What Became of You My Love?

by Maeve Haran

  They stood up and said goodbye.

  ‘So where does that leave us?’ Emma asked in the taxi on the way back.

  ‘I met a young man today who suggested we look at hostels. And also an area where some young people camp out. Did he take a tent, by any chance?’

  ‘I don’t know. He does have a tent for festivals. I’ll get Stuart to see if it’s still there.’

  They wandered down to the seafront and shared a pizza and half a bottle of wine. Stella realized how gloomy she was starting to feel, how much she’d banked on Kirsty having some clues to Jesse’s whereabouts. Now it seemed to be a dead end. Still, she had to keep her spirits up for Emma’s sake.

  She got out her notebook. ‘Let’s make a list of all the places we can check on tomorrow.’

  Suddenly Emma burst into tears. ‘How can we be sure he’s really in Brighton? That girl Kirsty was our only clue and she says she hasn’t even heard from him.’

  Stella put her arms round her daughter. ‘He told Dora he was here, and I’m not sure I believe Kirsty.’

  ‘But why would she lie?’

  ‘I suppose she might, if Jesse had asked her not to tell us anything.’

  ‘Oh, Mum, this is all so awful. Stuart and I have really screwed up. When you have a baby it all seems so simple,’ Emma said tearfully. ‘If you love them and feed them and change them, everything will be all right. But it isn’t. Not even when they’re babies! They cry and you don’t know why. And then they grow up and sometimes you even resent them. You have to be so unselfish.’ She looked appealingly at Stella. ‘I know I’ve been selfish, Mum. But I’m not going to be any more.’

  Stella touched her daughter’s tearstained face with a gentle finger. Emma seemed to be realizing at last that actions had painful consequences.

  ‘We’ll just have to trust to Jesse’s good sense. I have a lot of faith in him.’

  Emma sighed. ‘I hope to God you’re right.’

  But the next morning was deeply discouraging. The small crowd of young people in tents had never seen the boy in the picture and neither had anyone at the homeless shelters, nor the small groups hanging around outside.

  They were just walking along the seafront back to their hotel when they saw Duncan emerge from The Old Galleon. One look at their faces told him the news wasn’t good. ‘No response to our offer to have him on stage, I’m afraid. Probably a silly idea.’

  ‘Kind, though.’ Stella smiled.

  ‘Why don’t I get the crew involved?’

  Stella smiled again. The idea of everyone from Cameron Keene down to Laurie, the doped-out looking roadie, on the hunt for Jesse was so improbable as to be amusing.

  Emma’s phone buzzed and she went off to answer it.

  She returned looking even more frazzled. ‘It’s Ruby. She’s ill and Stuart’s really worried. I’m going to have to go back for a bit. Will you be all right on your own? You will keep looking, won’t you, Mum?’

  ‘Of course I will. We haven’t nearly exhausted the possibilities yet.’ She waved as Emma headed back to the hotel to get her stuff.

  ‘You look done in.’ Duncan studied Stella for a moment. ‘Why don’t you come and have a drink?’

  It was too tempting an offer to refuse. Matthew wouldn’t have noticed if she had bubonic plague – except to worry if it was infectious.

  ‘I’ve just got to stop by the Dome to make sure all’s in order and we’ll find somewhere quiet where we can chat.’

  Stella followed him, relieved that they weren’t going to The Old Galleon. She didn’t feel up to Amber or Cameron.

  Despite her worries, Stella couldn’t help finding a backstage tour of the Dome fascinating. They went in through the side entrance, via the vast doors where the trucks had been parked since early morning. It made Stella laugh to see that even the garage doors in Brighton had Regency crenellations. They passed the small reception desk and were issued with backstage passes. The production team was already there and were busy setting out sound and lighting. Caterers were arriving with big plastic cases of pre-prepared food which they placed on a lip at the front of the stage which, Stella was amazed to see, could be raised up and down. After the show there would be a party in the Band Room, Duncan explained, where the bigwigs of Brighton would come alongside the punters who’d paid up to £150 for special tickets that meant they could meet Cameron afterwards.

  ‘Everyone does it now,’ explained Duncan. ‘Another way of bringing in the revenue.’ Once he’d satisfied himself that the roadies were in control, checking each instrument carefully, he led Stella back out into the sunshine.

