Seeing Stars

by Christina Jones

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Stars!

  There was a split second as the curtains swept back when Amber knew she was holding her breath, then, just as Freddo had predicted, the hairs on the back of her neck prickled and her flesh shivered.

  The JB Roadshow, in a blaze of moving criss-cross lights and twinkling star-studded backdrop, exploded into ‘Sock It To ’em JB’ their trademark opening number.

  The sound was out of this world.

  The drummer thundered out the famous James Bond rhythm as the other band members moved in synchro, sidestepping, rocking their instruments into the air as the singer strutted, shouting into the audience. Then the two guitarists, followed by the organ, took up the tune, which grew and roared round the hall. The band were now moving in unison as they played, the overhead star-lights cascading down on them.

  The singer grabbed his microphone again and yelled out the James Bond film titles. The Masonic Hall joined in with gusto.

  The guitarists moved together, their fingers sliding expertly over the strings, the volume increasing, as again the organist picked up the main thread while the singer, enticing and seducing his audience, swayed and stamped and socked it to ’em in a frenzied crescendo of noise. The beat pulsed into Amber’s body. She could literally feel the bass line in her bones. Oh, it was spectacular. Real, live music by musicians who knew how to play – and then some. It knocked clubbing and mixing decks into an entire hatstand of cocked headgear.

  She stared, transfixed at the stage, her body moving to the beat, knowing she was laughing. They were sensational. Truly, truly sensational.

  And Freddo’s photos hadn’t lied at all. Well, OK, maybe the three brass players had slight paunches and the keyboard player had less hair than the others, but otherwise, considering they must be ancient, they were fantastically well persevered. All tall and lean and looking the real McCoy in tight black velvet flares and neon bright satin shirts, the JB Roadshow brought the Masonic Hall to its knees.

  As ‘Sock It To ’em JB’ came to its ear-splitting climatic end, everyone was on their feet clapping, yelling, screaming for more. The band had hardly broken sweat and, knowing they were great, smiled down at their adoring audience.

  The singer, all dyed blonde hair and wicked grin, moved his body sexily towards the microphone and with the drummer and the bass player still quietly keeping the beat, introduced the band to massive rounds of applause.

  ‘Our brass section – Monty, Pete, and Joey! On drums – Jezza Samson! On lead guitar – Berry Knight! On bass guitar – Clancy Tavistock! On organ – Ricky Swain! And who have I forgotten?’

  ‘Yourself!’ screamed the Masonic Hall.

  ‘Ah yes,’ he winked. ‘And I’m your vocalist – Tiff Clayton! Ladies and gents – get up on your feet, get on to the floor, put your hands in the air and welcome The-J-B-ROADSHOW! Let’s hear it ONE-MORE-TIME!’

  The Masonic Hall erupted.

  The next number was the Bar-Kays irrepressible ‘Soul Finger’, and within seconds of the gotta-move opening bars, the floor was packed. Everyone danced and waved their arms above their heads.

  Again, on stage, the JB Roadshow thundered, stamped, clapped and played up a storm.

  ‘Stone me!’ Lewis yelled in her ear. ‘It’s exactly, exactly like listening to my ma’s records! This is what I grew up listening to. They are absolutely brilliant. She would have loved this!’

  Oh, she will, Amber thought. Fiddlesticks will have the JB Roadshow for Harvest Moon even if it means I have to sell my body to pay for them.

  Jem was on his feet, balancing himself against the table, clapping his hands and swaying with delight.

  ‘Come on, Jem!’ Amber bent down and shouted. ‘Dance with me!’

  Grabbing both her hands, Jem grinned and moved out on to the packed floor. Finding a vacant patch in front of the stage, Amber held his hands tightly and they stomped and rocked to ‘Knock on Wood’, followed by ‘Soul Man’ then ‘Sweet Soul Music’ – each one sounding better than the last.

  ‘Call me a gooseberry if you like,’ Lewis yelled, moving between them and taking one of Jem’s hands in his, ‘but I’m not missing out on this!’

  ‘In the Midnight Hour’ was followed by ‘Mustang Sally’ and they danced together, grinning like children, singing the wrong words, elated.

  Soul tune after soul tune, all perfect, roared and rocked from the stage. Amber felt she could have danced all night. She’d never felt so high, so alive.

