What Became of You My Love?

by Maeve Haran

  He played them to Cameron.

  Cameron clapped and shook his head in amazement. ‘Wonderful thing, the Internet. Pity it’s killing the recording business.’

  ‘Just as well you own all those golf courses and hotels,’ reminded Duncan with a wink.

  ‘I wasn’t actually thinking of myself,’ was the pompous rejoinder.

  ‘That’s a first,’ Debora murmured and congratulated Jesse, who was looking unashamedly proud to have impressed Cameron with his chord sequences.

  ‘So what happens next?’ Stella was almost as excited as Jesse.

  ‘We smoke a few spliffs, drop the odd pill and crack open the Jack Daniel’s,’ Cameron informed her.

  ‘You wish.’ Duncan grinned. ‘Mostly we play Grand Theft Auto.’

  ‘Duncan,’ Cameron tutted, ‘we have an image to keep up here.’

  Jesse laughed delightedly. ‘I’m pretty good at Grand Theft Auto.’

  ‘Thank God for that,’ Duncan congratulated. ‘You can take over minding Cameron.’

  ‘What about the instruments?’ Jesse asked shyly. ‘Don’t you have to check them yourselves?’ Stella could tell that he was in teenage-boy heaven.

  ‘Laurie will have done all that,’ Cameron shrugged, ‘that’s why we pay him vast amounts of money. Besides which, I’m getting deaf. It’s all that playing next to giant amps in dingy dives when we were young.’

  ‘As well as the gout?’ Jesse asked daringly. Stella couldn’t believe this was the same troubled kid who’d run away from home.

  ‘Watch it, cock,’ Cameron snapped. ‘You could be off the bill, you know.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Jesse stammered, ‘I didn’t mean to cause offence.’

  Cameron ruffled his hair, suddenly affectionate. ‘None taken, lad, none taken. You remind me of my kid, actually. Which one is it, Deb?’

  ‘Karl,’ replied Debora without looking up from her copy of Vogue.

  ‘That’s the one. Karl. He’s in a band of his own. Wouldn’t join ours. Had to make his own way. Silly little bugger.’

  ‘Actually,’ Debora pointed out, ‘Cold Heart are quite well known.’

  ‘Your son’s in Cold Heart?’ blurted Jesse, impressed. ‘They’re amazing.’

  ‘As a matter of fact,’ Duncan decided it would be politic to interrupt, ‘Jesse’s a big fan of The Incredible String Band.’

  ‘They played here in 1969,’ Jesse announced. ‘Would you like to see a photo of the ticket?’

  If Cameron had been wearing glasses he would have looked over the top of them. ‘I’d keep that to yourself, if I was you, son.’

  ‘Nonsense,’ supported Duncan staunchly. ‘They were true artists. Remember that thirteen-minute reflection on life, love and amoebas? Who else had that purity and innocence? Not to mention complete lack of commercialism? Even the Archbishop of Canterbury said they were miraculous.’

  ‘I rest my case.’ Cameron grinned. ‘Besides,’ he glanced at Stella with an anything-but-pure expression, ‘I had another source of purity and innocence.’

  ‘Don’t you have to get changed or something?’ Stella quickly intervened.

  Cameron looked down at his blue jeans and denim shirt. ‘What’s wrong with this?’ he demanded in hurt tones. ‘We’re not fucking Queen, you know.’

  Debora jumped up. ‘You look gorgeous. Just like James Taylor when he looked like James Taylor.’ She winked at Stella.

  ‘He’s bald as a billiard ball now.’ Cameron tossed his shoulder-length locks proudly.

  Laurie appeared at just the right time, announcing that he’d checked the line-up and it was time for Cam to come and do his own sound check.

  ‘Come on, then, you weird kid,’ Cameron put his arm round Jesse, ‘come and hear some real music.’ He headed for the stage with Duncan.

  Jesse laughed and said he just needed to get his guitar.

  ‘I like Cam, don’t you?’ he whispered to Stella as he picked it up. ‘Not as much as Duncan, obviously.’

  ‘How do you all actually live like this?’ Stella asked Debora when they’d gone.

  Debora closed her magazine. ‘Crazy, isn’t it? Real life has a habit of seeming a bit dull afterwards. Going to the supermarket. Doing the laundry.’

