What Became of You My Love?

by Maeve Haran

  Debora smiled slowly. ‘I’m an exceptionally calm woman. Plenty of wives cope with husbands that drink and stray. Cameron just does it on a rather epic scale. And I quite like the old bastard. Of course he runs off with the backing singer. Who else does he get to meet? And when Fabia found she’d got too old to pull rock stars and pimped her beautiful young daughter at him, how was Cameron going to resist? He can’t even resist cookies or dessert. But the thing is, he’s always paid up and he’s never been grumpy about it.’

  They dropped Bernie off first then drove on to The Glebe. It was another glorious morning.

  As they parked next to the old manor-house-turned-luxury-hotel, Cameron smiled his sexy seen-it-all smile. ‘They were good times, weren’t they, Stell?’

  ‘Amazing,’ she agreed, smiling back. ‘And do you know, till you came back, I’d almost forgotten quite how wonderful.’

  He reached over and took her hand. ‘I never really got over you, you know. That’s why I had to come back after I went to America that first time, to make sure you hadn’t changed your mind.’

  ‘Really?’ Much as she might like to, Stella couldn’t resist being honest. ‘I thought it was to record “Don’t Leave Me”.’

  Cameron ignored this pinprick to his romantic balloon. ‘Do you know you’re the only girl in my whole life who’s chucked me over? Do you still feel anything for me, Stell?’ Stella was grateful he didn’t wait for an answer but ploughed straight on. ‘Do you know,’ he laughed to himself at the ludicrousness of the suggestion, ‘there was a point where I wondered if something had been going on with you and Dunc.’

  Cameron smiled indulgently at the crazy idea that anyone could prefer Duncan to himself.

  ‘What was his wife like?’ Stella couldn’t resist asking.

  ‘A bit highbrow for me. I never really get art.’

  ‘But you were an art student when I first met you!’ Stella reminded him.

  ‘I saw Andy Warhol making all that money with the soup cans,’ Cameron laughed. ‘Thought I might have a go. Connie was the cultured type. And I think it was downright weird the way she wanted to fix him up with this other woman painter when she knew she was dying.’

  This was the first Stella had heard of Duncan being fixed up with anyone by his dying wife. It seemed an almost saintly act. ‘Maybe she loved him and didn’t want him to be lonely.’

  ‘She could have chosen someone a bit more normal, then. You know he’s meeting up with her later in the tour?’

  Stella made a mental note to find out more from Debora. After all the emotion that had been swirling about she was grateful she had the launch of the vintage market next weekend to keep her busy.

  ‘How’s it all been going?’ she asked Suze, who had proved herself remarkably efficient and practical.

  ‘Not too bad. All of the tables have been taken. Quite a good mix of clothes, books and bric-a-brac, even if it is stuff they can’t even shift at car-boot sales. We could do with a couple more food stalls and I’m going to try and get the pub to make an effort and produce hot dogs. The place could look quite inviting if they put out some bunting and chased the smokers out of the garden.’

  ‘Rather you than me,’ Stella replied sceptically.

  ‘Come on, where’s your fighting spirit? We can’t rely on Debora to charm him now she’s got so busy. Let’s go down there now. It’ll only take an hour.’

  It turned out to be considerably longer since on the way Suze remembered she needed to pick up some stuff for her stall that she’d put into storage.

  ‘I didn’t know you had stuff in storage.’

  ‘I couldn’t bear to throw away that hideously ugly furniture my mum and dad owned.’

  ‘Why, if it’s hideously ugly?’

  ‘It’s all I’ve got left of them. Stupid, I know.’

  Stella had been going to add ‘And expensive’, but she saw that Suze, rarely given to sentimentality, was close to tears. ‘I think you should hang on to your parents’ hideously ugly furniture as long as possible. One of these days we’ll all go off IKEA and it’ll be just what we want.’

  They turned into the entrance of the Camley StoreSafe, a giant yellow warehouse just off the main road, and parked the car.

  ‘Morning, ladies,’ the receptionist greeted them with a big smile.

  ‘She’s very cheerful.’

  ‘You’ll see why when you get inside. You need to be cheerful to survive,’ Suze replied.

