I’d made sure Narnia’s Children were gig-free today – I didn’t want any distractions. I wanted to make sure the parting was as calm and painless as possible. For me, at least. I seriously thought Scott would simply be relieved that it was over.
I reached the house and, letting myself in the main door, walked upstairs to their flat. It was all very quiet. Hopefully the rest of the band and their female companions were still in bed or out Christmas shopping or something.
‘Stella? Is that you? I’m in here.’
Scott’s voice echoed from the bedroom. I pulled a face. I hoped he hadn’t assumed today’s visit was to rekindle – well, you know… that was long over. It was all over.
Gingerly I pushed open the door. Scott, fully dressed, was sitting on the vast double bed in the middle of the room, sorting through a pile of papers.
Still the most beautiful boy in the world. Oh, how I love you…
‘Hi,’ he smiled at me. ‘You look cold. Is it snowing yet?’
‘Not yet. I don’t think it’s quite that cold.’ I shrugged off my fun fur and perched on the edge of the bed. ‘What are you doing? Filing your love letters in alphabetical order?’
He laughed. ‘I wish – no, I’m just looking through some paperwork that Stephan left – contracts, gigs, possible tours… that sort of thing.’
‘Money?’
‘No.’
‘Boring.’ I smiled at him. He deserved better.
I looked round the room – the room that he’d be sharing with Renza in a very few days. I’d rarely ventured in there before, only to deliver cups of tea or say hello or goodbye, and thought now it reminded me of the dismal, lost-love words of Cream’s ‘White Room’ with its white walls and black curtains through which you could just see rows of dreary rooftops, and of course, being close to the tube station.
Another song I’d probably hate for ever.
I took a deep breath. ‘You know why I’m here – and yes, I could have written you a letter or phoned – but I think we’ve been through too much for that. And I wanted to see you. You do know that on this Saturday, a year ago, we met, don’t you?’
Scott looked up and smiled the gorgeous lop-sided smile. ‘Our anniversary? Yeah, The 7th – see I remembered – is that today?’
‘Tomorrow…’
‘Best gig we ever did.’ He stopped smiling and looked at me. ‘God – we’ve had a heck of a year together, haven’t we?’
We had. I couldn’t think about it now.
‘True,’ I ploughed on. ‘Mostly I’ve loved every minute of it – but now it’s over because it has to be – and honestly, I hope you and Renza have a lovely life together. But I’ll never forget you – you made me happy.’
‘You made me laugh,’ Scott grinned. ‘And I’ll never forget you, either. But, what are you going to do without…?’
‘Without you?’ I stretched my legs out in front of me. ‘What am I going to do with the rest of my Scott-less life? Oh, I’m well-organised – as well as the freelance writing, I’ve got a new job to start after Christmas – only a temporary one, but that’s my choice – working as an auxiliary nurse at the Churchill’s Blood Donor Centre – they helped me to live – I want to give something back.’
Scott frowned. ‘It sounds a bit…’
‘Different? Yep, it’s certainly that. I’ll be working on a mobile unit that covers five counties, travelling with a team, staying in hotels, away from home – I think it sounds absolutely perfect.’
‘You’ll be taking blood out of real people?’ He looked shocked.
I laughed. ‘Yes – but we do get training first. I’m going to be a fully-fledged vampire… Anyway, it’s pretty difficult to get a normal job when you’ve broken the Official Secrets Act and you’re a bit short on the reference front. Mind you, the shoe shop gave me a glowing one, so that helped. And then – after the vampiring – I’m going back to Jersey to work for the summer season.’
‘What? Without me being there?’
‘Obviously. God, you are so big-headed! I’m planning to get a flat in St Helier and find someone to share with, then look for a job – in fact, I’ve kept in touch with your mum and she’s looking forward to seeing me again… no, listen – and then, next September, I’m going to college.’