  ‘What time does Cameron get here to rehearse?’

  ‘About five. We have to watch him like a hawk. No stimulants stronger than PG tips. And that’s pushing it.’

  They found a cafe next to the mad but wonderful Pavilion with its green onion domes and lacy Eastern stone carving, mixing Indian, Chinese and Persian styles and somehow ending up with a curiously beautiful whole.

  The clusters of slender minarets looked for all the world as if they were about to summon the good people of Brighton to prayer. Except that the only religion in Brighton tended to be hedonism.

  Duncan brought two large glasses of wine back to their table. Stella took hers gratefully.

  All around them people laughed and chatted and soaked in the welcome sunshine. There was an air of holiday in Brighton all year round. That was why people flocked here. And somehow it had avoided the dilapidation and seediness that had befallen so many seaside towns. Brighton still blazed with enough colour, style and downright eccentricity to have warmed the heart of its patron, the dandyish and decadent Prince Regent.

  Stella was equally grateful when Duncan skipped the small talk and went straight to the subject close to her heart.

  ‘Right. Let’s think about this logically. How much cash did Jesse have?’

  ‘It couldn’t be much or he wouldn’t have borrowed Izzy’s Christmas money.’

  ‘So if Jesse is here, he has to earn money. What could he do?’

  ‘Work in a cafe, I suppose,’ Stella replied. ‘He’s too young for a pub. Maybe be a washer-upper, something illegal immigrants might do who don’t want to be visible.’

  ‘Right. Well, we could try the smaller fast-food joints.’

  Stella found she was immensely comforted by the ‘we’.

  ‘I wondered about something to do with records,’ she suggested, sipping her wine. ‘He’s always talking about the revival of vinyl.’

  Duncan laughed. ‘Good thought.’ He started to check his phone for record shops. He looked up at her, shaking his head. ‘Don’t you love Brighton? There are no fewer than six second-hand record shops here and five of them sell vinyl! Who said the recording industry’s dead? I haven’t got much time today, but why not tomorrow? We’ve got a couple of days between shows, thank God. We’ll go and look together. Come to the hotel at eleven?’

  Stella finished her drink and looked for her handbag. There was something distinctly reassuring about Duncan. Cameron might be the star but you got the clear impression that it was Duncan who had created the firmament.

  Fifteen

  ————

  Bed was deliciously comfortable, Stella thought guiltily, now that she had it all to herself and didn’t have to share it with either her daughter or her husband.

  She had been woken by the raucous cry of seagulls; so many of them, in fact, that they sounded as if they were auditioning for Hitchcock’s spooky film The Birds. She had made a cup of tea and to her delight had found a tiny jug of fresh milk in the fridge, plus two shortbread biscuits, which was amazing considering how cheap the hotel was. She might even become one of those enthusiastic people who left reviews on TripAdvisor.

  She had finished the first cup and was wondering whether to indulge in another when the phone rang. It was Emma informing her that Ruby had chicken pox. Stella listened guiltily. What kind of grandmother was she to be lying here delighting in tea and bi
scuits when she should have rung her daughter to find out how Ruby was?

  ‘The thing is, Mum, I think I’m going to have to stay with her. She can’t go to the childminder with chicken pox.’

  ‘I quite understand. As a matter of fact, Duncan’s coming with me to look.’

  ‘I would have thought he’d be too busy with their shows.’

  ‘He’s become very fond of Jesse. It seems he was an ISB fan too.’

  ‘What on earth is ISB? It sounds like some kind of bowel complaint.’

  ‘That’s IBS. It stands for The Incredible String Band,’ Stella explained. ‘Jesse loves them. Their fans stick together because there weren’t that many of them.’

  ‘I’m not surprised, if that’s the ghastly music he’s always listening to. Like cats with catarrh. Are you all right, Mum? You sound a bit odd.’

  Stella realized why she sounded odd. If she hadn’t been worrying about Jesse, she would be greatly relishing her independence.

  ‘I’m fine. I’ll let you know as soon as we find anything out. What’s happening your end? Still no word from his friends? What about the police? Still nothing?’

  ‘I don’t think they honestly care. They think he’ll just come home.’

