Love Song

by Sophia Bennett

  Lying around in Tammy’s room one day, I saw a picture of a coat I liked the look of in one of her magazines. Next to it was the intro to an article with their ‘Star of the Week’, and before I could help myself, my eyes were scanning the lines.

  As Backstage heads for our screens again, Sigrid Santorini talks about her love split, her new co-star beau, and the rumours that it was her break-up with Jamie Maldon that inspired the songs on The Point’s eagerly awaited new album, Pilgrim Soul. ‘What Jamie and I had was special. We touched each other in ways that were very deep. It’s why I just had to let him go. It got too intense. We were like the Elizabeth Taylor and Tim Burton of our generation. But I am truly blessed. Toby and I are so happy now.’

  So they weren’t together any more. Was it true that Sigrid had caused the break-up in the end? I didn’t know, and didn’t care. I knew both of them well enough by now to believe that anything was possible. But Tammy was furious on my behalf about the songs.

  ‘Why doesn’t he say anything? Those songs were about you, Neens. Why does everything always have to be about her? Why does he let her get away with this?’

  She was really steaming. She’d hated Sigrid with a passion before, and now she hated her even more, and Jamie with it. He didn’t give any interviews to correct the stories. Any thoughts of giving him the benefit of the doubt were gone.

  I read, too, that someone had bought Heatherwick Hall. The reports didn’t say who. I tried not to picture it being turned into a school, or a hotel, or a luxury pad, fit for a millionaire, with matching furniture and perfect plaster everywhere.

  I was busy working on my application portfolio for an art-school foundation course, and I was using my pictures of the house. Page after page of sketches, photography, painting, and even a 3D model of the Silk Room. More than anything, I was trying to create the sense of unreality I’d felt while I was there. The perfect, damaged place for a damaged band and a damaged girl.

  My Hall would always be slightly broken. It would have ancient windows that didn’t fit their frames, and saggy sofas adopted as their own by leggy dogs. It would have chickens in the garden, and rooms with peeling wallpaper – an eerie background for unusual photoshoots. There would be horses and boats, and a festival in the grounds each summer – camping and lanterns in the trees and music. But at its essence, it would always be falling apart. The soundtrack to my portfolio was the blues.

  Ariel came to find me a few days before Christmas. Her face was pale.

  ‘You didn’t tell me.’

  I was busy working on a sky of stars on the ceiling of Pip and Lara’s bedroom. I wasn’t really concentrating.

  ‘Tell you what?’

  ‘This.’

  She held up her phone. A tinny tune was playing through the earbuds. I could hardly make it out. ‘What is it?’

  She put one of the buds in my ear.

  Like a bird, like an angel

  Across the golden sky

  Ariel

  Take me there

  ‘Ah,’ I said. ‘Oh, that.’

  The band must have released the first single. In my eagerness to forget what I could about the Hall, I realized I’d forgotten to mention her song. It was bound to come out some day.

  She put her face up close to mine. She wasn’t happy.

  ‘Yeah. That. Would you care to explain, by any chance?’

  I shrugged. ‘I told Jamie about you. How you cut your blue off, because of the way he treated me. He was sorry.’

  Her face changed instantly, from fury to wonder. Her hand unconsciously went to her hair.

  ‘So it is about me? Really me?’

  ‘Mostly you,’ I agreed. ‘And a bit of Shakespeare, I think. He’s a big reader.’

  ‘Not the mermaid?’

  ‘Absolutely not the mermaid. You, Lellie. Do you like it?’

  She nodded dumbly. Her eyes were glistening. ‘Yes. Can I tell people?’

  ‘I’m sure he won’t mind,’ I said. ‘Except—’

  And then it hit me. If she told her friends the full story, she’d have to tell them all about me and Jamie. And so far that was, mercifully, a secret.

  Was that why he hadn’t corrected Sigrid, when she’d let people believe that she’d inspired all the songs? Because to correct her would require talking about me, and he knew that I wanted nothing to do with him any more? Was he trying to protect me?

  Suddenly, I wasn’t sure about him again. Wow, Jamie Maldon – he had seemingly endless power to unbalance me.

  ‘Are you all right?’ Ariel asked. She looked worried.

