by Maeve Haran
‘Taken by Duncan,’ added Cameron, delighted to get the chance to stick the knife in. ‘Isn’t she gorgeous?’ He held out the album for Amber to see.
Amber ignored it. ‘Seeing as it’s such a big night for surprises . . .’ she let the words rest tantalizingly in the air until she had all their attention. ‘I’ve got a surprise of my own. I’ve just found out I’m three months pregnant.’ She glanced around the room, savouring the shock on all the different faces, from Cameron’s to Laurie’s, the roadie’s. And, most of all, on Duncan’s. ‘Isn’t that great now?’
Eighteen
————
In the stunned silence that followed, Amber looked not at Duncan but at Stella, with a smile of such superiority that Stella would have loved to slap her silly self-satisfied face. Amber’s message was almost laughably clear: the triumph of the young womb over the old.
And Stella might indeed have been wounded and humiliated but for one thing. The vivid memory of Dolours telling her that Amber had been so turned off by having to look after her little brothers and sisters that, despite unanimous opposition, she had conned her way into getting herself sterilized. So unless Amber was the subject of a genuine miracle or had somehow had that process reversed, the happy announcement she’d just shared had to be a bluff.
Stella could just imagine the scenario Amber had in mind. She would persuade decent, honourable Duncan to stand by her, and then, when Stella was safely off the scene, she would wake up one day and have a convenient miscarriage.
She glanced at Duncan. His face was blank. She guessed he was genuinely shocked, horrified, even, but that his code of honour would not let him show it. She saw him drag his features into a smile of congratulation.
But she wasn’t going to let the ghastly Amber get away with this stunt and inflict herself on Duncan and the people Stella had come to care for so much: Cameron, Debora, even Laurie the roadie.
And she had a pretty good idea how she was going to go about it.
‘So, Duncan, me lad,’ Cameron was the first to fill the shocked silence. ‘You’re going to be a father. I can highly recommend it. I have four wonderful children.’
‘Five,’ corrected Debora.
‘Five wonderful children.’ Cameron laughed. And then, in a discreet undertone while Amber let herself be congratulated, he added, ‘Shall we crack open the champagne or start wearing black?’
‘The weirdest thing is,’ Debora pointed out softly, as soon as Duncan had walked away, ‘she was looking straight at you when she told him the good news. Does she think you two are falling in love or something?’
Debora suddenly stared at Stella as if she had been struck by a bolt of lightning. ‘You are falling in love!’
Stella shook her head. ‘We’re far too old and it’s much too complicated. Maybe forty years ago we might have.’
‘He says forty years ago the beautiful Stella hardly knew he existed.’
Stella flushed and looked away. Except for that one embarrassing night so long ago that both had tried to forget as soon as possible and never mentioned again. How different he was now, his shyness mellowed into sophistication, his inexperience into witty worldliness. Now it was Cameron who was a lovable buffoon and Duncan who had become the attractive one.
‘But, Jeez, Stella,’ now the shock had worn off, her mind was working furiously, ‘remember what her sister told us? We can’t let her get away with this! She picks the one decent man on the planet who’d stand by her and pulls the oldest trick in the book!’
‘I know. Duncan’s beginning to see through her and wham! Suddenly she’s having his baby. But don’t worry, as a matter of fact, I have a few tricks up my sleeve too. Shh! Duncan’s coming back.’
Stella found that, for once in her life, she had no idea what to say and was grateful to Debora for speaking first. ‘Gosh, Duncan, that was quite a surprise.’
Duncan just smiled. There were lines of anxiety in his tanned forehead she hadn’t seen before but it was typical of him that he said nothing to suggest that he’d been as shocked as they were. ‘The thing is,’ Duncan glanced across at Amber who was revelling in her apparent status as mother-to-be, ‘I’ve always hated the sight of an old man boasting about his babies. Fathers should be young and optimistic and able to roll on the floor. Not some old guy with a lovely young woman.’
‘I’m sure you’d be able to roll on the floor,’ was all Stella managed to say.
Debora, sensing she might be in the way, slipped off to fill the glasses.
Duncan’s eyes fixed on hers for an instant. ‘I’m sorry, Stella.’