Scott pushed the paperwork away and stared at me. ‘You really have got it sorted, haven’t you? What are you studying? Where’s the college?’
‘English Literature and here in London – and no, we can’t meet or bump into each other. Ever.’
He pulled a face. ‘Ok. It all sounds very cool and grown-up and interesting – but won’t you miss the gigging and the music and all that?’
‘I’ve got that covered, too. I’m sounding out that new label – Island Records – to see if they need any freelance PR work done for their artists… So, you see, we’ve really come full circle and now I’m going, and thank you for – well, for being you and for being brilliant and and for making me happy – and – er – goodbye…’
I grabbed my coat and almost ran to the door.
Scott stood up. ‘Goodbye, Stella – but… ‘
Yes – Stella. I was Stella now. I’d always be Stella. I’d never be Twinkle again.
He followed me across the room. ‘It doesn’t have to end like this, does it? I don’t want it to end like this.’
‘Nor do I. But it has to.’ I turned back to him and kissed his cheek. ‘Be happy. You and Renza…’
And then I ran out of the room and down the stairs, crashing the front door behind me.
He didn’t even try to stop me. As I’d known he wouldn’t.
Once out in the busy, noisy street I exhaled. My breath spiralled out, smoky in the icy air. I’d done it!
I’d rehearsed those words over and over again and I’d actually managed to say them all without breaking down once. He’d never know how hard I was crying inside. But I’d said it, and it was over. And, as I’d expected, Scott had at no time tried to get me to change my mind.
Now, icy cold, dead inside, I walked zombie-like towards the tube station, not seeing, not feeling, simply walking away from Scott for ever.
I managed to hold it together until I caught the Harbury Green train from Paddington. Sitting opposite two plump, rosy-cheeked women clutching their Christmas shopping from Oxford Street, I leaned my head against the window, and watched the sleet slithering down the darkening glass like frozen tears.
The train gathered speed through the winter evening, rattling along the tracks, singing a rhythmic song inside my head: oh, how I love you… oh, how I love you… oh, how I love you….
And then I cried my heart out. Because I’d never see him again and I’d love him forever. Oh, how I love you…
So silly really – after all, I’d known from the start that there was only ever going to be one woman in Scott’s life – and it was never going to be me.
Renza’s Diary
Christmas Week 1969 – Pinner
Just like my previous trips, the ferry sailing was a nightmare. Everyone was seasick, including the crew, and the Ladies was running in vomit. We got caught in a force 9 gale and had to anchor miles outside Folkestone for ages before it was safe to come into port. My lift this trip, Monty de Gruchy, one of only three unmarried men on the base, suggested we sit outside on de
ck as high up as possible, so that we’d get some air and not feel the boat moving so much. It was all very déjà vu, but this time I didn’t care. I just wanted to die.
By the time Art, the new roadie, collected me in the new van from outside Victoria Coach Station, I was about to pass out. My period had started a few days ago and as usual I was almost bent double in agony and keeping a watch out for handy toilets. Monty left me to go on to meet friends in Streatham, reminding me to meet him in the same place after New Year, for our return trip. I was glad to see him go; totally embarrassed by my numerous loo stops on the trip from Dover. I felt sure he knew what my problem was.
Art seems nice enough, he doesn’t know anything about Rich and why he left so I didn’t push the point. He’s blond, good looking, tall, and he had a groovy pair of yellow cords on, with a bright green shirt and a cravat of both colours. He reminds me of one of the Lemon Pipers. I notice he bites his nails, just like Scott. Yuk. Not so groovy.
I love being back in London again; the buzz vibrating through the van windows; music, colour and trendy people exploding everywhere in front of me – or so it seems after living in the dark ages, in the back of beyond, for eternity – I drank it all up thirstily.
The Christmas lights were dazzling and for the first time I’m beginning to feel Christmassy. The radio’s blaring a selection of Christmas songs and I silently sing along to ‘Santa Claus Is Coming to Town’ and ‘White Christmas’, getting more and more excited at the thought of seeing Scott again.
