What Became of You My Love?

by Maeve Haran

  ‘Right,’ Stella held out her arms for her granddaughter, ‘that’s enough drama for one day. What time are you picking Ruby up?’

  Matthew, always a terrier when it came to hanging on to an argument, still looked deeply unconvinced. ‘Even if he did have a panic attack, someone else could have stayed with him. You’re married to me,’ he hissed, and disappeared inside, banging the door. From past experience he’d now give her the silent treatment and they would remain stuck in mutual antipathy for days. She’d once tried to persuade him to go for couples therapy, as Emma had done, but he’d blankly refused. ‘I’m not listening to all that ridiculous pyscho-twaddle!’ had been his firm and final response.

  Ten minutes later, Cameron emerged looking almost smart in his tweed jacket and corduroys, with the familiar yellow Nikes, smiling unrepentantly.

  ‘Are you all still coming to the show? After all the drama?’ asked Debora.

  ‘You bloody bet we are. I wouldn’t miss it for the world.’ She winked at Debora. ‘Especially now the famous Fabia’s back. I’m dying to meet her.’

  She was just putting Ruby into her high chair when she noticed that Duncan had come into the kitchen and was leaning on the Aga. ‘Who needs stand-up comedy?’ he asked, still laughing. ‘That was one of the funniest things I’ve seen in a long time. I hope you didn’t mind my butting in. I thought maybe you could do with a distraction.’

  ‘Funny!’ Stella’s tension metamorphosed into outrage. ‘That was my marriage Cameron nearly destroyed!’

  Duncan stopped smiling and looked at her intently. ‘If your husband was so ready to believe you’d be unfaithful, maybe it isn’t worth saving anyway.’

  ‘And of course you were never unfaithful in your perfect marriage!’ Stella flashed angrily. ‘All those groupies and backing singers and dancers and gorgeous little girl fans. You never even thought about it!’

  ‘Of course I thought about it,’ he replied, almost as angry as she was. ‘But I didn’t do it. It always seemed rather unfair on my wife.’

  Stella remembered that his wife had died suddenly only last year and felt herself flush with shame. ‘I’m sorry. That was unforgivable of me.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ he was suddenly smiling again. ‘I expect you were jealous of my long and happy marriage.’

  Really, the man was too much! Implying that her own marriage didn’t live up to his! Stella plucked Ruby out of her high chair and stalked upstairs to get dressed without even rewarding him with so much as a goodbye.

  ‘Is Matthew coming tonight or does he still want to call Cameron out to defend your honour?’

  Suze and Stella were in Stella’s and Matthew’s bedroom getting dressed for the concert. Stella sipped the champagne she had just poured for them both.

  ‘To be honest, Suze, I don’t really care. Come on,’ she held up her glass, ‘let’s have fun getting ready. I’ll put some music on to get us in the mood. James Taylor or Joni Mitchell?’

  ‘Little ol’ lovin’ man JT. Do you remember when we used to get changed to it at college?’

  ‘It was usually more fun than the date.’

  They started giggling like silly teenagers. Suze did up Stella’s zip and then Stella did up Suze’s. They took it in turns to apply their make-up and when they were finally ready they appraised each other in the mirror.

  ‘Not too bad for a couple of old broads!’ Stella laughed, and they gave each other a giggly hug just at the moment Matthew walked into the room.

  ‘I don’t know why you two don’t just move in with each other,’ was his grumbling mutter, and Stella refrained from replying, ‘Neither do I, it’d probably be much more fun.’

  He hurried into the en suite bathroom and without even closing the door began to have a pee.

  ‘Why is it,’ Stella whispered, ‘that what seems bold and outrageous because your parents would never have done it, like peeing in front of each other, just ends up irritating you in the end?’

  ‘Look at it this way,’ Suze reassured her, ‘you’re lucky to have someone to pee in front of you in the first place.’

  ‘Come on,’ Stella squeezed her friend’s arm, knowing Suze was perfectly happy living on her own, ‘let’s get our coats. Taxi’ll be here in a min.’

  ‘Oooh, a taxi! We are pushing the boat out!’

  ‘Muses don’t arrive on the bus, even if they do have a Freedom Pass. Besides, we’re picking up the others on the way. Matthew,’ she shouted, ‘are you coming with us? Because if you are, we’re leaving in five minutes!’