Neither of them made any attempt to discuss or deny the obvious.
‘Don’t be,’ and as she spoke she realized it was the painful truth, ‘Amber’s done me a favour. I think Brighton went to my head. I obviously still think I’m a rock chick and there’s nothing sadder than that. Real life beckons for both of us.’ She almost added that it had been the most memorable week of her life, but knew somehow that she didn’t need to.
Outrageous and dishonest though Amber’s action was, it was also a wake-up call, a reminder to Stella that ever since she had come home and found Cameron Keene’s silver Airstream parked in her driveway, she had been living a fantasy.
Time to wake up. Time to decide if she was going to fight to save her marriage. Time to go home.
‘So,’ Cameron attempted to chase away the gloom that had descended on everyone but Amber and keep the party going, ‘who’s coming with me to the karaoke bar next door? I thought it’d be quite a laugh if I got up and sang my own songs.’
Stella shook her head, though she had to admit it sounded entertaining.
Duncan made his excuses and went to look for Amber.
‘What’s the betting she’d be one of those loathsome mums-to-be who renounce everything except kale smoothies?’ Debora murmured. ‘And make everyone else have them too. Poor old Duncan. Men really should learn to keep their trousers on. Speaking of which, I guess I’d better go and stop Cameron bringing back the waitress.’
‘Do you really have to?’ Stella wondered if life with Cameron would be worth the effort.
‘Of course I don’t. But he’ll behave if I’m there and I’ll feel powerful. Besides,’ she winked at Stella, ‘you should see me do “Like a Virgin”!’
Outside the Dome, they stood on the pavement for a moment. ‘Are you really all right? About Duncan, I mean?’
‘Of course, I am. It’s a timely reminder. And don’t worry.’ Stella tapped the side of her nose. ‘I’m not going to let her get away with it.’
‘How intriguing. I wouldn’t miss this for the world. So, the big day’s here at last. I’m going early to dump my stuff at The Glebe and to make sure those canapés are cookin’. Is everything under control back there in commuter-land?’
‘Suze will be on top of it, she’s remarkably efficient under her disorganized exterior.’
Neither of them mentioned Matthew or Fabia but Debora sensed that some painful choices had been made tonight that Stella was going to keep to herself. She held out her arms to Stella. ‘I love you, Stella Ainsworth. I can’t think how I’ve lived without you all my life!’
‘I know. I feel the same. Will you go back to the States? You know you’re welcome to stay with us as long as you like.’ As she made the offer she realized that she was talking as if life would be the same as it had ever been. Yet would it?
‘I’m not sure. Maybe it’s time for a change. Maybe I’ll stay in London and try Internet dating.’
They looked at each other and laughed at this fate worse than death. ‘I hear there’s a site called Hot Grannies.’
‘I hope that isn’t what it sounds like. See you tomorrow, lovely Debora.’
‘Ditto, lovely Stella. What have you done with Jesse, by the way?’
‘Duncan has given him a room at The Old Galleon. I expect he’ll go karaoke-ing with the band now he’s a temporary member. Maybe I should have gone after all.’
<
br /> ‘Don’t worry, I’ll look after him.’
Stella walked towards the seafront. The stars were amazing, like glitter scattered on a velvet cloth. To think, she told herself, I was just living my life, measuring it out in spaghetti Bolognese. She thought of Emma and Stuart, and Izzy and Ruby and Jesse. Of Suze and Bernie. And Matthew. Maybe on Sunday, when it was all over, she would invite them round, make an extra-large bowl and take up the reins of her life again.
She slept surprisingly well and didn’t wake till nine, when the phone buzzed next to her.
‘Good morning, Starshine,’ Suze’s earth-shattering warble of the words from the musical Hair greeted her.
Through her half-asleep consciousness Stella sat up in bed and answered with the next line. ‘My God,’ Stella demanded, ‘did I just sing you the chorus from Hair? I must be going positively senile. I didn’t even know I knew it! What’s the news from the fundraising front? How goes Rock for Regeneration?’
‘It would go a lot better if we knew when you’d be here. But fortunately you have an extraordinarily able second-in-command. Moi.’