  ‘Maybe he will.’ Stella said goodbye, but her indulgent pleasure had evaporated at the news of the lack of police enthusiasm. It seemed as though more fuss was made over a cat up a tree than her beloved grandson.

  She didn’t have much time before her peace was shattered again. This time by Suze.

  Stella glanced at her watch. ‘You’re up early.’ Suze was a notoriously late sleeper.

  ‘I’m on tango watch.’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘The tangos are getting steamier.’

  Stella laughed.

  ‘Stella, I don’t think you’re taking this seriously. Fabia’s cooking for him every night. Proper cordon bleu stuff.’

  Stella realized that for some reason she hadn’t told Suze about Matthew’s admission. Maybe she didn’t feel ready to face up to it yet.

  ‘And he’s got absolutely fanatical about dance, always droning on about the cultural significance of the mambo in Cuba or some such thing. You know Matthew. I never thought I’d say this but I wish he’d go back to William Morris and the council. And this thing about starting up dance studios with Fabia. They’re like bloody Fanny and Johnnie Cradock! All I know is I just don’t think you should stay away.’

  ‘Well, I’ve got to be back for Saturday. I can hardly miss the concert in my own garden, can I?’

  ‘It’s a long time till Saturday. Stella, listen, this is serious. Matthew’s a new man. Charming, considerate, can’t do enough for everyone.’

  Stella almost laughed out loud. ‘And you think I should be worried about that?’

  ‘In Matthew, yes, I do.’

  ‘But if I can’t trust my husband alone for a few days, what does that say about our marriage?’ She realized Duncan had said the same thing.

  ‘That’s all very well, but most people’s marriages don’t have to cope with an Argentinian firecracker being thrown into them.’

  Stella had to concede that this was true.

  And then, the final nail in the coffin: ‘Stella, she actually seems to like him.’

  To Suze’s baffled exasperation, Stella changed the subject. ‘Anyway, what else is happening? How are the preparations coming along?’

  ‘Fantastic, actually. Food and drink under control. Fizz already arrived. Auction prizes rolling in. The dreaded Amber has donated a giant uterus with ovaries attached. It reminds me of a dead sheep’s skull and Matthew says it’s a steal from a Black Sabbath album cover but that it’ll probably go for quite a lot. Oh, and one of your pet owners is hopping mad. The owner of the French bulldog you painted in his socks. The dog’s become such a celebrity he’s getting no peace.’

  ‘Oh dear.’ She got dressed musing on the peculiar nature of modern fame. Amber and her enormous wombs and bulldogs in socks going viral. She wondered if Roxy’s tweeting about Jesse had led anywhere. But surely she’d have heard about it if it had?

  When she arrived at the hotel Duncan was nowhere to be found. Instead it was Cameron who pounced on her, looking dissolute and unshaven. He pulled her into the small room off the lounge where he had been playing bar billiards with Laurie, the roadie.

  ‘You know Laurie, don’t you?’ Cameron asked.

  ‘Hello, Laurie. Such a great name for a roadie.’

  They both looked at her blankly.

  ‘Well, you know. Laurie. Sounds like Lorry.’

  They exchanged a significant look.

  ‘Where’s Duncan?’ Stella threw in hastily. ‘I’m supposed to be meeting him. How did it go last night?’

  ‘Pretty good. Full house. Got them on their feet rockin’ away at the end. Told them to throw away their Zimmer frames.’

  ‘He got them up on stage,’ Laurie endorsed. ‘It was fuckin’ amazing.’

  ‘Right. Like in Hair,’ suggested Stella.

  They looked blank again.

  ‘You know, Hair the musical. “Let the Sunshine in”. The audience all went on stage at the end.’

  ‘Before my time, darling.’ Cameron grinned.

  ‘So where did you say Duncan is?’

  ‘Upstairs being lectured by Amber. She doesn’t like it here, apparently. Too noisy, by which she means too near me. She wanted to stay at The Grand. Duncan says The Grand’s full of salesmen who fuse the electrics by all blow-drying their hair at the same time and suffocate you in the lift with their aftershave. Apparently the décor here offends her artist’s eye. Answer me one question, Stella.’

  ‘I’ll do my best.’

  ‘What the fuck does he see in her? Apart from the tits, obviously.’