  She was greeted with silence. ‘That’s another of his delightful tricks. Pretending he hasn’t heard me.’ When she got into the bedroom the bathroom door was locked. ‘I’m leaving your ticket on the bed,’ she shouted through the door. ‘Up to you whether you make it or not but everyone else is coming and we’d all like it if you did.’ Absolute silence. Overcome with irritation, Stella banged on the door. ‘If you’re not coming just to spite me, that’s really stupid because it’s going to be a fun occasion and no one will miss out but you!’

  ‘You did your best.’ Suze shrugged. ‘The taxi’s here.’

  Stella gave him one more try. ‘Matthew! We’re going now. See you later, I hope.’

  ‘No you don’t,’ Suze dug her in the ribs as they sat in the back of the people carrier.

  ‘Not if he’s being like this, I don’t.’

  ‘Now we’re alone you can tell me the truth. Did you and the rock god get it on?’

  ‘Suze, how can you ask?’

  ‘Well, why not? He’s quite attractive as raddled rock gods go.’

  ‘For a start, I’m married and so is he.’

  Suze raised an ironic eyebrow. ‘Aren’t you curious? I mean, he is Cameron Keene.’

  Stella shook her head.

  ‘OK, were you worried about him seeing your ageing tits?’

  ‘No!’

  ‘You want him to still be in love with you and ask you to run away with him!’

  ‘Actually,’ Stella couldn’t help admitting proudly, ‘that’s what he did. Of course he didn’t mean it for a moment. Or if he did, he’s a complete fantasist.’

  ‘Well, I think it’s sweet and flattering that he still fancies an old lady like you!’

  ‘I don’t think he’s actually faced up to my age at all. If I’m sixty-four, that means he’s sixty-five!’

  ‘How romantic! A relationship based on mutual denial and regular Botox.’

  ‘I don’t use Botox,’ Stella protested.

  ‘No, but Cameron does. No one could have a forehead that smooth when they’ve lived the life he has. He ought to have more lines than an OS map!’

  ‘Can you stop here, please?’ Stella asked the driver when they reached Emma’s house. ‘I’ll just give them a call.’

  Five minutes later they all spilled out happily onto the driveway. Jesse had dressed up in a smart new shirt. Dora, the Incredible String Band fan, had avoided copying their singer Licorice at Woodstock in her white bridal wear with flowers in her hair, and had stuck to a pretty blouse with a neat Peter Pan collar. Izzy wore a grown-up dress with a denim jacket, and Emma looked quite beautiful in blue jeans tucked into cowboy boots with a floaty pale silk top. Even Stuart was there. Ruby waved them goodbye from the arms of her babysitter.

  Stella felt her heart overflow with pride.

  As they got into the cab, Emma sat down next to her, holding her handbag against her chest as if it were incredibly precious.

  ‘Come on, Mum,’ Izzy teased. ‘You’re going to have to put it down some time!’

  Stella and Suze both stared at the bag. It was pale-blue softest leather, brand new, the ultimate object of desire. Right in the centre was the tell-tale triangular brass panel with the word PRADA on it.

  Neither Stella nor Suze said a word, but they were thinking identical thoughts. They had no idea how much the bag cost but they were certain about two things. First, neither of them would ever dream of buying such a ridiculously costl
y item and second, whoever did buy it for her must be very rich indeed.

  ‘So, how did you first meet the great man?’ Stuart interrupted her thoughts. Stella turned and smiled at him. He had come straight from work and had a slightly rumpled look, but it suited him. His hair, longer than usual, almost covered his collar. With his interesting, angular face and black-framed spectacles he looked even more like Elvis Costello. Stella tried to picture Hal, but surely he wasn’t anything like as attractive as Stuart? Except perhaps for his success. And perhaps because he noticed and flattered Emma at a moment when she was feeling trapped, even if it had been her own decision to have a baby, and needed to feel wanted and valued.

  Had Stuart noticed the Prada bag or had Emma managed to dazzle him with some tale of bargains on eBay? Perhaps it might be better if he did notice.

  ‘We were at art college together,’ Stella replied. ‘I was eighteen and he was a year older. We met at a concert and started going out. He was just dreaming about music then, playing records of his heroes all day and night, practising chords and riffs on this little girl who hardly knew the Beatles from the Stones.’

  ‘She doesn’t really mean that,’ Suze broke in. ‘She was actually in love with Jim Morrison. She used to keep The Doors album under her pillow.’

  ‘Suze!’

  ‘Did you really, Gran?’ Jesse laughed.