‘I’m no longer captain of that ship.’ Stella sensed that Suze didn’t want to mention Matthew and Fabia. That wasn’t good. Usually she couldn’t wait to give Stella an earful.
‘I am due to pick Jesse up at one-thirty. The train leaves at one-fifty and gets into Camley at two-twenty. I have already purchased the tickets. We will get a taxi from there and I estimate being with you by two-thirty.’
‘God, Stella, that’s cutting it a bit fine, isn’t it? Cameron’s billed to sing then and the auction is after that.’
‘Would it be possible to reverse them? Talk to Debora. She could swap heaven and hell through a little negotiation with God and the Devil. It’d be nothing after a life spent with Cameron.’
‘See you later, Alligator.’
‘In a while, Crocodile.’
Shut up, she told herself, climbing out of bed, any more historical rock references and they could start their own Wikipedia.
She packed up her things and decided to have a last wander around Brighton. But before she did she called home. There was no answer. Everyone must be in the garden getting ready. So she left a message which Matthew probably wouldn’t get, telling him of her arrival details and wishing them all good luck.
Then she paid her bill.
Without actually intending to she found herself in the street she had wandered around with Duncan. There were spaces on the first-floor balcony of an inviting-looking cafe and she decided to have breakfast there. On the way in she picked up a local free-sheet from a pile on the ground. She wanted to savour this last morning feeling part of this unique place.
Her cappuccino arrived and she opened the paper. On the front page was a huge review of Cameron’s concert, and in the photo, right at the back, was Jesse. He even got a mention as a promising newcomer who brought a breath of fresh energy to this venerable institution.
Stella laughed out loud. How Cameron would hate being called a venerable institution! ‘Although there is a revival in heritage brands like Cameron Keene, Status Quo and the Who taking to the road,’ continued the review, no doubt written by someone aged ten, ‘they can’t just rely on endlessly belting out nothing but the old stuff to a younger audience. One way to keep fresh is to inject new blood into the line-up. The inclusion of Jesse Cope was inspired.’
Stella finished her coffee and picked up another three papers on her way out.
She spent the next couple of hours wandering around. She bought a dream catcher for Ruby, a psychedelic phone cover for Izzy and a pastel silk scarf for Emma which would blend with the muted shades she loved so much.
At last it was time to go and pick up Jesse. He would be thrilled with the review in the paper.
For once the shop was quite full. A bespectacled man in a beret and dark glasses was looking through the vinyl LPs while his son of about eight played with his phone. A young woman with amazing dreadlocks leaned on the counter looking through a book of poems by Patti Smith, while two grey-haired men called out jazz titles to each other to check if they already had that version in their collection.
Jesse was dealing with a customer.
Beginning to get jumpy about the time, Stella pointed to her watch. They only had half an hour to catch their train.
Jesse nodded and tried to hurry the man up. Suddenly, from behind the curtain, Robbie, one of the bearded assistants, appeared with a cupcake with a J-shaped candle stuck in it.
‘There you go, mate,’ he teased, ‘don’t forget us when you’re a big rock star!’
Jesse was almost overcome as he blew out the candle, especially when Robbie produced an upended tin of dog food with another candle in it for Licorice.
By now Stella was frantically gesturing at the door.
When they produced their phone footage of last night’s concert with Jesse’s moment in the limelight, Stella knew when she was beaten. This was an amazing moment for her grandson, the introverted solitary boy who’d felt so unvalued that he’d run away from home, finding himself suddenly the centre of attention and clearly valued by the people he’d worked with.
She texted Suze that they had missed the train and to just go ahead without her.
At long last, Jesse tore himself away, with the dog on a nice red lead someone had produced as a parting gift. ‘Sorry, Gran. I’m really, really sorry, but I couldn’t just walk out, could I?’
‘Of course you couldn’t. Don’t worry, there’ll be other trains.’
Stella put her arm round her grandson, biting back her disappointment. You couldn’t have everything you wanted in life; how often had she been telling herself that lately?
They waved goodbye to Jesse’s workmates. Stella held his guitar while he shouldered his rucksack.
