‘And so much harder on the au-pair. Hello, Saskia, Alex. No Oscar with you today?’ I jiggled Harry on my hip, the mere presence of Saskia made him grousy and the absence of his mother didn’t help.
‘He’s having a visiting day at his new school. Bless.’ Saskia tippytoed along the path towards Jason and me. ‘We’ve just passed Rosie at the bus stop and I must admit we were a little shocked at her dress sense, weren’t we, darling?’ As her husband caught up Saskia looped a hand through his arm. ‘Of course, I lost all my baby weight within a fortnight and not everyone can be so lucky, can they, but I do think one should dress for one’s shape.’ She eyed me up and down. ‘Obviously you don’t agree, Jemima, but it is important to look one’s best at all times. Now, are these the cards? I’m surprised that Rosie can find time to go off gallivanting when I told her I need the rest by the weekend.’
‘Surely you can be a bit flexible. I mean it’s not as if you’re even selling them …’
Whoops.
‘What do you mean?’ Saskia looked at me from under her eyelashes. Her suspiciously smooth forehead did its best to frown.
‘They aren’t in Le Petit Lapin, are they?’ Unless you count the fact that they’re stacked up in cardboard boxes out the back. ‘I looked.’
Saskia sighed. ‘Oh, but I did say I wanted these for the Harrogate shop.’
‘I could have sworn Rosie said these were for Le Petit Lapin.’ I gave Saskia my best smile.
‘No, darling. You’re not just the teeniest bit stressed, are you, Jemima? Only, stress can make you forgetful at times and you do look a little … how can I put it kindly?’
‘Unique?’
Saskia gave a chiming little giggle which was like tinfoil on my nerves. ‘Unkempt, sweetie. As though you’re not taking care of yourself properly. It’s so important to look after yourself. And how are you doing for money, darling?’
Pride cut in and I lied. ‘Oh, I’m doing okay. Ben’s shifting a fair bit of stuff and I’m selling well on the internet.’
‘That’s lovely.’ A tight smile, as though she was afraid to grin in case her mouth split. ‘Good. Now, we are just a teensy bit pushed for time, darlings, so we’ll take these and vamoose. Alex, sweetie, would you put the box in the car for me?’ As her husband hefted Rosie’s cards into the Hummer Saskia smiled sweetly at me. ‘And where’s that gorgeous Mr Davies, Jemima? I must say I’m surprised he’s not here, you looked so close at the opening.’
‘You were a lot closer.’ I smiled a saccharine smile back.
‘Yes, well, that was business.’ Saskia fluffed her hair. ‘Do ask him to get in touch, won’t you? I’ve a few little propositions I’d like to put to him. Super.’ Saskia turned. ‘Alex! I’m ready now. You can drop me off at the house before you go, I’ve a few phone calls to make.’ She turned to wave manicured finger tips at me. ‘Ciao, sweetie.’ Her voice lowered an octave to take her leave of Jason. ‘Goodbye, my darling.’ He merited a kiss on the cheek. ‘And if you could let Rosie know I’ll be by sometime on Sunday for the rest of the consignment?’
The big black car swept away in a spray of gravel. I turned to Jason. ‘Can you smell brimstone?’
‘I dunno. Whatever perfume Saskia was wearing has made my nose bleed.’
* * *
Rosie woke me when she got in at three, wanting an update on Harry’s evening. I suppose it was understandable, what with the carrycot-under-the-wardrobe incident, but I suspect I might have been a little less than understanding, being dragged out of sleep to describe nappy contents. The discussion meant I was slightly sleep deprived when I drove off in Jason’s car the next morning. Robin Hood’s Bay was a tiny village clinging to a rapidly eroding cliffside, all hanging baskets and provisions merchants, like something out of Enid Blyton. I inched the car down to the slipway at the bottom of the village, failing to spot any sign of Ben, his car or any street bearing any name like ‘moor’ or ‘main’. In fact, half of the main road had fallen into the sea a few winters ago. Carefully I turned around, inching the car in reverse because there wasn’t much room, and headed back up the slope again past the hotels and guesthouses, past the old railway station and up to where the buildings gave way to fields. I pulled into a gateway, killed the engine and got out.