  ‘I did, actually. I know I’ll sound like an old bore, but it’s hard for your generation to imagine the Sixties.’

  ‘I can,’ Dora broke in passionately. ‘I so wish I’d been born then!’

  ‘You’d have made a wonderful flower child,’ Stella agreed.

  ‘And how did the song come about?’ Jesse took Dora’s hand and squeezed it lovingly. ‘Did you really leave him in bed and break his heart?’

  ‘Cameron’s an artist,’ Stella replied quickly. ‘He’s allowed to make things up.’

  ‘The funny thing is,’ Emma threw in, ‘I always thought that song was about a one-night stand. You know, that agonizing feeling when one of you is in love and the other one just gets out of bed and goes.’

  Her words were imbued with such intensity that they all looked at her.

  Emma flushed uncomfortably. ‘I mean, what does anyone else think?’

  ‘I just thought it was a wonderful love song,’ Dora rescued her with the optimism of youth. ‘And how amazing to have it written about you!’

  By now they had left the suburbs of Camley far behind and were driving through the leafy beauty of Regent’s Park, not far from the venue. Stella began to feel quite nervous. She hoped Cameron had recovered. At least with Debora on hand things should be all right.

  They turned down a back road and found themselves in the sudden craziness of Camden Lock. Even at this time it was more like a souk than an English market, enticing tourists with its displays of Indian bedspreads emblazoned with the elephant-headed god Ganesh, joss sticks, cheap jewellery, tee shirts of Bob Marley and David Bowie cheek by jowl with street food from every corner of the globe. Outside the pavements were thick with every fashion era from goth to punk to New Romantic.

  ‘God,’ said Suze, ‘it’s like walking into fashion history.’

  ‘Yes,’ breathed Dora ecstatically, ‘isn’t it wonderful?’

  Another five minutes and they had arrived.

  ‘Bloody hell,’ Emma pointed, ‘look at the queue.’

  The queue was indeed impressive.

  ‘And they’re not all old people,’ she added, surprised.

  ‘No,’ Suze commented, ‘some of them are still alive.’

  Emma ignored her. ‘They must be in their twenties.’ She pointed to a hip young couple.

  ‘Maybe Cameron is becoming an ironic icon,’ Stuart suggested. ‘Like heavy metal, so unfashionable it’s fashionable.’

  The taxi came to a halt. ‘To think,’ breathed Suze, ‘we don’t even have to queue up!’

  They walked down the steps into the one-time railway shed with the amazing rotunda shape that gave it its name. A security guard immediately approached. ‘We have tickets,’ Stella announced proudly. ‘To the Artists’ Bar.’

  ‘Go to the desk on the left-hand side,’ he replied with new respect. ‘They have the guest list there. They’ll give you your wristband.’

  ‘Oooh, a wristband!’ Izzy jumped up and down. ‘I can add it to my collection. I already have One Direction, Olly Murs and Make Poverty History.’

  ‘Are they a band?’ Suze asked Stella.

  ‘No – as far as I know, it’s a worldwide campaign to eradicate hunger.’ They started giggling again. The receptionist ticked off their names from her list and helped them put on the wristbands.

  ‘I feel like I’m seventeen again,’ Suze whispered. ‘Do you remember that dive in Camley where they stamped your wrist in infrared so you could come back in again when you’d been out for a fag?’

  ‘Or gone outside to snog?’

  ‘Gran!’ Izzy opened her eyes wide in shock. ‘You never snogged!’

  ‘Hard to imagine, isn’t it?’ Suze seconded. ‘I mean, she’s such a frightful old bag now.’

  ‘No she’s not,’ Izzy defended. ‘She’s quite pretty for an old lady. Even Mum says so.’

  ‘Now that is a compliment.’ Stella glanced at Emma, who was putting on her wristband with the help of her husband. She was still clutching the bag as if it were the Crown Jewels.

  ‘I’ll get someone to take you up,’ said the receptionist.

  ‘How’s it all going?’ Stella couldn’t help herself asking.

  ‘Pretty good. Full house. Nice well-behaved people who’ll buy wine instead of beer and not throw it at the stage like the Madness fans.’

  ‘Stella,’ Suze hissed, ‘stop behaving like Cameron’s mum!’

  Stella ignored her. ‘Do they really?’

  ‘Well, mainly,’ the girl grinned, ‘they throw it over each other. When they’re pogoing.’

  ‘Pogoing!’ Suze repeated mistily. ‘I remember pogoing . . .’

