Please Don't Stop The Music

by Jane Lovering

  My tiny bedroom was full of clothes. My one nice trouser suit lay across the bed and it looked as though someone had skinned a corporate lawyer. There were skirts and tops everywhere else, but nothing suitable. I gave up and put the green dress back on.

  ‘Phwoooarrr! Top totty! Oh, it’s you, Jem.’ Jason was sprawled along the sofa, Harry perched on his stomach. ‘Nearly din’t recognise you.’

  ‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘You look very nice too actually. Did it need surgery to remove those overalls?’

  ‘Ha!’ Jason tugged at the lapels of his suit. He did look very glamorous in his tuxedo, I had to admit. ‘Rosie insisted I dress up. Hey Rosie!’ he yelled into the kitchen. ‘You want me to put Harry to bed yet?’

  Rosie appeared in the kitchen doorway, pink in the face and slightly flustered. ‘Oh, would you, Jase? That’d be lovely. I’m just finishing off the starters in here. God, Jem, that’s the door – will you get it?’ She wiped her hands distractedly down the front of her appropriately Rosie-pink dress and vanished back into the steamy depths.

  I squeezed past Jason, who was on his way up the stairs with Harry, and opened the front door to Ben. He was carrying a bottle of wine, wearing a suit minus the jacket and with the top shirt button undone. He had his hair loose but sort of swept back. It suited him.

  ‘Hello.’ We faced each other across the crumbling front step.

  ‘You found us all right then?’ I took the bottle he held out.

  ‘Your instructions were great. The taxi driver never knew this place existed before now, it’s a lovely village.’

  ‘Thank you,’ I replied without thinking.

  ‘Build it yourself then, did you?’

  ‘Ah, I see Mister Polite has released control of your body. Come in.’

  Ben followed me into the living room and then we stood, side by side, silent. He was wearing the nice aftershave again. ‘This is fun,’ he said finally.

  ‘Yes. Not a bit awkward or anything.’ I could see him eyeing up the dress, and to forestall any difficult questions I grabbed the bottle from the dining table and poured him a glass of white wine. ‘So. Sit down.’

  ‘Yes! Ma’am!’

  ‘I didn’t mean – ’ I took a giant sip of my wine. ‘Please. Sit down. If you can bear to soil yourself with our petty furniture that is.’

  ‘I’ll try.’ Ben sat. I perched on the arm of the saggy but comfortable chair opposite and carried on drinking. ‘So, is it just yourself here or–?’

  ‘Oh, no, I share the place with Rosie. She’s my friend, the one I told you about.’

  ‘The baby’s mum?’

  ‘Yes. And the baby’s called Harry.’

  ‘Right.’ Ben took a sip of his wine and looked around at the walls. They were plain stone, whitewashed and hung with several of Rosie’s pictures, but even so they didn’t merit quite the scrutiny he was giving them. The silence stretched.

  ‘Dinner will only be a minute!’ Rosie stuck her head into the room again and I seized on the distraction.

  ‘Ben, this is Rosie. Rosie, this is, obviously, Ben.’

  Ben stood up and smiled. ‘Hello.’

  Rosie came out of the doorway towards us, grinning a grin which slowly left her face. She turned to stare at me.

  ‘Jemima?’ she asked.

  ‘What? You told me to invite Ben, so I did. That’s still all right, isn’t it?’

  Rosie looked from me to Ben and back again. ‘Well, yes, of course. Sorry, I’m just – distracted. Um. Nice to meet you – Ben. Jem, could you come and give me a quick hand, the chilli is playing up out here.’

  ‘All right.’ I followed her into the tiny kitchen which was full of bubbling noises and steam, accounting for the frantic nature of her curls. She shut the door behind us.

  ‘Jemima!’

  ‘What?’ I was genuinely puzzled by her reaction. ‘I know he’s a bit skinny but he’s OK, honestly. Well mostly OK. Especially when he’s not wearing Lycra.’

  Rosie dropped her voice so that it was barely audible over the sound of the boiling. ‘Don’t you know who he is?’

  ‘Yes, I already said. It’s Ben.’

  Rosie ran her hands through her curls. She now looked as though she’d been attacked by an evil hairdresser. ‘Jemima,’ she said very evenly. ‘I know I’ve never asked questions about your past or anything but tell me this. Did you spend the last five years on the moon? That man, in there.’ Rosie put both hands on my shoulders. ‘That man is Baz Davies.’