Far below me on the beach I could hear the sound of children yelling. The sun was brilliantly white, shadows were short and I felt my chest burning with something, some emotion I couldn’t name. I leaned against the car and took a deep breath, the heat and light making everything feel slightly unreal, dreamlike, listening to the children playing at the foot of the cliffs, and then I recognised the feeling. It was longing.
Some deeply buried part of me wanted this. To stand in the sun, listening to children – my children – play. To have a normal, loving man to go home to, a gentle, smiling man who’d flick his hair out of his eyes and take the baby from me. Ask me how my day had been. Kiss my cheek and then later, in the secret night, draw lines of flame across my body.
Ben.
His was the face I saw, the fingers I imagined. His was the body that stepped in to fill the gap in my fantasies. If only I could reach him, talk to him … if only … If only I could overcome everything I was. If I could forget all the promises I’d made. If only things were different.
I shook my head. Sleep deprivation. That’s all it was. Tiredness and unaccustomed driving in a car that smelled of solder and Lynx. As I stood breathing heavily, sun reflected from something very shiny and speared through my eyeball like a migraine. I blinked, turned and caught sight of the road sign. Moor Road it said, with the sun winking and gleaming off it and all but beckoning in a deliberately provocative manner. The feeling that I’d been fooled by some stunt on Zafe’s behalf, some way of getting rid of a troublesome groupie, left me and was replaced by a prickle of nerves. Ben was here. Somewhere.
My stomach squeezed and my body turned, so used to running, to getting out of situations before they went bad that it was an automatic response. I was half way into the driving seat with my knuckles white against the doorframe before I managed to tell myself that this was just a stop-off. Just a clearing-the-air pause before I could start again somewhere, clean slate.
Do this, then it’s over. It’s all over.
Number nine was carved on a weathered bit of elm, nailed to a swinging sign at the end of an overgrown driveway which curved and dipped. The house was a long way from the road. Once I rounded the first bend I could see a car slewed casually across a grassed-over turning circle. It was an Audi but I couldn’t be sure it was Ben’s. Despite the car the house had a deserted look, curtains pulled across most of the windows and paintwork peeling from the frames. An enormous ash tree flourished alongside and hung its branches down over the guttering. It made the house look like an emo kid trying to hide behind its fringe.
I wasn’t brave enough to knock. With the gravel crunching a give-away under my feet, I tried to look as though I had called on unidentifiable business and shuffled around the outer wall of the house down a paved walkway and into the back garden.
Where Ben was sprawled face down on the overgrown lawn.
I gave a moan and dashed over the spongy grass to crouch beside his body. He was half-dressed, barefoot in those painted-on black jeans and the lack of shirt left his tattoo darkly visible, scrawled across his painfully pale skin. I laid a hand against his ribcage to check for movement. He couldn’t be dead. He just couldn’t.
He wasn’t. With a yell that made me leap several feet backwards he jumped to his feet. ‘What the …?’
‘I’m sorry, I thought you –’
He cut me off, pulling at the T shirt he’d had cushioning his head. ‘What are you doing here? How did you know …? Why? It’s not … Harry, he’s OK, isn’t he?’
‘Zafe gave me the address.’ I watched Ben blinking his way back to wakefulness. ‘And Harry’s fine. What were you doing out here?’ I couldn’t keep my eyes off his naked chest. Even though he was clutching his T
shirt against himself like a shield enough flesh was available for viewing to show that he had bones and muscles and very little else. He looked like a vertical greyhound.
‘What does it look like I was doing? I was lying in the sun.’
My heart had settled. ‘It’s not working. You still look like half-a-pint of milk.’
An almost-smile. ‘And while I wasn’t expecting a “hello, gorgeous”, I still find myself surprised. So then. Presuming you didn’t come just for the insult opportunities?’
‘I thought you might –’ No, it was too stupid to say, with him standing there looking baffled, still blinking sleep from his eyes. ‘I had to show Zafe my boobs before he’d tell me about this place.’
‘Sounds like Zafe. He’d make such a rubbish spy.’ Rubbing a hand through his already disarrayed hair, Ben moved off towards an open door at the back of the house, not inviting me to follow. Beyond the door I could see a cool, dark room with a table and chairs set on a bare slate floor. The sun scalded my skin as though it was driving me towards the shade but more heavy-headed clouds were building on the horizon, hinting at a coming storm. I shielded my eyes and looked up at the sky.