  ‘Yes, I’m fine. And tell your friends if you want to. Maybe you could say I met him while I was doing my art project. It’s kind of true. Hopefully they won’t ask too many questions.’

  She smiled. ‘You’re the only person I can imagine who’s hoping people won’t ask her about Jamie Maldon.’ Then the worried look came back. ‘But should I be asking? What happened, Neenie?’

  I told her then. And she held my hand and stroked my hair. She knew what it was like to love Jamie and lose him. I should have talked to her about him a long time ago.

  Christmas Day was an endless feast. We ate so much turkey and trimmings we could hardly move. Afterwards, Mum and Dad offered to wash up. I knew they really fancied some time alone to chat. They’d been up until nearly midnight, wrapping things, and awake since dawn with the twins, unwrapping them again.

  Michael disappeared upstairs to Skype his new girlfriend while the rest of us piled on to the sofas in the front room, watching Doctor Who and whatever other TV came on. In the evening there was a variety show hosted by Rose Ireland, who was one of Ariel’s favourite singers, now she listened to other people in the charts.

  ‘And now … I can’t believe it!’ Rose beamed across the airwaves. ‘I’m so excited! Here are some of my very best friends – fresh from recording their latest album. I’ve heard it, and it’s incredible. Look! Here they are! Sitting right in front of me!’ The camera panned over to the opposite sofa. ‘The Point!’

  Ariel groaned and I felt my body go rigid, but Josh had buried the remote somewhere and we were too wiped out to find it. I wasn’t going to waste my energy on The Point.

  ‘They look pretty,’ Lara said, watching from my lap.

  ‘They do,’ I agreed, because it was a simple fact.

  Four famous hairstyles – the fourth one now being Declan’s – sitting on a sofa, being interviewed. Déjà vu.

  ‘D’you want me to turn it off?’ Ariel asked. But she had Pip fast asleep on top of her, and the interview wouldn’t last long. I knew what kind of thing they’d say anyway. I’d heard them often enough.

  ‘No. Leave it.’

  ‘First of all, how’s George?’ Rose asked them, with a concerned little frown.

  ‘He’s doing OK,’ Angus said. ‘Out of rehab now. He wants to thank everyone for their messages, by the way. He’s taking it one day at a time, got a new band … Nothing crazy like us.’ Angus gave that rare and irresistible half-smile of his. ‘Yeah. He’s good.’

  Rose smiled back. ‘Now, I don’t need to ask what you’ve been up to lately,’ she went on, ‘because I was lucky enough to catch up with you in LA. Look – here we are.’

  The producers showed a picture of Rose on a night out with the boys. Their girlfriends were there too: Issy – skinny and balletic; Connor with a supermodel looking impossibly tall; and next to Jamie a crop-haired, athletic-looking girl I didn’t recognize. His arm rested casually on her shoulder. The audience ah-ed at them all together, and applauded. Meanwhile, my heart discovered that there were further cracks and fissures it could endure.

  ‘And like I say, I heard the album,’ Rose went on gushingly. ‘And it’s a collection of love songs. Some of them are heartbreaking. Some are so tender. I have to ask – are you loved up these days, all of you?’

  Jamie’s face was unreadable. Connor blushed. Angus nudged him in the ribs and grinned.

  ‘Well, the Love God’s m
anaged to hang on to a girl for longer than thirty seconds. Major personal record.’

  ‘Congratulations!’ Rose grinned. ‘So, what’s your secret?’

  ‘Letters,’ Connor said, his face cracking into a grin. ‘Lots of letters.’

  ‘Verushka says he writes like Tolstoy,’ Declan laughed. ‘Turns out it works. We all write letters now.’

  ‘I find my personal magnetism generally does it,’ Angus said smugly, only half joking. ‘But we wrote our best stuff when we were single. You know, when you want someone and you don’t know if you’ll ever get them …’

  ‘I know,’ Rose said, smiling. ‘I’ve been there. I’m surprised you have, though.’

  ‘Oh, we have,’ Angus groaned. ‘Well, Romeo over there has.’ He pointed at Jamie. At which point they all joined in.

  ‘There was this girl … love of his life …’

  ‘Jamie lost her …’

  ‘Tried to get her back … didn’t work.’

  ‘Oh?’ Rose asked.