  As they pushed open the hospital-style swing doors, Stella saw what she meant. They were greeted by echoing empty corridors in total darkness that lit up eerily when the movement detector registered their presence. Otherwise there was blackness and complete silence.

  ‘God, it’s creepy here,’ Stella shivered.

  ‘I know,’ Suze looked over her shoulder, ‘it always makes me think of that serial killer who stored the body in a storage unit and kept visiting it.’

  ‘Charming! I think I might wait in reception.’

  ‘And abandon me to my fate?’ Suze began to open the padlock to her storage unit.

  ‘There’s a woman over there getting her stuff as well. You should be OK unless it’s a female serial killer. Do you want me to take anything?’

  ‘As a punishment you can carry this.’

  Suze handed Stella the bust of a Roman emperor. ‘Somebody might want it,’ she explained hopefully.

  Stella staggered off with Tiberius or Claudius or Vespasian in both arms. She was almost at the lift when she encountered such a strange sight that she stopped to stare. In perhaps the tiniest storage unit in the place a young woman about Emma’s age sat behind a desk that took up three quarters of the space with a laptop and mobile phone in front of her.

  ‘Gosh,’ Stella couldn’t help exclaiming, ‘is this your office?’

  ‘I know,’ replied the young woman, ‘totally weird, isn’t it? And cold too! But there’s Wi-Fi and a phone signal and I can rent it by the month or the week. There’s no other office space I can afford in Camley and I can’t work from home because I need to be near my clients!’

  ‘Don’t you get nervous with the lights going on and off?’

  ‘It used to freak me out at first, like working in a thunderstorm, but I’ve got used to it now.’

  ‘Isn’t it a bit lonely?’ Stella thought of her daughter sitting alone in this Scandi Noir environment and shuddered.

  ‘Horrible. I dream of having other people to talk to so we could share ideas and even costs, but it ain’t gonna happen. Not in Camley, anyway. So it’s just me and the receptionist. Nice statue.’

  Matthew’s declaration that what the council really wanted was cheap office space came back to her. Now she could see why. She waved goodbye to the young woman and carted her emperor thoughtfully back to the reception area.

  Five minutes later, Suze joined her.

  ‘Do you think there’s enough here for a whole table?’ she asked Stella.

  ‘Is it for sale?’ asked the smiling receptionist, indicating the bust. ‘I mean, it might brighten this place up a bit. It’s so empty and faceless. A Roman emperor might be company for me.’

  Suze thought about it. ‘A tenner?’

  ‘Done! Now you won’t have to cart it around with you.’

  They helped her place the bust on a cheap MDF shelf next to the water cooler.

  ‘Now I’ve got a friend!’

  ‘That was the strangest place I’ve ever been,’ remarked Stella as they unloaded Suze’s stuff into the pet studio for storage with the tables.

  Stella caught sight of her fox painting and decided to put it up there and then. She found her hammer and picture-hanging gear and positioned it in pride of place right opposite the entrance.

  ‘Just so that anyone with a pet fox can see what a dab hand you are at wildlife painting?’ teased Suze.

  The fox’s amber eyes stared out from the green background, world-weary and mournful, as if he had seen all human life and nothing more could shock or surp
rise him.

  ‘I think it’s amazing.’ They both turned, startled, to find Duncan had just come into the studio.

  ‘Don’t sound so astonished.’ Stella felt irritation rising that he clearly hadn’t expected her to be any good.

  ‘You know who it reminds me of in some strange way?’

  ‘Fantastic Mr Fox?’ suggested Suze.

  ‘Cameron.’ Duncan grinned, ignoring Stella’s tone. ‘There’s something about his charm and guile and total untrustworthiness that definitely reminds me of him.’

  ‘I’m not sure he’d appreciate that,’ Stella commented, still bristling at the patronizing tones she’d detected in his voice. ‘Aren’t you busy at The Glebe, or do you want your pet painted?’

  ‘I don’t have a pet. Too much travelling.’

  ‘What would you have if you did? Let me guess.’ She looked at him thoughtfully. ‘A terrier wouldn’t be suave enough for you.’

  ‘I am not suave!’ he snapped. ‘I just dress like this for business.’

  ‘Something fashionable. A Hungarian Vizsla, perhaps? They’re sufficiently haughty and distinctive.’