Art said the band had only just got in when he’d left to pick me up. They’d gone straight to bed for a few hours. Scott told him to look for the gorgeous girl with long blonde hair, almost to her bottom, and the best legs in London so, he said, that is how he knew how to spot me. I couldn’t help it – I beamed in spite of my pain.
The Pinner house was Victorian and a bit shabby. Art helped me upstairs to the sitting room, carrying my bag for me. He knocked on the door before poking his head inside. I waited, wondering what to expect, hoping Scott would rush out and sweep me into his arms, but of course he didn’t.
Mo grunted something and Art closed the door and shrugged. ‘Mo’s entertaining in there, so let’s go into the kitchen and I’ll make a cuppa.’
I followed him into a galley style kitchen, piled high with dirty dishes and cups. There was a bag of shopping on the only surface not covered in crockery. Someone seemed to have forgotten to unpack it. Art searched some cupboards for clean cups and managed to find two blue and white coffee cups which he inspected before running under the hot tap. He found the teapot and ran warm water in it whilst he waited for the kettle on the gas stove to boil.
I watched him silently, my stomach was killing me and I needed to sort myself out again but was too shy to ask for the loo. I tried not to wriggle about, but the pain and urgency to get to the loo was beginning to overwhelm me.
‘Where can I powder my nose?’ I heard myself ask – seriously; ‘powder my nose.’ Good God, he’ll think I’m a moron.
‘Oh yeah, course, through there,’ he said pointing to the door opposite the sitting room. ‘Sugar and milk?’ He waved the tea caddy at me.
‘Please,’ I muttered as I backed out of the kitchen trying to hide the back of my mini dress which I knew would give my secret away. I grabbed my case and dragged it into the bathroom behind me.
‘Think I’ll freshen up,’ I called out, hoping my sudden reappearance in a different outfit wouldn’t seem so odd.
The bathroom was narrow, with green lino on the floor and pale blue painted walls showing damp patches near the window. The plastic curtains had been blue floral a long time ago but were faded and the plastic hardened with age. The large bath had rust marks on the bottom and there was scale around the taps and plug hole, but it seemed clean. The sink was in a similar state and there was a bar of Imperial Leather on the side next to a grimy nailbrush. Several sponge bags were lined up along the side of the bath and the towels hanging on the back of the door would never pass the OMO whiteness test.
I took my dress off and rummaged in my case for a change of undies and dress. I managed to have a good wash, cleaned my teeth and re-did my face, glad I’d brought my own towel with me. Bliss. I felt human again. I pulled the lavatory chain and the cistern sounded like the white rapids emptying.
Just as I was about to leave I noticed a glass shelf with cosmetics on it. I thought they belonged to the band at first; I knew they all dabbled at times, but then I looked again and I realised the make-up and perfume belonged to someone else. Definitely female. My imagination began to go into over-drive: Stella, perhaps?
I stood in the kitchen doorway sipping my tea while Art knocked on the bedroom at the end of the corridor. He said that Scott normally shared with Mo, but because I was here Mo was sleeping in the sitting room, but we couldn’t go in there as his girlfriend was staying over. Scott should be getting up by now. He knocked again and shouted for Scott to wake up. He’d made some tea for him too. I heard a voice from another room shouting for tea as well. The Krakens were awaking, well it was mid-afternoon after all.
My nerves were on edge waiting for Scott to appear. I kept licking my dry lips, checking the back of my dress for any telltale signs of my problem, and I kept thinking about the make-up in the bathroom. Of course, it might be someone else’s – I kept trying to convince myself.
Art came into the kitchen to pour more tea and he asked if I wanted toast as he was making some for the others. I hadn’t eaten since the ferry docked at Dover and so said yes. I offered to help but just as Art was about to answer me, a girl with long dark hair wearing only the top half of a pair of men’s pyjama’s walked into the kitchen barefooted. She nodded at me as I stared at her semi-nakedness, not a little bit shocked. I tried not to gawp.
