by Maeve Haran
Stella outlined their plan – the potential market space next to the petrol station, the street-food stalls and the outdoor cinema, thinking, as she spoke, how ridiculously ambitious it probably sounded.
Suze’s phone rang, making them both jump, which greatly amused the young man interviewing them. Probably his mum did the same. Or, more likely, his gran.
Suze turned her back and started an animated conversation with whoever was calling. ‘Yes, thanks, Joanie. I’d better warn her now. Grateful for you letting me know.’
‘Wow, Stella, you’re not going to believe this!’ In her excitement Suze forgot about the company they were in. ‘That was Joanie Dodds – you know, Joanie, who was at college with us. She says Radio 2’s just launched a “Find Cameron’s long-lost Stella” appeal. And they’re getting hundreds of responses!’
She was so carried away with excitement that she didn’t notice Stella’s frantic signals for her to shut up.
To Stella’s immense relief, if the journalist had picked up on anything, he gave no sign but went calmly on with the interview. ‘You mentioned street food.’ He nodded. ‘Yep, that’s all the rage at the moment. And I gather there’s something about a pop-up studio taking pet photos? I think that’s what grabbed my editor’s attention.’
‘Yes, well, I’m a pet painter,’ Stella explained, ‘and I thought people could bring in their dogs and cats and I would photograph them then paint them. Do you want to see some I’ve done?’
She took out her phone and showed him her recent work.
‘Hey, these are great. They say a really good portrait’s one you’d buy even if you didn’t know the person. Well, I’d buy these even if I didn’t know the dog! Could you let me have a couple and we could run them in the paper?’
‘Of course, I’d be delighted.’ Thank God it looked as if he hadn’t picked up on the Radio 2 stuff.
‘So, ladies, could I take a photograph of you?’ Stephen asked finally. ‘Standing here on this patch of ground in front of the bare wall? Both together and then I’ll do you individually.’
Reluctantly, Stella posed in front of what she hoped would one day be an open-air cinema while he snapped away.
As he put away his camera Stella found Stephen Douglas’s curious gaze fixed on her for an unnaturally long time.
‘This Cameron you mentioned earlier. It wouldn’t be Cameron Keene, would it? Only our editor heard the interview. Since Cameron’s from round here, he’s put a reporter on to looking for a mysterious lady called Stella who’s married to an accountant. That wouldn’t by any remote chance be you?’
‘Oh dear,’ Suze apologized as he walked off looking extremely pleased with himself. ‘I really blew that, didn’t I?’
Three
————
‘Yes, Susannah, you definitely did blow that.’
‘Relax. He got his story. It was the pop-up pets he was after. Maybe his editor loves Dalmatians. Come on, let’s have a coffee to celebrate.’ She looked around at the desolate block of abandoned shops and unappetizing takeaways.
‘We could go back to yours,’ Suze suggested, ‘it’s only five minutes away.’
Stella grimaced. ‘Matthew’s probably in.’ She wondered if she ought to prepare him for all this long-lost Stella stuff but it would hardly improve his mood. Anyway, maybe Suze was right and it was the pets they wanted.
‘Trouble back at ’mill?’
‘Suze, he’s driving me bloody mad. He’s turned into such a narrow-minded old grouch. I keep wondering if it’s my fault. He never used to be like that when we were young. Maybe if he hadn’t become an accountant and had followed his dream . . .’
‘What was his dream?’
‘Ironically enough he wanted to play saxophone in a band, but Emma came along so fast.’
‘Not quite Matthew’s style. Sax players are supposed to be dead sexy. There’s something about a horn player women can’t resist.’
‘He wasn’t always like he is now.’
‘How long is it you’ve been married?’
‘God, don’t ask. Sometimes it feels like a lifetime.’
‘I know. People were supposed to die, not stay married forever and ever. Do you communicate properly? That’s the key to a good marriage. I read that in a magazine at the hairdressers.’