  ‘She’s very much her own woman, a successful artist, apparently Connie liked her, and she does have an elemental kind of sex appeal.’ Stella wondered what she was doing selling Amber to Cameron. Maybe it was because Duncan seemed to like her and Duncan was being very kind.

  Amber chose that moment to sweep majestically through the lobby and out of the revolving door onto the promenade.

  ‘Well, I don’t get it. It’s like that thing in Jurassic Park,’ Cameron announced, much struck by the philosophical truth of his own perception.

  ‘What thing?’ asked Laurie.

  ‘The mosquito trapped in amber. That’s Dunc. He’s trapped in Amber.’

  They both laughed uproariously.

  ‘I’d better go and look for him. What room’s he in?’

  ‘Ten. At the front. It’s bigger than my room, I can tell you. And I quite like the décor.’ Cameron and Laurie went back to their bar billiards.

  The lift was busy so Stella took the stairs, remembering that she’d meant to ask Cameron about the gout. He seemed fine and maybe he wouldn’t want to be reminded of so embarrassing an affliction in a rock star.

  To her surprise the door of the room was wide open. She knocked and when she got no reply, peered in.

  It was a pretty room with a big bay window looking out on the promenade framed by huge swagged curtains in sea blue. Even the wallpaper was sea blue, dotted with white seagulls.

  But it was the bed that caught her attention. It was vast and, fitting into the nautical mood, shaped like a boat. No matter how unhappy Amber might be with their surroundings, the tumbled sheets spoke of recent use.

  Despite herself Stella found her eyes drawn back to it. An unexpected emotion flooded through her. Surprise? Jealousy? Shocked that she should be feeling such a thing, Stella turned away to find Duncan standing in the doorway. For a fraction of a second their eyes met. ‘Sorry, I was just looking for Amber, she went off in a bit of a huff.’

  ‘So I heard.’

  ‘Yes,’ he grinned, surprisingly boyishly, ‘no secrets around here. She does have a soft side, you know. You meet a lot of bullshitters in this business and Amber’s got this amazing honesty, a sort of take-it-or-leave-it attitude. I
’ve always been a bit scared of what people think of me. Maybe because I was so shy when I was growing up, but Amber doesn’t even notice. And she cares a lot about art.’

  Stella felt a pang of guilt that she probably hadn’t helped with his confidence by labelling him ‘Dull Duncan’ all those years ago. She didn’t quite know what to make of this unburdening but she could see that Duncan wanted her to understand why he was drawn to Amber. And the curious thing was, she was resisting it. It was easier just to dislike Amber. Yet, for Duncan’s sake, she ought to try.

  ‘I can see she’s very original and refreshing.’

  Duncan laughed. ‘But you can’t stand her.’

  ‘She’s very different to me. Let’s leave it at that. Shall we go?’

  They headed out onto the seafront, avoiding the rollerbladers, who seemed to be mostly incredibly fit retirees, and turned north, away from the sea, wending their way through the tiny streets known as the Lanes packed with antique shops and expensive jewellers.

  They cut through the Pavilion Gardens, full of picnickers even at this hour, with the Pavilion on their right, and passed the Dome, where Cameron had performed last night.

  ‘How are tickets going?’ Stella asked.

  ‘Sold out weeks ago.’ Duncan grinned. ‘The great thing about being a Sixties rocker is that your audience is as old as you are. They book ahead, pay whatever you ask, and don’t start fights or puke over the upholstery. They’re a dream. You are coming, aren’t you? I’ll get you a backstage pass.’

  Stella almost laughed out loud. How she would have longed to be able to say, ‘I’m with the band,’ forty years ago. Now, for the first time in her life, she could say it at over sixty. Life was certainly full of surprises.

  They took a right turn and all at once it seemed to Stella that they had walked into their own past. The date might profess it to be the twenty-first century, but in Brighton it was still a hippie paradise. A vintage clothes shop boasting the title To Be Worn Again was full of the silks and velvets, embroidered shawls and peasant blouses Stella had worn at eighteen as a rebellion against all that was dull and suburban in her background.

  They wandered into a souk-like shop full of beaded silver necklaces, Tuareg camel bags and colourful Eastern rugs. ‘Oh my God,’ Stella breathed in and closed her eyes, transported by the spicy aroma of joss sticks. ‘Patchouli! Now that does take me back!’