The girl took a slice of toast between her teeth, grabbed two cups of tea and disappeared without a word to Art or me. He didn’t seem to notice her state of undress. I finished my tea and stood wondering what I should do next. Art carried on making tea and toast and offered me a slice with Marmite which I gladly accepted and was just biting into it when the door at the end opened and another scantily clad female ventured into the kitchen.
She wore a red and orange striped bra top and pink hipsters which left little to the imagination, they were so tight. She nodded at me and moved her hand in a ‘hi’ movement. I waved back. Art handed her two cups of tea and a plate of toast which she put down to light the cigarette Art offered her. He offered one to me as well but I shook my head.
She took a long drag, blew smoke out of the side of her mouth, closing her eyes as she leaned against the sink. I felt really uncomfortable and tried hard to think of something to say but my mind was blank. She had short blonde hair and the deepest sun tan I’d ever seen. Her nails were really long and bright red like the nails on her bare feet.
Was she Stella?
I noticed she had a huge bruise on her chin and on her shoulders which looked new and was wondering if I should comment when Zak yelled from one of the rooms and she almost jumped out of her skin.
‘Gone to bloody India for the tea, Prue?’
‘I’m coming! Just coming!’ she dropped her cigarette in the sink, grabbed the cups and plate of toast and, just like a waitress, carried them back to the room at the end of the corridor.
‘Bastard!’ Art muttered under his breath turning away from me to pour another cup of tea.
I tried not to look shocked.
‘Here, take this in there and wake your bloke up.’ Art handed me the tea and a plate of toast and pointed to Scott’s room, ‘time he got up.’
I knocked on the door and waited. No answer. I glanced back at Art who was watching me over the rim of his cup. He nodded. ‘Just go in.’
I did. It was dark and there was a double bed in the centre of the room, various bed clothes seemed to be hanging off the bed and I could just make out Scott’s hair spread across the pillow. He was on his stomach, his bronzed back naked, t
he muscles defined and hard all the way down to his tiny hips… he looked like a God, illuminated by a chink of light coming through the not fully drawn curtains.
He took my breath away.
I put the cups down and stood over him, wondering if I should speak or not, but my voice wouldn’t come anyway, even if I could think of something to say. I just gazed at him, drinking in his beauty and stillness, stretching my hand out slowly to trace the shape of his waist down to his hip.
He stirred and I sprang back in horror in case he woke and found me groping him.
After what seemed an age he moved his head and his arm reached behind him, towards me. ‘Don’t be shy, lie down with me,’ he muttered into his pillow.
I froze. Did he mean me? Did he think I was Stella? How did he know someone was there? Oh cripes, he’d felt me groping...
I held my breath, my heart pounding in my ears; that Keith Moon solo again. He turned over and brushed the hair from his face, looked right at me, intense: a wanton smile on his gorgeous soft lips. My knees shook. He held his hand out to me and as I reached for it he pulled himself almost fully upright, grabbed me by the waist and pulled me on top of him, crushing all the breath out of me.
Before I could catch my breath again his lips found mine and I felt myself floating towards the ceiling, light as air, my mouth devoured by his and his arms tight around me. I had to pull away in case I fainted, I felt so light headed and dizzy suddenly.
He pulled my head back, towards his chest, and I could smell Imperial Leather, and that familiar scent he had, all of his own. I nuzzled into him brushing my cheek against his smooth skin, lost in the sheer pleasure of his body. As he stroked my hair it was as if we had never been apart.
‘Sorry I couldn’t meet you,’ he moved his face in my hair, stroking my neck sending shock-waves through me. ‘We got in so late and I need my beauty sleep you know.’
‘It’s OK, Art looked after me,’ I mumbled, voice croaking, my throat tight and dry.
Only One Woman Page 45