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ Tiff Clayton caressed the microphone, with the last chords of ‘Hold On I’m Coming’ reverberating round the hall, ‘we’re going to take a break for twenty minutes. Then we’ll be back – and yes, I promise you, for – er – Joyce and Brian and all you like-minded lovers out there, we’ll be playing some slow and smoochy soul in our second set!’

  Everyone clapped and whooped.

  ‘In the meantime, get the drinks in, rest your feet and well see you again in twenty minutes when we’ll sock it to you ONE-MORE-TIME!’

  Still cheering and applauding, everyone made a beeline for the bar.

  The noise was echoing in Amber’s ears. She’d probably hear it all night, long after they’d left Winterbrook.

  ‘I’ll get some drinks,’ she grinned dazedly at Lewis. ‘Shall I?’

  ‘I’m just going to take Jem to the gents – so, yeah, great – and I’ll see you in a bit.’

  He smiled at her. Jem, still jigging, smiled at them both and winked.

  By the time the second set started, they were all a little drunk. Amber, deciding that they’d probably never get served again, had got four of everything.

  This time, the JB Roadshow opened with a shortened version of ‘Sock It To ’em JB’ combined with ‘Soul Finger’. Instantly, everyone was on their feet, albeit a little more raucously and unsteadily this time. Amber watched them on stage, feeling the music throb into her, the frisson of excitement tingle through her veins.

  They were electric, exciting, noisy, talented, and very, very sexy.

  ‘Come on,’ Lewis grabbed her hand as the band roared into ‘I Feel Good’. ‘This is seriously good – come on, Jem.’

  They danced together again, holding Jem’s hands, crushed by Joyce and Brian’s friends as the soul music, song after familiar song, thundered up into the stucco and gilding.

  This, Amber thought dreamily, is the best night of my life – ever.

  ‘And now –’ Tiff Clayton once again caressed the microphone ‘– we’re going to slow things down a bit with a special request from Brian for Joyce on this very special day …’

  The Masonic Hall went ‘Aaaah …’

  ‘So let’s see all you lovers out there smooch away to Brian’s heartfelt choice: the late great Otis Redding’s “I’ve Been Loving You Too Long”.’

  Lewis and Amber looked at one another and spluttered with laughter.

  As the slow, soulful opening bars started, Jem pulled them all closer together. Amber grinned down at him, shaking her head. Then they swayed slowly, the three of them, as Tiff Clayton growled out the bittersweet lyrics.

  As the band moved on to ‘Private Number’, Joyce and Brian appeared to be having words.

  Jem pulled away from them, frowning, pointing down to his feet.

  ‘What’s up?’ Lewis leaned close to him. ‘Have you hurt yourself?’

  Jem shook his head, then placed his palms-together hands against the side of his face.

  ‘Tired? You lightweight!’ Lewis laughed. ‘OK – go and sit this one out. Can you manage OK?’

  Jem nodded, and as he made his way carefully through the swaying couples he turned and winked at Amber.

  It just seemed so natural, as the JB Roadshow slinked into the sultry ‘When a Man Loves a Woman’, to move into Lewis’s arms. As he slid his hands round her waist, Amber felt as though her flesh was on fire. She slowly put her hands onto his shoulders, knowing she was trembling, praying he wouldn’t notice. They moved easily toget
her, bodies touching, moving away, moving back again. Natural. Instinctive. Like lovers.

  The JB Roadshow kept them in this delicious state through several more Otis Redding and Ben E King numbers, then Tiff Clayton spoiled it all by announcing they were having a further uptempo soul selection for the boppers.

  As the band started their stepping and swaying routine and ‘Land of a Thousand Dances’ screamed into the hall, Amber moved away from Lewis. ‘I think I’ll join the lightweights,’ she said, her voice disappearing into the music. ‘OK?’

  He nodded, still smiling, and followed her back to the table where Jem had rearranged the sequinned heaven again and was grinning from ear to ear.

  ‘Yeah, OK,’ Amber hissed at him. ‘Very clever. It worked – but it was only a dance or two. Not a lifetime commitment. And I hope you’ve left us something to drink …’

  Still beaming, Jem pushed the glasses across the table.

  ‘Feeling better?’ Lewis asked, as he sat down. ‘Good. And I think we’ll have to rechristen you. Oh, no – don’t look all innocent like that. You need renaming, and no, not Arty, you meddlesome sod. I think we’ll have to call you Puck’n’Cupid from now on.’

  ‘I’ve already told him,’ Amber said lightly, ‘that it was only dancing.’