  ‘Yeah. He had this grand plan. Total failure …’

  ‘He’d messed up too badly.’

  ‘Hopeless with women, aren’t you, mate?’

  Angus cuffed his friend on the back of the head. Jamie hardly reacted. He hadn’t said a word throughout this whole conversation.

  My phone was already ringing. Tammy.

  I answered it. ‘Happy Christmas!’

  ‘Whatever. Are you watching this?’ she said. There was no need to specify.

  ‘Accidentally,’ I admitted.

  ‘So. Two nights ago I was at this thing you wouldn’t go to …’ (‘This thing’ was Tammy-code for a pre-Christmas party held by Clemmie, Jez’s by-now-ex-girlfriend. Yes, I was more of a party girl now, but there were limits.)

  ‘Yes …?’ I wasn’t fully concentrating, as the TV screen kept distractingly showing a blown-up image of Jamie’s stony, silent face. What was he thinking about? Or rather, who? Was it the crop-haired girl in the picture? Did he meet her in LA, after he split up with Sigrid? Right now, I had zero interest in Tammy’s social life.

  ‘… and she was talking about this so-called secret gig they’re supposed to be doing at the Rialto. I just assumed it was a joke, or a tribute band, because … the Rialto? But now I get it, Neens. Look at the boy!’

  I had caught about one word in five of this. Tammy was talking way too fast – she must be high on her mum’s brandy-soaked Christmas pudding or something – and she seemed to think I’d be interested in some event taking place in Croydon’s second-largest music venue. I beyond didn’t care.

  ‘Look, Tam, can I get back to you? I’m kind of busy …’

  ‘Shut up and listen, you numpty. The Point. Are doing. A gig. In Croydon.’

  ‘No, they aren’t,’ I sighed, shifting Lara over a bit so I could see the screen better. Because, obviously.

  Tammy sighed back, louder and more huffily.

  ‘Well I think they might be. You know them. Did any of them go to the BRIT School?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Did they have lots of mates from there, who they constantly talked about?’

  ‘Not that they mentioned.’

  ‘Are they fans of Ikea? Do they love car parks?’

  ‘Tammy! What are you on?’

  ‘Say Clemmie’s right. D’you think they chose this – much as I love it, but hello? – this dump for their secret gig because a girl Jamie wrote a bunch of songs about lives here?’

  Oh.

  But no.

  Just … no.

  I stared at the TV. By now, the boys were playing a live-broadcast world premiere of Ariel, with Rose Ireland guesting on backing vocals. They looked iconic.

  ‘There was this girl … Love of his life …’

  ‘N-no,’ I stammered. ‘It’s not possible.’

  ‘Fine,’ Tammy sighed. ‘They just chose Croydon for the hell of it. Because hey, it’s an obvious venue …’

  Was it true? Were they coming here for me? They couldn’t be.

  This wasn’t good. I was back in the Silk Room, with Jamie shouting through the door at me, and I didn’t want to be. That was categorically the worst moment of my life – worse, even, than standing in front of Sigrid in the dining room, because then there was nothing I could do about it, but in the Silk Room I had a choice. I had to choose to keep him out, for the sake of my sanity. I hated myself then, too.

  ‘There’s only one thing,’ Tammy mused, ignoring my total silence at the other end of the line. ‘Why do it and not let you know? Look, are you sure he hasn’t invited you?’

  Back in my room, I looked around in a state of surreal confusion. Whatever grand plan Jamie had had, it was too late now – they’d said so. ‘Tried to get her back … Didn’t work.’ And anyway, there was this other girl now. Maybe Tammy was wrong about the Croydon thing after all.

  I didn’t want to know, but I had to. I didn’t want to do this, but I must.

  The place was messier than usual. Bright Christmas wrapping paper was strewn all over the floor, teasingly revealing little piles of new presents and bigger ones of discarded clothes. My portfolio and sketchbooks covered the desk.

  Where did I put it?

  I paused in the sea of paper and clothes, and put my fingers to my temples.

  I didn’t open it, but I didn’t throw it away.

  Nothing in my desk drawers, or my bedside table. Nothing poking out of the books on the shelves behind my bed … Where? Where? Where? Eventually, I found it tucked in the second page of my portfolio. The envelope with Jamie’s writing. I had no recollection of putting it here. But I hadn’t really been thinking straight that day. I hadn’t been thinking much at all.