‘Excuse me?’ asked a voice behind them. ‘Are you Mrs Ainsworth and Mr Jesse Cope?’ They both swivelled round to find a taxi driver in an immaculate black suit holding open the door of a grey Mercedes. ‘Please hop in. I will see to the bags. Then I am to drive you to Camley double quick.’
Stella definitely wasn’t going to argue. She didn’t know which good angel was responsible for sending it, but it was definitely a lifesaver. Instead of dashing to the station and finding that there was no train for an hour, they could lie back against the Mercedes’ beige leather seating and leave the whole thing in the lap of the gods, or in this case, the friendly Nigerian driver.
They’d both forgotten Licorice, who leaped up onto the seat between them and settled down happily with her nose on Jesse’s thigh.
‘I hope Licky isn’t car sick,’ Stella commented.
For reply, the dog yawned dangerously as if she might indeed throw up, then closed her mouth and went to sleep.
‘You know,’ Stella shook her head, ‘that dog would have winked if it knew how.’
She looked at her watch again then leaned forward to speak to the driver. ‘What’s the traffic like between here and Camley?’
‘Very bad on the A23. Do not worry. I will take you round the highways and byways. We will put our trust in God. He will get us there in the wink of an eye.’
‘I’d rather Cameron had sent a helicopter,’ whispered Jesse.
‘Jesse Cope, you are being corrupted by rock royalty.’
‘Perhaps you would like to join me in prayer?’ offered the driver as he overtook a white van on the wrong side of the road going into Caterham.
‘How about a hymn instead?’ Stella suggested diplomatically. ‘Guide Me O Thou Great Redeemer’ seemed appropriate, rather like appealing to the Almighty for divine satnav, so they opted for that.
They both sang all they could remember of that venerable hymn and any others they could recall from school assemblies and unwillingly attended church services while the driver, content that he was carrying two Christian souls, though slightly disappointed that he was too late to convert them, drove at frightening speed through several red lights and even more a
mber ones, safe in the knowledge that the Lord would protect him from accident, prosecution or fixed penalties, until they reached the outskirts of Camley.
At last they were near home and it was almost 2.15 p.m. They passed The King’s Arms with its garden where they’d had the tango lessons, Fabia’s retro shop, looking bustling and busy, the plot where they hadn’t yet managed to have the open-air cinema, even the site by the canal where Stella hoped the council would build offices out of old sea containers. This was real life, this was what she’d been fighting for.
The last week had been an idyll, an interlude, a moment out of time. And like all moments out of time, it had to end.
The Mercedes turned down their road. There were cars everywhere, parked on both sides and on the grass verges. She could imagine Mr and Mrs Husky hopping about irately.
‘Here you are,’ announced the driver, coming to a stop, ‘delivered to you by the Almighty . . . and also ABC Cars of Croydon.’ He handed them his card with a flourish.
‘Do you know who booked the car?’ Stella asked, suddenly curious, yet not sure she really wanted to know.
‘Madam,’ announced their smiling driver, ‘I am only the messenger. For that you must ask further up the chain.’
He came round and opened the door. Stella stepped out. For a moment the house looked unfamiliar to her, as if it weren’t the home she had lived in for most of her married life. And then she caught sight of the Airstream parked slap bang in her driveway, with Bernie leaning out of its window, happy as a pig in clover, checking tickets.
‘Stella, Stella, thank God!’ Suze ran down the drive. ‘We’ve held off as long as we possibly can but the locals are getting restless!’
Jesse followed her with the bags, down the garden path at the side of the house.
The garden had been utterly transformed. Stella’s painting studio was invisible behind the open-sided marquee which contained a bar, flowing with free champagne, and the small stage. Just like in Brighton, Laurie had obviously been busy banking up the amps and testing the guitars and microphones. But that was the only similarity. The whole garden was decked with bunting made out of squares of coloured cloth rivalling the pink and yellow of her riotous rose garden. Hollyhocks in every colour nodded engagingly, surrounded by Delft-blue delphiniums, scented stocks, snapdragons, and bright red geraniums. All around the edge of the garden people sat in chairs, nibbling their canapés and drinking champagne from the real glasses Fabia had insisted on. In the background a string quartet, commandeered by someone or other, entertained them with discreet chamber music.