  ‘His name’s Ben.’

  ‘No!’ Rosie shook me now. ‘Baz Davies! The Baz Davies. Lead singer and guitarist in the biggest band to come out of Yorkshire in the last ten years and I am including the Arctic Monkeys in that. Haven’t you ever heard of Willow Down?’ She sighed. ‘Listen. Willow Down. Huge. Sensation. Made Coldplay look like some outfit touting round Working Men’s Clubs. Went to the States. Huge in States. Baz Davies …’ She flung out an arm towards the living room. ‘… dropped out. Went to ground. Band fell apart.’

  Benedict Arthur Zacchary Davies.

  ‘Oh,’ I said.

  ‘He’s been off the radar for five years. No-one knows what happened, they were in the middle of a tour of the States that was, apparently, phenomenal. I saw them once.’ Rosie’s eyes suddenly went misty. ‘Fibbers, that club in York. They played Foolish Words, my favourite, I got drunk and went home with a bloke who turned out to be hung like a mule. Ah, happy days.’

  I walked out of the kitchen and back into the living room. Ben was still perched on the edge of the sofa, rolling his now empty glass between his fingers.

  ‘We subdued the chilli but I’m afraid the rice might go for your throat,’ I said.

  Ben looked at me. ‘You know.’

  ‘What? That you used to be in a band? Yes. Rosie recognised you. Saw you play Fibbers, apparently.’

  He gave a short laugh, then shook his head. ‘That’s gone, not me any more. This is who I am.’

  I felt a little tremble down my spine. ‘Yes.’

  ‘I’m not that person now.’ Ben stood up.

  ‘I understand.’

  ‘I’d better go.’ Ben handed me the glass. ‘I’m sorry. I thought it would be all right, but people keep – it’s like they won’t let it go.’ He turned and headed for the front door, but I followed, catching him in the doorway.

  ‘Ben, wait.’ I grabbed his arm and he went suddenly still, like a cat picked up by the scruff. Then he turned in my grasp. ‘Look, I don’t care who you are. I don’t even know who you were, I never heard of Willow Down before tonight. All I know is you’re Ben Davies and you’ve got a shop in York. That’s all I want to know.’

  ‘It’s not as simple as that. Really, Jemima. You’re best off staying clear of it all. You’re a nice girl and I was getting used to being Ben with you, but–’ he tailed off, eyes clouding.

  ‘But it’s like being haunted by your former self?’

  A sudden, surprised smile rose on his face. ‘Yeah. Pretty much. Whatever I do, wherever I am, someone will recognise me. Oh, it’s less than it used to be, now it only happens once, twice a year and they get fed up with waiting for a sound-bite from me on why I quit, how could I do that to the band, all that shit. My customers stopped bothering to recognise me ages ago. But it’s there, always, there in the background with the looks and the whispers.’ The smile was gone now, replaced by a hunted look. ‘Sometimes – Christ, I can’t believe I’m saying this – sometimes I wish that Baz Davies had died.’

  ‘Oh, Ben.’ I patted his arm and he let me. ‘Look. Stay and have dinner. Rosie’s all right, just ask about Harry and she’ll forget anyone else in the world exists let alone some ex-guitarist.’

  ‘And you?’ There was an expression which might have been hope in his eyes.

  ‘Oh, I don’t give a stuff who you were. Right now you’re the only person willing to sell my buckles so if you told me you wanted to be known as Mary Jane I’d go along with it.’

  Ben leaned back
against the wall. ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Sooner or later people are going to forget, you know. You’re just going to be this bloke who used to play in a band, like millions of others. Come on, Ben. Stop hiding. Get on with your life.’ I felt myself cringing inside – I could talk the talk like no other, but when it came to walking the walk – .

  ‘I can’t. I can’t take the questions, Jemima.’

  ‘Then why don’t you give a press conference and tell them what they want to know?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Oh come on, people will forgive almost anything these days! What was it, drugs? Booze? Drugs and booze? Are you gay?’

  For a second his eyes were full of the dusk. ‘Why can’t you just let it be? Why can’t anyone?’

  I looked over my shoulder into the cottage. Jason was standing watching us, half-hidden in the entrance to the living room. He raised his eyebrows at me.

