Please Don't Stop The Music

by Jane Lovering

  ‘Rosie’s press-ganged me into babysitting the little guy. Said she had something to do.’

  I felt the tremor run down Saskia’s arm. ‘We think we know what that something was.’

  Jason looked at Saskia. ‘Bloody hell, girl. Looks like you’ve done ten rounds with Estee Lauder.’ He glanced away, down at the carpet. ‘I presume you found out then.’

  ‘You knew?’ Ben, Saskia and I all chorused together.

  ‘She had to tell someone, it’s been eating her alive.’

  ‘She could have told me.’ I was more hurt than I could have thought possible. Rosie was my friend. And how many nights had we spent, during the pregnancy and after it, choking down tears of laughter as we speculated on the parentage of her baby together. It had all been lies.

  The sound of a big car’s engine on the road struck us all dumb. Except for Ben until I mouthed, ‘It’s Alex. Outside.’

  Ben let go of Saskia and headed out of the front door, whilst at the same time Rosie came in the back. Saskia burst out crying again. Proper hard sobbing, not picturesque tears this time. Jason put his arm around her, scruffy but chivalrous.

  Rosie stood in the kitchen doorway and stared at us. I watched the expressions cross her face, bewilderment, slow-dawning comprehension, and finally relief. ‘Saskia?’

  ‘Don’t talk to me, you husband-stealing bitch.’

  I put myself between the women. ‘We know about Alex.’

  Rosie gave a small smile. ‘I gathered.’

  ‘Ben’s gone to get him.’

  ‘Okay.’ Disconcertingly unabashed she turned back into the kitchen and began filling the kettle. I followed her and watched while she got mugs and coffee from the cupboard.

  ‘I don’t know what to say to you,’ I said. Emotions ran riot around my adrenal glands. ‘I thought you might have told me.’

  Rosie shrugged. ‘Nothing to tell.’

  Anger rose again. ‘Right. Just say that to Saskia, would you?’

  A rising cry from Saskia indicated Alex’s arrival in the living room via the front of the cottage. Rose and I reached the doorway in time to see her launch herself at him across the room, ululating as she went, hands raised in fists in front of her face. ‘You –’

  Alex looked scared. ‘Sas?’ Then he looked over at Rosie and I was surprised to see the same expression of relief on his face as on hers. ‘I guess it’s over.’

  Saskia’s shriek of grief sawed across my nerve endings. It sounded as though her world was ending. ‘No! Please, don’t say that.’ And she stopped the rather pathetic slapping that she had been doing and flung her arms around Alex’s not-exactly inadequate torso. ‘I’m sorry I’ve been such a cold bitch, I’ve just been so scared and it’s the way I was brought up. My parents were the same and I don’t know how to love you but I’ll try, I really will try.’ She raised her porcelain face to his. ‘We could try counselling?’

  ‘I meant, that the pretence was over.’ Alex rested his chin on the top of her head. He had to stand a little bit on tiptoe to do it. ‘I’m sorry, Saskia. I should have come clean a long time ago, but …’

  ‘It was the village May Fair, last spring.’ Rosie stood in the doorway wiping her hands on a tea towel. ‘We both got very, very drunk.’

  ‘I had to carry you home,’ I said. ‘And you were sick down my blue jumper.’

  ‘I knew I’d had sex with someone but I couldn’t remember who. And then Alex came round to apologise. Kept apologising, too. It’s all right, Saskia, he thought I was you.’

  All of us looked from plump, dark-haired Rosie to blonde, broomhandle Saskia. ‘Blind drunk were you?’

  ‘It – look, I really was incredibly smashed.’ Alex stared at the worn carpet. ‘I mean, almost too drunk to do anything. But Sas had been helping out with the drinks and I went round to the back of the bar tent, saw her bending over to pick up the empties and – well, by the time I realised it wasn’t Sas, it was all over.’

  ‘It was terrible sex,’ Rosie agreed. ‘Really, really shocking.’

  ‘And Rosie and I, we agreed we wouldn’t mention it again.’

  ‘Ever,’ Rosie put in.

  ‘She didn’t even tell me she was expecting until I met her in the shop a couple of weeks before –’ His eyes raised ceilingwards. ‘Didn’t even tell me then, actually, I just, kind of deduced.’