Ben stopped in the doorway and turned round. ‘You’ve come this far. You might as well see the rest.’
The grass was mossy under my feet like walking on fat green pillows, suddenly becoming cold hard stone as I stepped into the shadow of the kitchen. Between its thick walls and floor hung a pool of cool air and I felt myself relax a little.
Ben, busy plugging in a kettle, ignored me. He’d dumped his T shirt on the table and when he turned to search for coffee I found that my eyes would not move from the middle of his chest. His body hair was as dark as the hair on his head, spiralling from around his nipples to a narrow band running down the centre of his concave stomach. His arms were lean but strong, with the muscles running long and smooth down to his elbows. His ribs pushed the skin of his chest as he breathed, rolling with each exhalation and making the shadows that fell across his body move like snakes.
‘Why did you come?’ He was wreathed in the gloom at the far side of the room, the kettle sending a shiver of steam between us. He looked like a ghost.
‘I was frightened.’ I found I’d backed up, the edge of the table was digging into the backs of my thighs and I couldn’t go any further without using my bodyweight to force it against the wall.
‘Why? Did you think I’d refuse to sell any more of your buckles?’
‘That night. With Harry. The way you ran. You were – freaking.’
Ben shook his head slowly. ‘And that’s it? I lost it and you thought you’d come pry into my secrets? Using Zafe, which, I have to say, is like using a dirty weapon.’
I forced my voice to be calm. ‘Ben, the way you took off I didn’t know what to think. Zafe was the only person who’d know where you might have gone.’
‘Great. Well you found me. Congratulations, go get yourself a gold medal. And then just plain go.’
‘I only wanted to – talk.’ His expression was so dark that I couldn’t even bring up the subject of my leaving town.
‘Right. So you smacked me round the face that night to – what? Bring me to my senses? Oh, Jemima, you have no idea what you’re dealing with here.’
‘Then tell me.’ I moved across the kitchen until we stood only one flagstone apart. I stared into his eyes, watching the pupils widen until they almost completely overwhelmed the irises, turning them into ebony discs. ‘Go on. Tell me what it is that’s screwing you up so totally.’
‘Why?’ His voice was little more than a whisper and his eyes flickered, taking in all of my face.
Because you need a friend, I wanted to say. You need someone to stop this happening. But my throat was clogged with my own reasons.
‘You’ve talked to Zafe, he’ll have told you about the drugs … do you think I’m a junkie? Is that it?’
‘Ben, I don’t know what you are.’
‘Oh, God.’ The click as the kettle turned itself off was so loud in the sudden silence that it bounced off the walls. Ben was breathing faster now, his ribcage moving under a skin that seemed slick. Was he sweating? ‘Jemima.’
‘I’m listening.’
He gripped the edges of the sink behind him. ‘I feel sick.’
‘Do you need me to get you something? Valium?’
Ben’s eyes were suddenly intense. ‘You seem to know a lot about it. What’s your story then, Jemima?’
I shook my head. ‘No. That’s not what this is about.’
He exhaled. ‘All right. Listen. You’re wrong. I haven’t taken anything since I came out of rehab. It’s been a close-run thing, sometimes, but I learned my lesson.’ Ben’s knuckles were grey against the white enamel. ‘I’m better than that, stronger. I found that I don’t need a head full of coke to tell me who I am and there’s nothing like having been an addict for showing you how shallow it all is. Been there, done that.’ And I wasn’t sure if he meant the drugs or the fame. ‘And now – now everything is different.’
I could see the muscles in his shoulders standing out under the strain. Something was going to give. ‘Jemima –’ A seething roll of thunder built to a tympanic crescendo and then died to a mumble. Outside the sun was killed by the cloud and a prickle of static electricity made my head tingle. Ben ignored it all, just stared at the floor as though his breakfast was about to reappear. ‘Jemima,’ he said again, glancing my way and then jumped as a lightning flash speared through the room and was gone.
‘Just a storm,’ I said. ‘Must be nearly overhead, judging by that thunder.’
‘Thunder?’
And suddenly I understood. ‘Oh, my God. Ben.’ The guitars he couldn’t play. Harry crying upstairs. Ben hadn’t known he was there.