‘Do you mean do I tell him he drives me to distraction with his tunnel vision and his endless obsessions? No, I don’t.’
‘Maybe you ought to. Being Matthew, he probably doesn’t know he’s being annoying. How about proper talking? You know, sitting down together over a bottle of wine, telling each other your hopes and dreams, what you want from life. I assumed that was what married people did, or what’s the point?’
Stella looked at her friend in a new light. She’d never suspected Suze had such romantic illusions about marriage.
‘What do you want from life beyond the everyday? You know, the big things?’
‘Gosh! I hadn’t really thought about it. Health, Emma being happy, and the children.’
‘What about you though, Stella?
With a shock, she realized she didn’t really know. Was she frightened that if she lifted up the stone of the everyday, what she’d find was disappointment?
Stella was glad she had lots to do to take her mind off her annoyance with her husband. She had the lurcher painting to get on with. She was especially happy with the mournful look in the doggy eyes and the way he’d jumped into his owner’s arms. In fact, daringly, Stella decided to do two paintings, one just of the dog and the other of dog and owner. This would take longer and, since she hadn’t been commissioned to do it, he might never buy it. Still, it would be an interesting experiment. She looked at all the different possible background colours and chose a dark striking blue which contrasted well with the grey of both dog and owner and the wine sofa.
So absorbed was she in the project that she only just remembered that Emma had asked her to pick up Izzy. She hoped Emma wasn’t going to the old boyfriend’s office and accepting his Jarvis Cocker-style invitation to take her baby.
She got to the school ten minutes before pick-up time, grateful she no longer had to join the gaggles of school-gate mums, who were always moaning about something – the quality of the teaching, the absence of fresh veg in the school dinners or, worst of all, how many entrance exams they had forced their dazzlingly brilliant child to sit.
Izzy was always easy to look after because she instantly sat down and did any homework without nagging to be allowed to play Minecraft. Stella then gave her tea before they both settled down on the sofa to watch Shaun the Sheep. Izzy knew she was really far too old for this and would never watch it with her friends, but with her grandmother she was happy to regress. Quite often she asked for a rug and buried herself cosily beneath it.
Significantly, it was Stuart, not Emma, who came to pick her up, but his black expression didn’t encourage any questioning.
At 6.30 p.m., Matthew’s face appeared round the door. ‘Do you want me to make supper tonight?’
This was an olive branch and she knew better than to ignore its significance. ‘That’d be lovely. There’re some lamb chops in the fridge.
‘Glass of wine?’ This was definitely peace terms since Matthew rarely drank before supper.
‘Even better. I think I’ll take it out to the studio. I’m going great guns with the lurcher.’
The extra hour proved exceptionally productive and the lurcher was almost completed by the time Matthew called across the back garden that supper was ready.
They avoided all topics of contention over supper – the high street, Jesse, the state of their daughter’s marriage – the list seemed longer to Stella than what they did have to talk about.
Afterwards, as they loaded the dishwasher, Stella thought about her conversation with Suze.
‘Are you happy, Matthew?’ she asked suddenly. ‘I mean, are there things you still want to do in life?’
Her intense tone took him aback.
‘Where did all this come from? If you mean do I want to disappear to a desert island, no. I like Camley.’
And our marriage? Stella almost added. Do you like that too? But her nerve failed her. What would she do if he told her he hated it?
‘How did the newspaper thing go?’ That was generous, given the circumstances.
‘Quite well, I think.’
‘Thursday tomorrow. It might be in the paper.’
Stella hoped that was all that would be in the paper. But if Stephen Douglas had told his editor that he thought she was that Stella, surely someone would have called up for a comment by now? Maybe he had been more interested in the pets after all. She wondered if she should mention it to Matthew, but didn’t want to spoil the mood. Things had been much better between them now that he was making an effort to be nice. She crossed the room to her husband and kissed him. ‘Why don’t you go up to bed and wait for me? I’ll only be a moment.’