  ‘I was the size of a bungalow. He couldn’t have missed it.’

  ‘And then, of course, I offered to pay but Rosie wouldn’t have it. Said that I’d hardly been present at the conception, it wasn’t really worth my while being present for the baby. But I – well. I love Oscar so much, I didn’t want this chap … Harry to miss out on a dad, so I – well, I’ve been getting together with Rosie just for updates and suchlike and also …’ Alex tailed off, scuffed a foot on the carpet, looking every inch the prep-school boy he’d no doubt once been.

  ‘He gives me stuff. Food, nappies, that kind of thing. Just to help out.’ Rosie shook her head. ‘I’d sort of convinced myself that Harry was some kind of immaculate conception. I don’t remember the sex. But Alex was so keen on doing the right thing. He’s even been taking me over to Blandford to look over the place.’

  ‘You were going to send him to the same school as Oscar?’ Saskia looked aghast. I wasn’t sure if it was because she thought Harry would lower the tone or whether it was some bizarre taboo in Upper-Class-Land.

  Alex looked more shamefaced, which was nearly impossible; his expression almost reached his knees as it was. ‘We would have had to put his name down before his first birthday, so I wanted Rosie to see what the place was like.’

  ‘It’s very nice,’ she put in. ‘And Oscar does like Harry.’

  ‘Oscar knows?’

  ‘Good God, no. Look Sas.’ Alex tilted her chin down so that she looked him in the eye. ‘Rosie and I – there never was a Rosie and me. We’ve been trying to deal with the repercussions as best we could without anyone getting hurt. I’m not sorry you found out, but I am sorry that you feel so betrayed. I do love you, I always have.’ Then, after a pause. ‘But maybe counselling might be a good idea?’

  Ben, Jason and I repaired to the kitchen to allow the three of them to talk more privately.

  ‘Anyone else think they’re protestin’ way, way too much?’ Jason asked succinctly, around a rich tea biscuit.

  ‘Yes, but they’re obviously happy to have it over. Maybe they only carried it on for something to do, some kind of physical connection. After all, Saskia hardly looks like she’s handing out the cuddles on a nightly basis, and life must be pretty lonely for Rosie sometimes. Maybe they both got caught up in the excitement of being illicit. Alex obviously loves Saskia.’ Ben looked at the closed door. ‘And she must love him to have done all those shitty things to you. I guess she wanted you both to pack up and leave, so she’d got him to herself again.’

  ‘You look happy, Jason. Family conflict turns you on, does it?’ I eyeballed him sternly.

  ‘Nah. But now things are out in the open, it all works for me. Rosie told me, yeah, that she wanted to go public with everything but she couldn’t risk Sas taking the work away. So she had to put up and shut up and she wouldn’t go to the States with me ’cos it would mean taking Hazzer away from his dad.’

  ‘It still would.’

  ‘Yeah, but now Sas knows, Alex could fly over and visit or be there at the end of the phone. Now, just maybe, she’ll start making a new life that isn’t full of secret rendyvooz.’

  ‘With you?’ Ben looked square at Jason and raised his eyebrows. I gathered that Jason and Rosie had been the subject of some Man-Talk.

  ‘Hope so.’ Jason gave a grin. ‘I really hope so.’

  ‘Yeah. Secrets are no basis for a relationship.’ There was an edge to the way Ben looked at me. ‘Let’s go home, Jem.’

  ‘Oho, please excuse my presence,’ Jason exclaimed. ‘You two want to do the nasty thing, you just carry on.’

  I was feeling a bit shaken. Saskia’s m
eltdown had reinforced my opinion that love meant you left yourself open. ‘Yes. Let’s go.’

  Ben gave me that look again, joggling the car keys from hand to hand. ‘Come on.’ He dipped his head to whisper in my ear. ‘Let’s get away from the high drama.’

  Jason winked at me and mouthed ‘ice cubes’, then helped himself to another biscuit.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  We made love slowly, stretched out on the huge bed in the attic, surrounded by printed sheets of music and lit by a single streetlamp. Ben’s room was like him, rumpled and spare, full of half-written tunes and as colour-co-ordinated as a litter of kittens. His skin, barred with light from beyond the blinds, was cool over mine, his eyes were black, then yellow as he moved over me, into the beam and then back into shadow, staring into my face as though he was waiting to see my soul rise.