He saw the understanding in my face and he broke. The tension in his shoulders transferred to his back and he jolted away from the sink, dropping to the floor with his forehead on his knees, his whole body shaking. Not just crying but sobbing as though everything dear to him had died.
‘But how –? I mean –’ The party where he’d known what I was saying on the other side of a crowded room. ‘You lip read.’ I went to him, sat beside him. Touched his arm until he raised his head. ‘Ben. Oh, God, Ben.’
The expression on his face was one I never want to see again. His eyes were black and it hurt to look into them, his hair was stapled across his cheeks with the tears that smeared his skin. He’d been holding this alone for such a long time, carrying it like a private horror. Under my hand I could feel him trembling. ‘Tell me,’ I said. ‘Just tell me. All of it.’
It came in fits and starts and bubbles of speech. His breath sounded as though it came over cogwheels in his throat and his chest heaved with the effort of drawing in air. He’d been diagnosed with a disease that caused a disintegration of the tiny bones of the inner ear, told his condition could stabilise or worsen at any time. Hoped for a miracle and then on stage in Philadelphia suddenly realised he was completely deaf. Ben looked deep into my face as he shared the terror, the isolation. ‘It’s congenital. My sister has lost part of her hearing, too. That’s why I bought them the place in Vancouver, there’s a university out there doing research on stabilising hearing and working on rebuilding lost bone. Just because it’s too late for me doesn’t mean she can’t be helped. But there’s no cure,’ he finished. His skin was chilled under my hand but his breathing was rapid, feverish. ‘It’s like being completely alone, trapped in here.’ He touched my forehead with his nearest finger.
‘But hearing aids –?’
‘Only work if the bones of the inner ear are intact. Mine …’ He tailed off, making a crumbling gesture with his hands. ‘Been through all this with Dr Michaels. Every option. But it’s a bastard of a disease, Jem, because once the hearing’s gone there’s nothing to be done.’ He gave a dark smile. ‘And, believe it or not, I’m luckier than a lot of sufferers because all the work with the band, being on stage and having to communica
te over the music – I learned to lip read a long time ago. Dr Michaels wanted me to learn to sign but that’s a fast-track to living a completely separate life. Everyone knowing. I wanted … I wanted to pretend I could still hear.’ He shook his head. ‘Shit. Thought I’d done all my crying. Sorry.’
‘Hey. Don’t be sorry. It’s … I don’t even know what it is. Terrible. Awful.’ I didn’t know what else to say.
‘You want to know what it really is, Jem? It’s loneliness. It’s being treated as stupid or rude, it’s not understanding. And Christ, the dark –’
‘Dark?’
‘When it’s night, when I can’t see … that’s when I really know I’m deaf.’ He tried to draw in a breath. I heard it stutter past the tears still in his throat. ‘Right. So now you feel sorry for me. Great. I need a friend, what I get is a pity partner.’ He dropped his head onto his knees and curled his arms around it, turning himself into a ball, blocking me out. Crying silently.
I left him to let it out. Made two mugs of strong coffee, listening to the rain that had begun pounding down on the outside of the cottage. The little kitchen had been gloomy to start with, now it was like midnight and the rapidly cooling air had dropped the temperature down beyond comfortable.
I took a mug to Ben. Touched his shoulder. ‘Hey. Drink this then put something on. You’re going to freeze.’
He was watching my mouth. I could see that now. ‘Christ, I’m sorry. Jem, I’m so, so sorry. This isn’t your problem, it’s not your fight. All I ask is that you don’t tell anyone else. Please.’
‘Ben.’ I dropped to sit cross-legged in front of him. ‘You need to tell Zafe.’
‘How? For God’s sake, how do I tell him something like this?’
‘The same way you told me. He deserves to know. At least so he can move forward with reforming the band or whatever. He really cares about you, you know.’
A pale smile. ‘Thanks, Oprah.’ Another huge, sighing breath. ‘Can’t believe I lost it like that.’
I threw him his shirt from the table. ‘Please. You’ve got goosebumps so big I can see them from here.’ I watched him drag the cotton over his head, loosening his hair from the collar. ‘And, for the record, I don’t pity you. Don’t even feel sorry for you if you want the truth.’
Please Don't Stop The Music Page 15