  ‘Exactly,’ Lewis drained half a pint of beer without stopping. ‘Only dancing …’

  They sat back in their chairs, closer together now, relaxed. Amber, reliving every minute of his hands burning through her flimsy frock, his body touching hers, wondered if Lewis could still hear her heart thundering. Oh, bugger the love-thing. Why Lewis? Why, oh, why had she fallen head over heels for a man who, at best treated her as a friend, and at worst, seemed totally disinterested.

  It had never been like this – heady, floaty, walking on air – with Jamie. It had never been like this, full-stop.

  The party was coming to an end. Amber simply wanted it to last for ever.

  The JB Roadshow hadn’t flagged, each song was as fresh, as professional, as the one preceding it. It had been a truly amazing experience.

  ‘Hi, Amber, duck,’ a cheerful voice chuckled above her.

  ‘You look good enough to eat. Everything OK? Enjoying it?’

  ‘Freddo! How lovely to see you,’ she grinned delightedly up at him. ‘Thanks so much for this – it’s been a brilliant night. It’s – they’ve –’ she nodded towards the stage ‘– been fantastic. Everything you said and more. I didn’t think you’d be here …’

  ‘Got to make sure my boys get their dues.’ Freddo put his glass on the table and pulled up a chair. ‘I always try and make the last bit of the act anyway to see how they’ve gone down and pick up any future gigs. All the boring management stuff, you know. Hi.’ He leaned across the table, holding out his hand. ‘I’m Freddo. Agent to the stars.’

  Amber laughingly introduced Lewis and Jem and everyone shook hands.

  ‘So.’ Freddo cocked his head on one side. ‘Will they suit, duck? The boys? For your moon gig?’

  ‘Absolutely. Definitely. They’re just brilliant.’

  ‘OK, so when you’ve got the go-ahead from your people you just give me a bell – or better still, come along to see me in person and we’ll firm up.’

  Amber nodded.

  The JB Roadshow were winding down now, playing Aretha Franklin and Solomon Burke. The Masonic Hall was smooching madly. Joyce and Brian were dancing the last dance with other people.

  Freddo pushed his chair back. ‘Give us ten minutes or so when the set’s finished, then come round the back of the stage. All of you. Bring both your young men too, natch, duck. You can meet the boys, give them a bit more info about your gig. OK?’

  ‘Yes, great, thanks.’

  ‘Just go up the stage steps there to the side, round the curtain, across the stage, and there’s a little blue door straight ahead of you. You’ll find us – no sweat.’

  Jem chuckled happily as Freddo said adios and pushed his way up on the stage and round the side of the heavy curtains.

  ‘Is he for real?’ Lewis laughed. ‘I thought you’d exaggerated. This has been a hell of a night.’ He leaned across the table. ‘Thanks, Amber. Thanks for all of it. I can’t remember when I last enjoyed myself so much. It’s been sheer magic.’

  Jem, filling his pockets with star sequins, indicated that he heartily concurred.

  Twenty minutes later, with the Masonic Hall’s clearingup, saying-goodnight, mwah-mwah noises in the background, Amber, with Lewis holding tightly on to Jem’s hand behind her, pushed her way into the backstage dressing room.

  The room was smoky, and reeked of beer and cigarettes and a raft of different deodorants. A couple of pot-bellied, long-haired, middle-aged men were rolling up cables, wheeling amplifiers, and generally tidying up the necessary rock’n’roll paraphernalia.

  The JB Roadshow, stripped of their on-stage glitz, were all dressed in jeans and T-shirts and slumped, exhausted on various bits of equipment swigging beer from cans. They still looked, to Amber, pretty damn hot for their age.

  ‘Hi guys!’ Freddo waved his can of lager across the room. ‘Come along in. I’ve told the boys all about you.’

  Tiff Clayton, the singer, more lined close to but nonetheless still extremely attractive, laughed. ‘He certainly has – but he lied. You’re even more stunning than he said.’

  Everyone laughed then. Amber blushed.

  Freddo stretched. ‘I’ve told them all about your weird village thing, duck. I mean, being local, I know how strange these rural customs can be and Fiddlesticks is renowned for its moon-bayers – but even so, they didn’t quite believe it.’

  ‘Believe it,’ Lewis nodded. ‘The place is mad. Barking. But they’ll love you. You – all of you – were, are, brilliant.’

  ‘Thanks, mate.’ Tiff Clayton grinned, his face creasing into wrinkles. ‘We try to please.’