  ‘Jem,’ he was breathing my name. ‘Jem. You and me …’ I opened my mouth to reply but he pressed his lips to mine to cover the words, and then it was too late to speak. Too late for anything but mounting heat and motion that built until I was catching at his back with my nails and stammering meaningless syllables while he raised himself above me and groaned my name. He held his weight on his arms a moment longer, then let himself slide so that our faces were level once more. ‘I’ve been thinking.’

  ‘Mmmm?’ I could hardly bring myself to talk now. It was so easy here to forget the doubts. My arms and legs were heavy and my head was drowsily full of the sense of his closeness. I wanted to lie here and just enjoy the feeling while it lasted. ‘What about?’

  Ben propped himself up, his face animated. ‘How would you feel … I can’t believe I’m about to say this … if, maybe, we could, you know …’

  ‘No. No idea, I’m afraid. How many syllables?’

  He grinned widely and stroked my shoulder. ‘How about if we bought a place out at Little Gillmoor?’

  ‘What?’ Claustrophobia snatched my breath. I sat up sharply, gathering covers to my naked chest.

  ‘Hey, don’t panic, Jem. It’s okay. Like I said, no pressure. I just thought it might be good, one day, to have somewhere out of town. I’m going to need a studio and you need a proper workshop space, and – you know we’re good together. Couldn’t you stand more of this?’ He waved a long-fingered hand. ‘Us. Properly.’ Ben sat up beside me.

  Blood thundered in my ears as he pressed a kiss to my hot skin, his hair painting a pointillistic design across my collarbone. ‘I’m … not sure …’

  ‘I want to be with you, Jem. Committed. No half-assed “seeing each other”, but a real couple, living together. Security.’ Under the covers musician’s fingers stroked my leg, my back.

  ‘I don’t know. Ben …’

  Another firm kiss covered my mouth. ‘Don’t say anything yet. Sleep on it.’ He was sliding next to me, slipping already into sleep and curling his long legs and strong arms around my body. Pulling me tight against him. ‘We’ll talk in the morning, babe.’

  I lay very still until he fell asleep, carefully judging the moment when his restlessness settled into heavy slumber. My heart was beating so hard that I felt sick and my head buzzed. My mouth tasted like bleach, but I didn’t dare move. At last Ben sighed and turned over and I slipped out of the bed. One good thing, I thought, about sleeping with a deaf guy, you didn’t have to worry about floorboards creaking and waking him up. I dressed and sidled into the guest room where my rucksack squatted in the middle of the bed, fully packed. Even now with all that had passed between us, I’d kept it zipped and buckled. I’d sneaked clothes from under its flap as though stealing from myself, returning them furtively each night. The simple task of unpacking, of taking up space in the cupboards Ben had cleared for me, had felt fraudulent. Couldn’t do it. To empty the bag would be to settle, to admit to feelings that I couldn’t understand, let alone come to terms with. And now I knew why I’d never settled – because I never would. It simply hurt too much. I swiped an arm through the strap and hauled it to my shoulders. The weight felt familiar, comforting, with all my belongings hanging down my back. This was how it should be. Everything contained, clothes, possessions, books. Feelings. All wrapped up and ready to move on.

  Down the stairs. I gave the place one last complete glance. Even in my panic I recognised this would probably be the last time I found myself in such luxury and I wanted to remember it. All of it, from our last panting embrace in the untidy bedroom to the exact way the moonlight gleamed on the top of the scrubbed pine table. There was a new picture on the dresser, an old photo, five years old maybe, from the length of Ben’s hair and the acute boniness of his hips. It looked as though it had been taken during a live performance of Willow Down; it had that kind of almost-blurredness of people who have hardly stopped moving long enough for the shutter to freeze them. Zafe and Ben stood with their arms locked around each other’s shoulders, shirtless and sweaty and wearing two identical expressions of total bliss. Ben was grinning out at the photographer, eyes wide, and Zafe was half-turned towards him, guitar slung over his back, total elation shining from every sweat-soaked pore. Ben must have had this image in his mind every day, locked away in a cupboard to stop it reminding him of everything he’d lost; the band, Zafe, the music. And now he’d taken it out. Somehow he’d found the courage to put the picture where he could see it, where it would remind him of everything that had gone.