He cocked his eyebrow in surprise, understanding her meaning. ‘All right. Don’t be long.’
She locked the back door, then remembered suddenly that it was the day for the bins. They would have to wait.
Two minutes later she was upstairs. Matthew was in bed, naked.
And fast asleep.
She was woken the next morning by the phone ringing. Immediately she thought of Emma. Another crisis.
In fact, it was Suze. ‘My God, Stella. Have you seen it yet?’
Stella shook herself awake. ‘No, I’m still in bed. Matthew said it might be in today.’
‘Matthew?’ Suze sounded stunned. ‘I didn’t think he knew anything about it.’
‘Suze, what are you talking about?’ Suspicion began to dawn on her that all might not be well. ‘The Camley Observer. Is the story about us in it?’
‘I’m not talking about the Camley Observer. I’m talking about the Daily Post. You’re on the front page. “Radio 2 fronts campaign for rock star’s long-lost love”.’
Stella sat up, her heart racing.
The Daily Post was one of the biggest-selling newspapers in the UK.
‘There’s a huge picture of you then and now. Stephen Douglas must have sold the story to the Post rather than telling his own editor about it. No wonder that snivelling little shit wanted individual pictures. Actually, you don’t look too bad. They must have been really disappointed.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘They obviously wanted you to be a little old lady. Better story. Anyway, good for you.’
Stella scrambled out of bed. Matthew, still naked, snored on. Beside her on the floor her mobile began to bleep.
Stella looked at it as if it were poisonous, then saw that Emma was calling.
‘Mum, my God,’ she accused, ‘what on earth were you doing giving an interview to the Post about going out with Cameron Keene?’
‘I didn’t. I gave the local paper an interview about saving the high street. The weasel of a reporter must have sold it to the Daily Post.’
‘What does Dad think?’
‘He’s still asleep.’
‘It’s got a photo of our house as well. It says you live in a mock-Tudor mansion.’
‘Dad’ll be livid. It isn’t mock-Tudor. It’s Arts and Crafts. And it isn’t a mansion, it’s a semi.’
‘Keep me posted. And Mum?’
‘Yes?’
‘I thought you were making it up about Cameron Keene.’
‘It was a very long time ago.’
‘You’d better wake Dad up. Stuart says once the press get onto something they’ll start absolutely hounding you.’
Stella put the phone down and began to look for her clothes. As she pulled on her tights she glanced out of the bedroom window. There were several unfamiliar cars out in the street which hadn’t been there last night. Another bearing the legend SOUTH-EAST TV, with a satellite on its roof, turned the corner and headed towards their house.
Stella sat back down on the bed. They had two choices, rather like soldiers in a battle – face them or run. Her first instinct was to run. They could slip out the back way and through their neighbours’ garden, though next door did have a rather large husky dog which always looked as if it would like to dine on something more substantial than dog food.
Face them, then.
First, she woke up her husband.
‘Matthew, there’s been a bit of a disaster. That journalist who interviewed me about the high street made the connection between me and Cameron Keene. And he’s sold the story to the Daily Post.’
Matthew sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, his almost-white hair standing up like Alpine peaks after fresh snow. It rather suited him but this probably wasn’t the moment to say so.
‘There are about a dozen reporters down there. I wondered about doing a runner, but the Wilkinsons’ dog is out there and we’d probably end up on the news being chased by it. So I’m going to get dressed and go and face them. Then let’s make a run for it after that. Maybe if I give them something they’ll leave us alone.’
Matthew grunted and started to get dressed. ‘This is bloody typical. You never think about what you’re going to say before you open your mouth.’
Stella ignored this with difficulty and concentrated on finding herself a pretty top. She then spent ten minutes putting on make-up and doing her hair.
She was about to open the front door when she remembered years ago seeing a Page Three girl who’d had an affair with a married footballer take cups of tea out to the waiting press, and how much she’d admired her chutzpah. Stella made ten mugs of tea and added, as an afterthought, a plate of biscuits.