  Amber felt ridiculously shy now, being backstage with the band who were, after all, a bunch of tired middle-aged men who’d just finished work. Her ears were still ringing.

  ‘Um—’ she smiled at everyone, ‘I just wanted to say, well, what Lewis has just said really. You are amazing. I’ve never heard anything so fantastic in my life. Er—’

  The band raised their cans to her.

  ‘What I’d suggested to the boys just before you came in –’ Freddo yawned ‘– is that if your people give the go-ahead, I’ll come over and give the place a bit of a recce. I’d like to check out the venue for myself. I mean, being an open-air gig, I’ll need to know we’ve got all services to hand, and the safety stuff – all the boring crap that has to be done these days – will that be OK?’

  ‘Fine,’ Amber nodded. ‘Good idea. Look, if it’s OK, why don’t you come over on one of the other celestial festival nights?’ She glanced up at Lewis. ‘When’s the next one?’

  ‘Plough Night – it’s not anything spectacular, but yes, it’d give you a bit of a taster and you could get the lay of the land and stuff.’

  ‘Plough Night it is then,’ Freddo said. ‘And when’s that exactly?’

  ‘Middle of August – not long.’

  ‘Sounds good to me. So, Amber duck, you’ll be in touch and all being well, is it a date?’

  ‘Definitely,’ she smiled happily at the band who now looked as though all they wanted to do was sleep for a week. ‘We’ll see you in the middle of August – and Fiddlesticks won’t know what’s hit it.’

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  What A Little Moonlight Can Do

  ‘So –’ Fern bounced up and down in the corner shop’s already broiling early morning queue ‘– then last night he said that he couldn’t understand why he’d never before realised that I was a woman.’

  Amber, who days later still simply couldn’t get ‘Sock It To ’em JB’ out of her head, frowned. ‘And you took that as a compliment, did you?’

  ‘Naturally.’

  Fern bounced some more. Her chest was leaping up and down on its own. Billy Grinley
and Dougie Patchcock, thumbing through what passed for Mrs Jupp’s top-shelf mags, stopped leering over the rather demure centrefolds and leered at Fern instead.

  ‘So, is it – I mean – are you – you know?’

  ‘Together?’ Fern giggled. ‘Nah – not yet. But I’m working on it. Oh, but it’s so lovely after all those years of loving from afar to actually be able to talk to him, and laugh with him, and be with him, and share things. We –’ she looked quite serious ‘– have got a lot of learning stuff to do, though. I mean, we don’t really know each other at all. We’re at that lovely stage where everything we say is all new and fresh and exciting.’

  Amber shook her head. It was inexplicable. It certainly sounded like love – well, maybe not the madly crazy, topsy-turvy, heart-punching, all-in-a-heap, out-of-nowhere love that she felt for Lewis, of course – but love nevertheless.

  ‘And have you mentioned to Timmy that this – this bolt from the blue – occurred straight after Cassiopeia’s Carnival? I mean, does he believe that it’s astral magic at work, too?’

  ‘Oh, yeah, definitely,’ Fern grinned as the queue shuffled forward. ‘He says he went to bed that night dreaming of whisking Zillah off to some Daphne du Maurier hideaway where he intended to propose – and woke up knowing it was the worst idea he’d ever had in his life. He said it scared him rigid. He thought he was going mad. And then he said, when he saw me outside the pub that morning, he knew, he just knew …’

  ‘OK, I agree it all sounds pretty miraculous, but –’ Amber frowned ‘ – you can’t move in with him, can you at the moment? You can’t live together? Or work permanently at the pub? Or, well, be together as a couple at all, because of Hayfields and Win.’

  Much to Dougie and Billy’s delight, Fern bounced even more. Amber fleetingly wondered if she should mention getting a good sports bra. No, possibly not. Anyway, whatever else she thought about the Timmy-Fern thing, even she had to admit that Fern’s bosoms were absolutely made for bar work.

  Fern spun round on one foot. Her chest caught up eventually. ‘Ah, but even that’s going to be OK. See, my contract with Hayfields is up at the end of the year – I’m on short-term contracts. Different clients who are just passing through, or being assessed for other homes. It’s not a lifetime one-to-one commitment like Lewis and Jem – because Win’s leaving Hayfields in December. She’s moving to Devon. To a similar sort of set-up but nearer to her family. She’s really excited – she’s been waiting ages to get a place down there. I was never going with her – sooo it’ll mean I’ll be absolutely free to be with Timmy for ever and always from Christmas. Magic, huh?’