  Inside was a letter, on headed paper from an LA hotel. So he wasn’t staying with Sigrid then. In the house with the pool shaped like his guitar. That was my first thought. His handwriting was strong and clear. I could hear his voice in my head as I read.

  HOTEL LUCILLE

  WEST HOLLYWOOD

  LOS ANGELES

  My darling Nina,

  Happy Birthday! You see? I know the day now. One day it’ll say so in your Wikipedia entry. Alongside the details of your famous art career, your celebrated garden, your family of dogs, your unique take on tweed and trainers. Your love of pancakes. It may even mention that once you went out with a pot-bellied guy who used to be a rock star. He knows he doesn’t deserve it, but he’d love to be a footnote in your bio.

  All I can think about is you.

  It’s over with Sigrid, I promise. Here are two tickets to LA. Bring Ariel if you like, or your friend Tammy. There’s something I want you to hear.

  Tell Windy you’re coming and he’ll sort out everything you need. Please come. Let me prove you wrong about one thing at least. You said I’d forget your name, but I remember every word you ever said, every time you looked at me, the way you burned up when I nearly kissed you. I said I could make you happy and I’m an egotistic idiot, but I still want to try.

  I’ll be waiting backstage afterwards, and if it’s a scrum, just find Oliver or Windy and they’ll bring you straight to me. I’m sorry my life is such a circus.

  But I love you. It’s simple. Always.

  J

  The bottom of the page was a forest of hearts and kisses, and the tickets he’d mentioned were nestling in the envelope. They were first class returns to LAX, and they had the price on them, and even though I’d travelled with a rock band it still made me gasp.

  So Jamie had expected me to drop everything and fly out to California for him. Rock star. There was no mention of what event I’d need a backstage pass for, or where I was supposed to stay, but Windy would have sorted it out, I suppose. If I’d gone. If I’d wanted to go. But the tickets were for several weeks ago. Whatever he wanted me to hear, I wasn’t there.

  ‘He’d messed up too badly …’

  Assuming it really was me they were talking about just now, I guess that was true.

  I read his words again
, and once again, and let my tears stream freely. The guy could write. And he wanted me. But didn’t I always know that? Even if I’d flown all the way to California, would I have taken him back? Could I really have put myself through any of that pain again?

  The answer was simple. No.

  I should have burnt the letter. I should never have watched that show tonight.

  Damn Jamie Maldon. There was no escaping him.

  There was a knock at my door. A pink mop of hair appeared around the side of it. Ariel looked nervous. ‘Can I come in?’

  ‘Sure,’ I sighed.

  ‘I kind of … heard your conversation with Tammy.’ She stepped inside, awkward and anxious, twisting the hem of her jumper with restless fingers. ‘There’s something I need to tell you.’

  Oh my God. Tammy. The Rialto. Croydon – the other gig. I’d forgotten all about it, lost in Jamie’s letter. That boy could fry my brain in ways I didn’t think possible.

  ‘Yeah, sure …’ I muttered. ‘Tell me what?’

  Ariel mangled the hem of her jumper some more.

  ‘I have a ticket.’

  ‘You do?’

  She saw the shock on my face. This was pink-haired Ariel.

  The one who hated The Point.

  ‘Mahika heard about it at school,’ she said, all in a rush. ‘She’s a Pointer Sister like me… um, like I was. She was going with a bunch of people. Someone dropped out and she asked me if I wanted to go and … I know he … and you … but … I wanted to hear my song. Just once.’

  She looked at me unhappily, with a kind of pleading glance.

  ‘So it’s true?’ I asked. ‘They really are coming here?’

  She nodded. ‘Mahika heard they booked the venue ages ago, under a fake name. I thought about telling you, but I know what Jamie did to you. At first I thought he’d invite you himself, but you didn’t mention it so I assumed he hadn’t. I didn’t want to hurt you any more. I’m sorry, Nina. I thought it’d be easier if you didn’t know.’

  I stared at my little sister, so grown up now, trying to look after me. Her soul deserved a whole symphony, not just a song.

  She happened to glance over my shoulder and saw the plane tickets and the letter scattered on my bed and her mouth fell open.