  ‘Ben?’ Ben had his head down, hair covering his face. I touched him again, finger to shoulder and he shuddered like a nervous horse. ‘Come on. Rosie’s made one of her Mexican specials. You wouldn’t want to disappoint a woman who can cook like she can, trust me. Your stomach will love you for it.’

  Every word he’d said had slit through my skin and run into my veins. Every word I’d said to him had been loaded with hypocrisy and I wished I could tell him so. But I couldn’t.

  ‘Just promise me one thing.’ Ben looked up at me eventually. ‘Before I go back in there, before I have to start pretending all over again.’ His eyes were very dark. ‘Promise me that it won’t make a difference. Now you know who I am, who I was – that everything will go on the same.’

  ‘What, that we’ll still snap and snipe at each other like a couple of prize bitches? Oh, I think that’s without question.’

  A small smile tinted his face. It took away some of the pallor of his skin and gave his eyes a bit of sparkle. ‘Oh, good. I think.’

  ‘Although I have to say that you’re the first famous person I’ve ever met who was glad that I didn’t know who they were.’

  ‘You’ve met a lot, have you?’ Ben let me lead him back into the living room. The hunched, scared expression was mostly gone.

  ‘Oh, yeah.’ Well, I’d been locked up with a woman who’d stalked Robbie Williams. That probably counted.

  Chapter Nine

  Rosie, Ben and Jason got on surprisingly well. OK, maybe not so surprising, when you’re five bottles and a Mexican Chilli special in, almost anyone you can focus on begins to look like a friend. But it helped that Jason, like me, hadn’t the faintest idea who Willow Down had been. Ben finally relaxed and only occasionally betrayed how he was feeling by twisting at the cuffs of his shirt.

  ‘So, you coming to Saskia’s grand opening?’ Rosie shoved another portion of chilli onto Ben’s plate. The bloke looked as if he only weighed about eight stone but he could eat like a man who’s been in training. Jason poured Ben another glass of wine and furtively drank the dregs of the bottle.

  ‘Who’s Saskia?’

  ‘Well,’ I brandished my knife. In my defence I was also more than a little bit pissed. ‘You see this pointy thing? Imagine this, in the mouth of a Rottweiler that’s covered in pins.’

  ‘With a bellyful of wasps,’ added Rosie helpfully.

  ‘That’s Saskia. And she’s opening her shop – well, re-opening it. Jason’s doing it, aren’t you?’

  Jason jumped guiltily. ‘What? What’m I doin’ now? Come on, Jem, y’ can see both me hands!’

  ‘He’s her sleb.’ Then I went a bit quiet because we were all painfully aware that Ben’s celebrity status could have knocked Jase’s into a pond. ‘Anyway. It’s next week. We’re all going.’

  ‘Things like that aren’t really my – well, thing,’ Ben said. ignoring Jason. ‘I’m not much one for crowds. And I don’t know her.’

  ‘That’s all right, we all wish we didn’t know her and we’re still going!’

  Ben gave us all an old-fashioned look, which I think was meant to be disapproving but his head was wobbling so it gave him more of an air of a slightly pissed-off glove-puppet. ‘You three are horrible, aren’t you?’

  ‘And proud of it.’ I held out my glass for Jason who’d popped the cork on the last bottle, the one Ben had brought.

  There was a flare of lights as a car turned into the driveway and stopped, followed by a momentary blaring of a horn. Ben covered his glass with his hand. ‘That’ll be my taxi,’ he said. ‘Need to get up early. Got another appointment tomorrow at eleven. Don’t want to be hungover for it. Will you be all right to come over and mind the shop for me, Jemima?’

  I nodded. Ben got up and I was suddenly overwhelmed with an urge to grab his arm and ask him not to go. To stay here, shooting the breeze into the small hours and getting giggly over Jason’s ridiculous world view, as we had been doing. It was as though we’d been in a bubble for the last few hours, one in which I didn’t have to think about anything other than this life I’d made for myself. Me. Here and now. With Rosie and Jason playing host and hostess and this skinny rock-guy with the big secrets.

  ‘Jem?’ Ben laid a hand on my shoulder. ‘You all right? You looked like you were on another planet there for a minute.’

  Some of the stress was gone from his face. I felt a tiny flutter inside me, somewhere round my heart. Yes, Ben was a good-looking guy. I could see it but I daren’t acknowledge it. Even the knowing caused a little acid burn at the base of my stomach.