Taking a deep breath she threw open the door. ‘Morning, gentlemen and ladies of the press.’ She put the tray down on the wall beside them. ‘I would just like to say that this a very old story that took place a very long time ago and it had a happy ending. I got married to my husband and Cameron got married to his three wives.’
There was a ripple of laughter at this.
‘Is it true “Don’t Leave Me in the Morning” was about you, Stella?’
Stella smiled. ‘It’s a very good line, isn’t it? That I left him for a chartered accountant? And, of course, Cameron has got a tour to plug, hasn’t he?’
‘Did you break his heart, Stella?’ The TV reporter thrust a furry microphone under her nose.
‘As far as I can tell Cameron’s heart is still beating quite adequately. It’s his liver I’d worry about.’
Again there was a huge laugh. ‘Sorry, everyone, I have to go now. Just leave the mugs in the garden. And no, I didn’t bake the biscuits myself.’
She smiled round at them all and disappeared behind her own front door, swiftly slamming it against anyone hoping to follow her.
Matthew was standing behind it with the car keys. ‘You know, Stella, you really are full of surprises.’
Stella grabbed her coat, feeling suddenly quite dizzy. ‘I’ll take that as a compliment, shall I?’
They slipped out of the back door, swiftly locked it, and headed as quickly as they could across their big back garden.
‘The fence is quite low behind my studio. Quick.’
Now they were running, managing to jump over it just as one of the reporters worked out that there was a side entrance. They headed for a clump of pampas grass in their neighbours’ garden which Stella had always loathed for being deeply suburban. Just the other side lurked the husky, a delighted snarl on its face and the long-forgotten glint of the hunter in its chilling blue eyes.
‘Oh my God,’ muttered Matthew.
Stella shoved her hands deep into her pocket, encountering the plastic bag full of doggy treats she kept for particularly prickly pets.
‘Here, Shackleton,’ she whispered the tasteless name bestowed on the animal, ‘good boy,’ and threw a trail of treats as far as she could in the opposite direction. Stella and Matthew stumbled across the lawn and into the next garden, where they instantly encountered their other neighbour, ex-army Oliver,
strimming the weeds in his herbaceous border.
‘Sorry, Olly, we’re being pursued by the press.’
‘I wondered what they were all doing outside. You haven’t knocked anyone off and buried them under your patio?’
‘We don’t have a patio.’
‘Nor do you. That’s all right, then. Would you like me to get out the Defender and you can crouch down in the back?’
‘That would be brilliant.’
With a swashbuckling smile that indicated that this was the moment Oliver had been waiting for all his life, he disappeared into his garage, beckoning them to follow. ‘I’ll cover you with the picnic rug. We take it to point-to-points.’
He opened the back door and they climbed in.
A minute later the garage door raised itself automatically and the car drove politely out. Oliver raised his shooting cap at the reporters, maintaining a steady speed just too fast to allow any of them to try and detain him.
After a few minutes he drew in to the kerb. ‘Where to, people?’
‘Good question. I think perhaps my friend Suze’s house.’ Stella turned to her husband. ‘Matthew, I’m really sorry about all that.’
Unexpectedly, Matthew was smiling. ‘Actually, I quite enjoyed it. Not your average Thursday morning. I wonder how long the bastards are going to stay?’
Oliver considered this. ‘Do you want to get my son Archie on board? He’s a lawyer who specializes in this kind of thing. You could probably do them for trespassing.’
‘I think we’ll just disappear for a day or two. Can you let us know as soon as the coast’s clear?’
‘My pleasure. What have you been doing, as a matter of interest?’
‘Years ago I went out with a rock star and the press have just found out about it.’
‘You’d think they’d have something better to do. Economy’s going to the dogs. Scot Nats taking over the country.’
Stella smiled. If Oliver chose to give the gentlemen of the press his considered opinion on the policy issues of the day, it might get rid of them sooner than anything she could do herself.