  Stella could well imagine. She was certainly finding it hard to picture herself painting pets and putting up with Matthew. On the other hand, this clearly wasn’t real life or anything approximating it.

  ‘And we don’t tour that much, thanks to Dunc’s financial wizardry. We wouldn’t have come this time if it hadn’t been for Cam wanting to re-master “Don’t Leave Me”. We’re going to do that next week after your concert. Speaking of which, I’m heading off to Camley tonight after the show. Gotta make sure my canapés are all there!’

  The fact that the concert in her garden was tomorrow seemed quite unreal. In fact, Camley seemed unreal and even the cause they were fundraising for. She felt as if she’d landed in this alien universe and she was enjoying herself quite inordinately much. Tomorrow all that would end.

  Maybe it wasn’t before time.

  ‘Debora,’ she got up and gave Debora an unexpected hug. ‘I’m so glad you came. I’m so glad we’ve become friends.’

  Debora hugged her back. ‘Me too, Stella. I feel like I’ve known you forever. Now let’s go and keep an eye on Cameron and make sure he was only kidding about those pills and spliffs.’

  Stella was longing to see every single aspect of the backstage experience but now that Jesse was happily found, real life was beginning to seep back in. And with it a big dollop of guilt that she’d left everything in Camley to Suze to supervise.

  ‘I won’t be a moment.’ She waved Debora off. ‘I’ve had six missed calls from Suze. I’d better just check that everything’s OK for tomorrow.’

  ‘Stella!’ was Suze’s reply when she picked up the phone. ‘Why haven’t you been returning my messages?’

  ‘I’m really sorry. Jesse and I are backstage at Cameron’s last concert. It’s all so exciting I forgot to check my phone.’

  ‘Even though the effing concert tomorrow is in your garden?’ Suze was boiling with righteous indignation.

  ‘I’m so sorry, Suze, after all the work you’ve all done.’

  ‘I should bloody well think so. We can’t all swan off on backstage fantasies imagining we’re sixteen again.’

  ‘How’s it all going, anyway?’ she asked contritely, knowing Suze was right.

  ‘As a matter of fact, pretty well. The marquee’s up, chairs arrived, fizz cooling away nicely, though I did have a bit of a barney with the champagne people. They object to us cooling it in dustbins full of ice. Apparently, it makes the labels come off so people can’t tell whose free champagne they’re drinking. On the other hand, as I said, no one’ll appreciate their champagne anyway unless it’s cold.’

  Stella could just imagine the champagne PR having to confront the force that was Suze and needing to go home and lie down.

  ‘The auction prizes are here, including Amber’s womb, of course . . .’

  Where was Amber? Stella suddenly thought. Not like her to stay out of the limelight.

  ‘. . . Bernie may be eighty but he’s still offering a day of DIY, bless him; the garden centre’s given us a pergola, or was it an arbour? The thing that looks like a sentry box without the sentry; The Glebe’s thrown in a free three-course lunch; you’re painting a pet, oh, and someone donated the most adorable old English sheepdog puppy, you won’t believe how cute, all black and white and fluffy like a mini Dulux dog. It almost made me a dog lover and you know how I can’t stand animals.’

  ‘That all sounds wonderful. Oh, by the way, I invited that young man Hal.’

  ‘Stella! I thought he’d be the last person you wanted, what with your Emma.’

  ‘I have a plan for Hal,’ Stella announced mysteriously.

  ‘That sounds ominous. Does it involve inscribing Adulterer on his tummy like that guy had Pervert in The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo?’
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  ‘Not quite. Worse, I think.’

  ‘Oh, goody. We also had a call from a girl calling herself Dolours – you gave her the number – could that really be right? Doesn’t it mean pain or something?’

  ‘I think it’s more like Sorrow. I think Dolours is named after the Virgin Mary and her seven sorrows.’

  ‘Good God! Have I ever told you I’m glad I’m an atheist?’

  ‘Frequently.’

  ‘Well, here’s another reason, so I can’t go calling my unfortunate offspring weird religious names.’

  ‘Anyway, what did Dolours have to say?’

  ‘That she’s got a ticket and she’s coming tomorrow.’

  ‘Wonderful. Tomorrow is shaping up really promisingly.’

  ‘Why?’ Suze asked suspiciously. ‘Stella, what are you up to?’