  ‘Nah, I’m fine. Just tired. I’ll see you tomorrow.’

  To my surprise he moved a tendril of hair away from my face. ‘Yes. Another day of insults and misunderstandings.’

  ‘I’ll look forward to it.’

  When Ben had left, Jason collapsed onto the sofa and farted hugely. ‘It’s those frigging beans, Jem,’ he said not apologetically. ‘An’ I reckon you and our Mr Davies could get a very nice thing going, if you know what I mean.’

  ‘Don’t be silly.’ I helped Rosie clear the table.

  ‘Honest. I saw you and him giving each other the old googie-eye treatment. He’s gotcha goin’, admit it.’

  ‘He’s screwed up.’

  ‘Yeah! Gorgeous an’ screwed up. Thass what you girls all love, isn’t it? Bit of the old tormented genius thing. All the secrets, all the mystery. Hey, you could get it out of him, why he quit that band, sell your story to the rock papers! You’d make a mint!’

  ‘Immoral, even for you. Besides, old news. No-one’s going to pay a fortune for that.’ Yawning enormously I scraped the last of the food into a freezer container. ‘Are we washing up tonight, Rosie?’

  ‘Nope. I’m off to bed before Harry wakes up. Night, Jase.’

  Jason looked a little bit deflated. ‘What, not even a snog?’

  ‘Sorry.’

  ‘An’ I put me suit on an’ everything! I dunno, what’s it take to get a shag round here?’ But he grinned to show he was joking, or if not, at least not annoyed to be cast out into the cool night, still carrying the bottle.

  Rosie looked at me. ‘What is it with you and Baz – sorry, Ben? I’ve never seen you so – I dunno what it is. It’s like you’re both scared of each other somehow.’

  ‘He’s way too sharp. Talk to him for long enough and you’ll feel like you’ve been juggling razor blades.’

  ‘Yeah, well. He’s bound to be a bit spiky, look at what he’s been through. And now he’s running a poky little shop in the back end of York with no customers and, by the look of it, no friends. I think he needs you, Jem.’

  ‘Oh, rubbish! He’s fine. I think he likes his life the way it is now.’

  Rosie gave me a very hard look. ‘But what about you? I was watching you two all through the meal, tiptoeing around each other, never asking the right questions. Him I understand. But you? Why are you so scared to get involved, Jemima? You say talking to him is like juggling razor blades, well sometimes talking to you is like juggling soap bubbles. What exactly is your problem?’

 
My mouth opened and then closed again. I literally could not think of anything to say. I’d never been so glad to hear Harry begin one of his chugging cries upstairs in his cot. ‘Harry’s awake,’ I said unnecessarily.

  Rosie cast her eyes wearily at the ceiling. ‘And so another day dawns,’ she said. ‘Goodnight.’

  I watched her head up the stairs. She’d been on top form all evening, sparky and witty and much more like the Rosie she’d been before giving birth. I hoped she’d turned a corner. She clearly adored Harry but it was as if she’d never been prepared for the fundamental life change that having a baby would bring and now she was fighting it. A kind of tussle between her love for her child and the restrictions that he placed on her life.

  I sighed and stared at the wall, much as Ben had done earlier. Ben. With his guilt and his fear and his awful confusion, all because he’d walked away from his life. And I knew deep in my heart that I could help him to feel better. All I had to do was talk to him. Tell him. Say those words that I found it impossible even to think, I know how it feels, because I did it, too.

  Don’t think about it. Don’t think about his expression – that helpless turmoil in the face of discovery. Don’t think about the occasional bone-cold touch of his fingers, his huge eyes so full of disaster …

  In fact, go to bed.

  * * *

  30th April

  Weather. I’m sure there was some. Didn’t notice.

  I went to dinner with her. Surprised? Yeah, not as much as I was. Last week I was ready to jack it all in, go move to Greenland, somewhere, anywhere no-one would know me. Where nobody would be looking at me, saying ‘didn’t you used to be in that band? Didn’t you used to be somebody?’ But really, what did I think? That none of the guys would ever play again, just because I shat on them from a height?

  You know something? That’s exactly what I thought. Willow Down was my band. Okay, mine and Zafe’s. And now Zafe is out there again, taking over, doing what he thinks is right, but … what about me, doc? What does that leave me with?