  ‘Actually,’ Duncan refused to be drawn, ‘if I had a dog, I would go for a poodle.’

  ‘A poodle?’ Stella repeated, stunned.

  ‘A big one. They’re the most intelligent dogs there are. Anyway, forget poodles, I came here to say thanks for keeping an eye on Cameron. He’s probably dreading the concert. It’s been so long since his last live gig and the music press will be out in force. He wants to stay as near as possible to the venue so we’ll move the Airstream to their car park on Wednesday.’

  ‘Not long now.’

  ‘Absolutely.’

  Stella realized that, forget Cameron, she was feeling quite nervous herself.

  Duncan produced a wallet from his jacket pocket. ‘Here are all your tickets, plus passes to the Artists’ Bar area. Have fun.’

  ‘Is everything all sorted? For the concert, I mean.’

  Duncan shrugged. ‘Everything except Cameron.’

  As the concert finally approached, Debora was deputed to be on Cameron-watch, so she had camped with him in the Airstream, playing backgammon, listening to Pink Floyd at top volume and watching endless reruns of Cheers and Happy Days. At last she emerged the night before the concert, her hair slightly out of place and with no lipstick, which, in anyone else, would be the equivalent of a complete mental breakdown.

  ‘Phew,’ she took a deep breath. ‘That was hard work. Cameron’s like a little kid. He has to be entertained all the time or he gets bored. I’ve given him a Valium and a large brandy. He’ll sleep like a baby.’

  Stella gave her a hug, realizing how fond she’d grown of Debora in the short time they’d known each other. ‘He’s lucky he’s got you.’

  ‘Goodnight, hon. I’ll be back for him in the morning. By the way, I’ve taken the precaution of locking him in.’

  ‘Is that wise? What if he starts a fire or something?’

  ‘You’ll hear the alarm. It’s very loud, believe me.’

  Stella finally retired after her usual tour of the house, pulling curtains and checking locks before tumbling into bed.

  As usual Matthew was fast asleep.

  She fell into a light sleep, only to be troubled by a strange dream. It seemed to feature one of her favourite novels by Mary Renault about the legendary Minotaur in Ancient Crete. Suddenly the Minotaur, half-man, half-bull, let out a bellow that was such a terrifying mix of anger and hopeless abandonment that Stella woke up with a jolt. The sound wasn’t coming from classical Crete, it was coming from her back garden.

  She whipped on her dressing gown and ran downstairs to look for the key Debora had left to the Airstream before the whole of Camley was woken up, with Mrs Husky first in line.

  Fortunately, there was a torch by the back door that she kept handy in case she needed to cross the lawn to her studio.

  She unlocked the door of the Airstream and Cameron burst out as if gasping for air. ‘Stella!’ he clutched her to his considerable chest, ‘I thought I was going to die in there!’

  ‘It’s OK, Cam,’ she stroked his hair, adopting the tone she used for Izzy or Ruby; firm but kind. ‘Calm down now. You just hyperventilated a bit. Just sit on the step and I’ll get something.’

  Back in the house she found a paper bag in the recycling. When Jesse was little he sometimes used to have minor panic attacks and the GP had shown them how to get him to breathe into a paper bag.

  She rushed back out and tried to hold the bag over Cameron’s nose and mouth.

  ‘For fuck’s sake,’ Cameron protested, ‘I’m not going to throw up.’

  ‘It’s to calm you down. Just hold it yourself and breathe into it. Just normal breaths. Then take it off and start again in a minute.’

  After three attempts he did seem a bit less agitated. ‘Now take deep breaths from your diaphragm.’

  Once the emergency was over, Stella took in the fact that Cameron was stark naked. Thank God it was quite a dark night. ‘Cameron,’ she shoved him back into the Airstream, ‘put some clothes on.’

  ‘I will if you come in with me. Otherwise I’m staying right here.’ He gave her a cunning look that made her see immediately why Duncan had likened him to the fox. ‘Give your neighbour a thrill. She doesn’t look as if she’s seen a cock in a while.’

  ‘I’ll come in if you promise to cover up.’

  Once they were inside he did at least reassure her by putting on a tee shirt proclaiming MAKE LOVE NOT WAR.