  ‘You’ll have to wait and see. I just hope I get there, that’s all.’

  ‘What?! What do you mean, you hope you’ll get here?’

  ‘Jesse isn’t free till one p.m., and I’m not letting him out of my sight till he’s back with his mum and dad.’

  ‘Stella, have I told you that sometimes I would like to kill you?’

  ‘I know, I’m a stubborn old bag, but I have to do it.’ She realized she’d left the most important question till last. ‘What about Matthew and Fabia?’

  ‘Hasn’t he been in touch? Even about Jesse?’

  ‘No, not once since I left.’

  ‘You’re kidding!’

  ‘Matthew is not good at imagining realities other than his own.’

  ‘I can see that. As a matter of fact, they’ve been skipping around holding hands like Romeo and Juliet. And stop pretending you don’t care.’

  ‘I do care.’ The trouble was, while she was here, in this strange alternative reality, she couldn’t bring herself to come to a decision. And she knew that when she came home and had to face his betrayal, she would care very much indeed. But what she wanted to do about it, she had no idea.

  ‘Good. You’re going to have to get off your cloud, to coin a phrase, and deal with this, you know.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘Roxy’s been livid with her. And Bernie’s been equally livid with him.’

  The fact that other people were involved, feeling sorry for her, fighting her corner, did penetrate her armour. Tomorrow, she told herself, like Scarlett O’Hara, I’ll deal with it all tomorrow.

  ‘Cameron’s down to play at two-thirty. We’ll push it back as much as we can, but two hundred people have paid good money to see him.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘Well, you’re certainly a good grandmother.’

  Stella said goodbye. The question she didn’t want to face was – was she really doing it all for Jesse? Or did she want to keep Duncan in her life just a little bit longer?

  The roar from the waiting audience in the Dome told Stella that Cameron must have just appeared on stage.

  She ran to the VIP viewing area just in time. Debora handed her a glass of champagne and pointed out Jesse, who was standing shyly at the back. Cameron walked to the front of the stage, unhooked the microphone and began to stride back and forwards right up to the lip of the stage.

  ‘Hello, Brighton!’ he shouted.

  ‘Hello, Cameron!’ they shouted back.

  ‘We don’t care if we baby boomers get a bad press just because we were young in the Sixties, do we?’

  ‘No, we don’t!’

  ‘Was it our fault if we lived through the best time to be young in the whole of history?’

  ‘No!’ they returned with one voice.

  Stella surveyed the crowd. There were two thousand of them, most of them about Stella’s own age. They’d come in their blue jeans and their cowboy boots, their maxi dresses and their denim shirts.

  ‘Did we ask for cheap houses and good pensions?’

  ‘No!’

  ‘Who, here, went to rock festivals?’

  Loads of hands went up.

  ‘Who wore flowers in their hair?’

  Not so many hands this time. ‘Good for you!’

  ‘Lit their matches for Bob Dylan?’

  ‘Yeah!’ roared the crowd.

  ‘Did anyone come to the Floyd concert here on this hallowed stage in 1972?’

  When fifty or so put up their hands Cameron bowed elaborately down to them. ‘Respect!’

  ‘We don’t care if we spend our kids’ inheritance, do we? Buy that Lamborghini! Ride round the States on that Harley!’

  ‘Yeah!’

  ‘Let’s hear it for Grey Power, you bunch of sad old hippies!’

  The response could probably be heard ten miles away in dull, respectable Worthing.

  ‘Scary, aren’t they?’ whispered a voice. She turned to find Duncan next to her. ‘I predict a white riot.’

  Cameron wasn’t finished yet. ‘I’d like to introduce the members of my band to you.’ He named the drummer, bass player and his rhythm guitarist. ‘And tonight, for one night only, we are joined by a very special guest, Mr Jesse Cope. Step forward, Jesse!’

  Stella fumbled for her phone. She’d have to capture this or the family would kill her.

  A cheer went up from a small group at the back. Jesse’s colleagues from Feeling Groovy brought the age range down by about fifty years.

  After that they launched into their set, the familiar feel-good music bringing everyone to their feet. And as at the previous concert, there was puzzled disappointment that Cameron, despite constant shouts for it, hadn’t played ‘Don’t Leave Me in the Morning’.