  Something deep in me broke like a china doll. I’d seen that look on Ben’s face. Not just in a photograph but when he’d talked about buying a place in the village, when he’d looked at me and spoken aloud his hopes and dreams. He’d had that same shining look of optimism and anticipation. How could I destroy that? How could I walk away from a man who looked at me like that?

  But I had to. Had to go, or risk that terrible pain of loss once more. And I couldn’t stand it, not again.

  Saskia had showed me what it would be like. You put all your trust in one person, left yourself open to them, and that gave them the power to hurt you. I’d so nearly fallen for it, been so close to loving Ben. So close to giving him everything. But doing that only got me hurt. So now – time to go before things got worse.

  Ben had been wrong. Running was the only answer. Sooner or later everyone went. And what I felt for him – my insides squeezed as the enormity of my feelings made themselves known – it was something I couldn’t bear.

  I looked at the photo again. Two men having the time of their lives. No inhibitions, no holding back, but throwing everything into their music. No worries about what would happen tomorrow, no foreshadowing of the terrible disease that would strike the heart from the band. Living for the day. For what was now, not what had been or what was to come. Proof that, even while you had the world at your feet, it could be breaking your toes, one at a time without you even knowing.

  Life really was shit sometimes.

  I swung the rucksack onto my shoulders and tightened the straps. Hefted the weight from side to side, and turned for the door.

  There he was in the moonlight in front of me. Completely naked, bleached by the white light except for the dark shining circle of the Celtic mark around his bicep. Softly he trod the floor that separated us. He smelled of sleep, of clean bedsheets and, smokily, of sex.

  ‘So,’ he said carefully. ‘You lied again, Jem. You said – and I think I quote here – that you’d stop and think before you ran again. Is this stopping to think? Or is this a knee-jerk reaction?’ He reached out and touched the rucksack.

  ‘I can’t stay, Ben,’ I whispered. ‘I’m too afraid of getting hurt.’

  He hardly looked real, his body pale and ghostly in the weird glimmer, hair dark as blood. ‘Everyone’s afraid of getting hurt, Jem, me included. But sometimes you have to gamble.’

  ‘I’ve been left alone too many times to want to put myself through it all again, not for anyone. I’m sorry Ben. I have to protect myself.’

  ‘Oh, Jesus.’ Ben leaned against the counter. ‘I can’t believe I’m having this conversation,
naked in the middle of the night. Is this all because you think I’m going to wake up one day and realise you were a big mistake? That I felt obligated to you because I told you about the deafness? Jem, my love, you have got some seriously warped ideas, haven’t you?’

  ‘I only know what I can see. You,’ I waved a hand. ‘All this. You say that you love me, that you want me. But how long does that last Ben, really? And I’ve got nothing but myself. You’ll always have Willow Down to save you. But there’s nothing to save me.’

  He moved so quickly I hardly saw him coming, and then he had me by the shoulders. ‘But you are saving yourself, don’t you see? Do you not see what you’ve become? Jemima, you …’ He broke off, shaking his head and dropping his hands from me. ‘Christ. You really don’t. You don’t know. Okay. When I first met you, you were someone else, someone defeated. What had happened to you, it had you running scared. And over the time I’ve known you, look at what you’ve achieved! Tonight, when you faced down Saskia because you were afraid of what she was doing to Rosie … Would you have done that before?’

  ‘Ben …’

  ‘You ran to Glasgow, but you came back. You faced up to what you’d done. You told me, you told Rosie, about your past. You’ve confronted what you were, and you’ve become someone stronger as a result. You don’t have to be with me. You could be anywhere.’ His voice dropped. ‘But I want you here. And, believe me, Jemima, you aren’t the only one who’s afraid of being hurt.’ A slow hand raised and touched my cheek. ‘Please.’ His voice was a broken whisper now. ‘Please, don’t leave me.’

  My breathing snagged. Tears began to dribble towards my chin. ‘I’m still so scared.’

  ‘We all are. We’re all scared, Jem. Everyone. But we have to trust someone, sometime. I trusted you when I told you about what had happened to me. In fact, I trusted you from the beginning.’

  I did a snorty laugh. ‘Yeah, right. You didn’t even notice me until I asked you to dinner, and scared you half to death!’