  ‘Stella, Stella,’ he insisted passionately, ‘you were always the only one who could inspire me. Why didn’t you come with me to the States? I could have written such amazing songs for you.’ He shook his head as though it were all her fault that though he had made plenty of records, only the one about her had become an anthem. ‘You will stay with me tonight, won’t you, Stell?’ he appealed in a voice that was suddenly fearful. ‘I’m scared, Stella. What if those vultures of music hacks tear me apart?’

  Stella felt herself overwhelmed with sudden tenderness for the man she’d shared such amazing moments with. Both from humble backgrounds, they had felt the tectonic plates of society moving, and had learned to whoop joyously, throwing themselves into music, into freedom and into new experiences. Was it possible to feel it again so much later?

  She sat down next to him. ‘Everyone loves you, Cam. You’re practically a British institution, like Tom Jones or Rod Stewart. No one is going to tear you apart. Now come on, just lie down and I’ll massage your neck.’

  Cameron Keene, world megastar, lay obediently down and she began to knead his rigid muscles. In a matter of moments he was asleep.

  Too emotionally exhausted even to crawl back into the house she lay down and slept by his side.

  It was the neighbours’ horrible dog that woke her, barking at the postman. Good God, he didn’t come till nearly ten!

  She jumped up, scrabbled around for her shoes, and flung open the door to the Airstream.

  A bewildered Matthew was standing outside their house, obviously looking for her. By his side was Emma, holding their granddaughter plus her baby bag.

  ‘It must be another emergency.’

  But neither of them was giving her their full attention. Behind her, rubbing his eyes and yawning, stood Cameron Keene still wearing only a tee shirt.

  ‘Peace and love,’ he pronounced, holding up two fingers in the time-honoured hippie salutation. ‘Well, this is a bit awkward.’

  Seven

  ————

  ‘What the fuck is going on?’ Matthew exploded.

  ‘Yes, Mum,’ Emma seconded, almost as horrified as her father, ‘what is going on?’

  The only way to play this, Stella decided, was to treat the situation as the joke it almost was. She glanced at Cameron’s member. Fortunately, it was curled up and harmless, like a dog in disgrace.

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous, the pair of you.’

  ‘Ridiculous, w
hen you’ve clearly spent the night with the world-famous rock singer who wrote a song about you?’ Matthew demanded pugnaciously. ‘Pathetic more like!’

  ‘What’s pathetic about it?’ demanded Cameron. ‘A lovely woman spending the night with a man who’s always loved her?’ He turned to Stella, with a tender look. ‘I have, you know, Stella. I still love you now.’

  ‘And you have three marriages to prove it,’ Stella replied crisply, in a passable imitation of her old headmistress. ‘Stop all this self-indulgence right now and pull yourself together!’

  They all looked at her in shocked awe. This wasn’t a Stella they had yet encountered. ‘Cameron had a panic attack and I stayed to calm him down. Nothing happened.’

  ‘You gave me a massage.’ Cameron smiled mischievously, looking like a lecherous pixie. Was he trying to sabotage her marriage deliberately?

  ‘Come with me, Stella, after the tour finishes. It’s not too late!’

  Before she had the chance to answer they heard the sound of clapping and swung round in unison.

  Duncan Miller stood in the kitchen doorway with Debora. ‘I had no idea I was interrupting a drawing-room comedy,’ he congratulated. ‘No, make that a psychological thriller.’ Stella looked at him gratefully. He did seem to have the knack of calming troubled waters. ‘I’m afraid I have to remove the romantic lead rather sharpish.’ He looked Cameron up and down, dwelling for a second on his absence of underwear. ‘Or possibly the pantomime villain. Just for the record, I believe Stella.’

  ‘So do I,’ laughed Debora. ‘Cameron always panics before a concert. Thanks, Stella, for calming him down.’

  ‘Just as well you two aren’t really planning a surprise elopement.’ Duncan smiled round blandly. ‘We’ve just heard from Fabia. She and Roxy will definitely be coming to the concert.’

  ‘Christ, that’s all I need,’ muttered Cameron, closing his eyes.

  ‘Nonsense, Cam,’ Duncan shepherded Cameron into the Airstream. ‘A gorgeous young wife to wipe your fevered brow? Any man would envy you.’

  Cameron looked as if he might sack Duncan on the spot, but he finally allowed himself to be led inside.