  Then came the tidal wave of relief as he came back on stage for his encore and launched straight into his best-known song. All over the auditorium couples caught each other’s eyes, held hands and swayed lovingly. It was strange, marvelled Stella again, that a song so full of raw pain and unfulfilled longing could be ‘our song’ to so many people, instantly taking them back to their still-remembered youth.

  On the final note, the confetti canons were fired, showering the entire audience in multi-coloured heart shapes.

  ‘He’s amazing with the audience, isn’t he?’ whispered Debora as they made their way backstage again.

  ‘He’s turning into an old softie,’ commented Duncan. ‘He’d have been a laughing stock if he’d done that forty years ago. By the way, Jesse was terrific.’

  Stella smiled at him gratefully. It had really been down to him that Jesse had had this amazing chance.

  They edged along the corridors past the caterers’ plastic cases, piled high, which had contained the food and drink for the after-show party. The Band Room was already crowded with record-company executives, sponsors, local bigwigs, and members of the band and their families and friends. Staff from the caterers in black trousers and white tee shirts saying CREW CATERING handed round drinks and snacks to the hungry hordes.

  Finally, Cameron himself arrived, Jesse in tow.

  ‘He did all right, the lad,’ Cameron congratulated, ‘but I’ve told him he doesn’t want to be a musician. Life on the road, drink and drugs all around you, your arse licked by useless toadies . . .’ He looked straight at Duncan who started to laugh. ‘Get a proper job. Choose a three-piece suite like that Scotch guy said. Right, now mine’s a double Bell’s, if anyone’s asking.’

  Debora went off to get him one.

  ‘Shit,’ Jesse suddenly announced, ‘I forgot!’ He ran off, leaving Stella anxiously wondering what was happening. In five minutes he was back clutching his rucksack. He deposited it on a table and started to decant an old Coke can, a pair of trainers and his headphones. At last he produced a battered vinyl album and handed it triumphantly to Stella. ‘Robbie from the shop found it.’

  Cameron grabbed it. ‘Fuckin’ hell, I’ve never even seen this myself. It must be some German bloody bootleg!’

  The album was covered in blurry now-faded photographs that purported to capture moments in the rock star’s real life. There was Cameron leapfrogging over another band member.
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br />   ‘I never did that in my life!’ he protested. Then, looking at one showing him drinking from a bottle of Southern Comfort, he added, ‘I loathe the stuff, I’m not Janis fucking Joplin!’ There was another showing Cameron lying asleep in the back of a bus, completely zonked out. ‘That’s more like it! Probably been tripping!’

  And, finally, there was a small photograph of a young girl with long blonde hair and huge, luminous eyes looking straight at the camera.

  ‘My God,’ Stella could hardly believe what she was seeing. ‘It’s me!’

  They all stared at it. The girl was definitely her.

  ‘Have you never seen it before either?’

  Stella shook her head.

  ‘How did they get the photograph?’

  ‘From me.’

  They all looked at Duncan.

  ‘I was quite into photography then. A real backstage Bailey. It was for some limited edition. They probably only printed about a thousand copies. Could be worth a fortune now.’

  Cameron studied the photograph with fascination. ‘You haven’t changed a bit, Stell. You’ve still got that Marianne Faithfull look that drove us all wild.’

  Stella laughed out loud at the outrageous flattery. ‘Except that I’m over sixty!’

  ‘It doesn’t matter, Gran,’ Jesse informed her, ‘you’re still a ledge!’

  ‘What’s a ledge?’ Stella asked, now laughing and crying at the same time.

  ‘A legend, of course,’ Duncan interpreted. ‘And Jesse’s absolutely right. You are a legend.’

  A strange hush seemed to fall on the room. People began to stand back and make way for a late arrival.

  Stella turned to find Amber walking towards them, dressed like a latter-day Goth from head to foot in tight black satin, her hair loose about her shoulders and her impressive breasts drawing the eye of every man in the room.

  ‘So, what’s all the excitement, then?’ she asked, a tolerant smile pinned to her face.

  ‘A brilliant surprise from Jesse,’ Duncan explained. Stella noticed how he made sure Jesse got the credit. ‘He found an old album of Cam’s at the record shop where he works. It has a photograph of Stella, the perfect Sixties girl.’