  ‘Before you got so arthritic!’ teased Stella.

  ‘Sounds very silly,’ Izzy commented. ‘I prefer trampolining any day.’

  They followed their guide through the byways of the amazing building, past posters of past acts.

  ‘Look,’ Suze hissed. ‘The Stones, 1971 . . . Bowie, Elton John, Blondie. Cameron’s in good company!’

  There was a greeter waiting for them in the bar. ‘Welcome. I’m Vivienne. A glass of champagne? Courtesy of Mr Keene.’

  ‘Wow, we really are getting the rock-star treatment!’ Stuart grinned.

  ‘By the way,’ Vivienne gestured at a coat rack behind her, ‘would you like to leave your things here? They’ll be perfectly safe.’

  ‘Isn’t this amazing!’ Stella couldn’t help laughing. A couple of weeks ago she’d been a grandmother from the suburbs, now she was drinking champagne in the Artists’ Bar at the Roundhouse! ‘It’s so kind of Cam to send us the champagne.’

  ‘Actually,’ the girl confided, ‘I think it was really Mr Miller.’ She indicated the auditorium below. ‘You get a great view from here, but the crowd can’t see you. The artists like the privacy for their friends and family.’

  At the front of the bar was a row of small tables with high bar stools. Stella perched on one and looked down at the crowd gathering below. They were mostly like her, people who’d followed Cameron from their teens, but as Emma had pointed out, there were twenty-year-olds too. ‘Quite an age range,’ she commented to the greeter.

  ‘“Don’t Leave Me” tends to be ‘our song’ for an amazing number of people,’ the girl replied.

  ‘But it’s so sad!’

  ‘We’ve all been there, though, haven’t we? That’s why it’s such an anthem.’

  Behind them, the door to the Artists’ Bar opened and two figures stood silhouetted by the light behind them.

  The first was an extraordinary figure in a fur coat, with bright red lips and sunglasses. She reminded Stella faintly of
Cruella de Vil and imagined every Dalmatian in North London cowering unconsciously in its bed. Behind her was a stunningly beautiful young girl with masses of dark hair, in a 1940s-style print dress and a fur bolero.

  ‘It’s Foxy Roxy!’ breathed Izzy, rooted to the spot in awe. ‘I follow her all the time on YouTube!’

  The two newcomers surveyed Stella and her party in startled surprise. ‘I’m Fabia de Rosza and this is my daughter Roxanne,’ announced Cruella, raking them all with a gimlet eye. ‘Who the fuck are all of you?’

  Stella found everyone suddenly looking to her for the answer.

  Stella stepped forward. ‘I’m Stella Ainsworth, an old friend of Cameron’s, and this is my daughter Emma and her husband Stuart, my old friend, Susannah, and my granddaughter, Izzy. Oh and my grandson Jesse and his friend Dora.’

  ‘Right. Got you.’ Fabia looked very pleased with herself at this dazzling feat of memory. ‘You’re the grey-haired granny Mike Willan was going on about.’

  ‘Except she’s not grey-haired, is she, Mum?’ her daughter enquired sweetly.

  ‘How many times do I have to ask you, Roxanne, will you stop calling me Mum?’ Fabia replied wearily.

  ‘What should I call you?’

  ‘How about Cruella?’ Stella almost suggested.

  ‘I’ve told you. Fabia. It is my name after all.’

  ‘All right. As I said, she’s not grey-haired, is she, Fabia? And I think she’s beautiful. Hello, Stella, delighted to meet you.’

  ‘Are you really Foxy Roxy?’ breathed Izzy shyly, as if greeting a goddess just down from Mount Olympus.

  ‘Yes,’ Roxanne laughed uproariously. ‘Hilarious, isn’t it? But yes, I am.’

  ‘She gets a million likes,’ explained Izzy proudly. ‘Would you mind if we took a selfie?’ She couldn’t wait to share it with Freya and Bianca.

  ‘Likes?’ Fabia pooh-poohed. ‘Facebook Friends? What does it all mean? She doesn’t know any of these so-called Friends. Roxanne just records her life and lets all these strangers watch it.’

  ‘You don’t understand any of it, Mum . . . Fabia. You still read Hello! magazine.’

  ‘Glass of champagne anyone?’ Stuart offered. Stella smiled at him gratefully. She could see he was used to dealing with tricky customers. It was a pity his politics banned him from expanding his client list from refugees and asylum seekers to deposed dictators and superannuated groupies.