Follow a Star (20 page)

‘That’s why I was determined to make a success of myself,’ he was saying. ‘When I found I had a voice, I knew I could leave the lot behind – even my name – Maurice Cledwyn didn’t really fit with my stage image,’ he grinned. ‘I’ve got enough royalties rolling in to keep me in clover for the rest of my days, and even after three divorces I’ve still got a mansion in the Surrey countryside with five bathrooms I never even use. You can only sit on one bog at a time after all. And it won’t buy me friendship, or health … or any more years. What’s important to me now is making time to do it properly, to slow down and live life instead of watching it go by.’

‘Some might say you’d had plenty of experience,’ May couldn’t help pointing out. Maurice Cledwyn, eh? No wonder he’d ditched that name. She found herself warming to his self-deprecating manner.

‘In a life that was hermetically sealed,’ he insisted, rolling his eyes. ‘From arena to arena, by tour bus and hotel room, when every place merges into one and you’ll do anything to stop the boredom. No wonder it’s enough to drive you crazy.’ He raised a quizzical eyebrow at her. ‘You don’t look crazy to me. What happened?’

No, she wasn’t crazy, but that was the story that had gone out in the press. Panic attack, stage fright. ‘I was never happy being the centre of attention, so it’s true that I always got worked up before an appearance,’ she admitted. ‘I didn’t like what I was – the image they created for me. I always felt as if I was wearing another woman’s clothes. It wasn’t the right place for me to reach a new audience either, not when everyone else was a “serious indie artist”,’ she said, making a little quote sign with her fingers. ‘I would have been laughed off stage had I gone on, so I decided to take matters into my own hands. I did the unthinkable, walked away and hitched a lift back to the station.’

Thunder sucked his breath through his teeth. She could guess what he was thinking – highly unprofessional, career suicide. But the real reason had been more personal and she wasn’t going to share that with him. ‘As for that song!’ she continued. ‘It was a joke. Pink Lix Records, who signed me, put out two singles from what was supposed to be my first album and they did nothing. Zilch. No interest at all. So I got given a list of hits and told to write one just like it – “not these touchy-feely girlie songs no one wants to buy,” they said.’

Or rather, Aiden had instructed.

‘And that was the result – the blandest tune with the cheesiest lyrics I could imagine.’

‘And the rest was history,’ said Thunder. ‘You know every time I saw the video for your single, I always wondered if there was more to you than the public image they created for you.’

‘Behind the perfect pout and pink painted smile,’ said May, finding she was able to laugh. ‘Don’t even get me started on the subject of creative control. Imagine if someone had tried to kit Radiohead or Muse out like One Direction?’

‘So what happened to the album?’ Thunder said, leaning forwards.

‘Technically acceptable, but not enough radio hits, apparently. Pink Lix didn’t like the feedback from the experimental material we tried on tour. They want me to re-record the tracks until they’re satisfied they’ve got chart potential.’

‘So they’ve extended the option period and got you over a barrel,’ Thunder said with a sneer.

‘What else can I do? I can’t see any escape from my contract,’ May felt helpless again. She could run, but for all her talk yesterday, she was horribly afraid Aiden only had to tug the leash to bring her back to heel.

‘They don’t own you, girl,’ Thunder said hotly. ‘I’d get someone to take another look at that contract, if I was you. In fact, get it sent to me and I’ll get my brief to look at it.’

‘I’m not sure it’ll do any good, although that’s kind of you. I was very naïve when I signed it.’ And infatuated. At the time, she’d bowed to Aiden’s judgement. He was the person who’d made her career, the one whose record company she was signed to. The puppeteer pulling her strings.

Thunder’s face grew grim. ‘Got any more of that commercially unacceptable material hanging around?’

‘Commercially unacceptable is what I do,’ May sighed. ‘I certainly wasn’t going to let them have any more of my songs whilst they were still trying to recut and butcher the eight tracks I’d given them.’

‘I’d like to take a look at what you’ve got,’ Thunder said, surprising her. ‘You might not be able to use it, but maybe I can.’

‘I really don’t think it would—’

‘What?’ Thunder interrupted softly, ‘be suitable for an over-the-hill rocker like me?’

May bowed her head, ashamed that she was guilty of the same sin of judging Thunder by how he’d been packaged and sold.

‘It would be my privilege.’ She smiled.

‘Excellent. Listen, I’m staying at this boutique B&B place, got the card here somewhere,’ he said, patting his trouser pockets. ‘Why don’t you drop by tomorrow and show me what you’ve got. It’s called … where the hell’s the bloody card?’

‘It’s all right,’ said May. ‘I think I know it – Walton House?’ At least she wouldn’t run into Aiden. That much was abundantly clear from his latest text. And it would be nice to see Fiona Goodwin again.

‘That’s the place!’ Thunder leaned forward and gave her a fatherly kiss on one cheek. Over his shoulder, she could see Bill, coming towards them frowning. Bloody typical. He was bound to get a rush of blood to his red head thinking she’d arranged a secret assignation with Thunder whilst they were holed up in Ramsgate harbour.

May waited for Bill to open his mouth but before he could say anything, Matthew, pushing Georgia in her buggy and chased by his dog, was approaching from the other direction, a big grin over his face.

‘Thunder Harwich!’ he exclaimed, looking star-struck. ‘I don’t believe it! I was a massive fan of yours – I’ve got all your albums!’

‘Worse luck,’ Harry said under her breath as she came over to join them. ‘Meet one of your biggest fans, my husband, Matthew.’

‘Wow! I can’t believe I’m talking to the man who sang “Six Nights with Lucifer’s Bride”!’ Matthew beamed. ‘Heck, man, when I was thirteen, I wanted to be you!’

‘Yes, well, I’ll bet you’re glad you didn’t turn out like me looking at me now, eh?’ Thunder said drily.

Bill looked totally perplexed whilst Harry and May shook their heads at each other. Matthew suddenly went a bit sheepish – probably realised what he’d just admitted to, thought May, until he opened his mouth again.

‘You probably get sick of fans and their requests, but if I go back to the house and dig out the
Lucifer’s Bride
album, would you sign the cover for me?’

‘There’s no rush, son,’ said Thunder. ‘I want to speak to your good lady about buying a boat here.’

‘Right, then,’ said Matthew, looking down at the buggy. Harry was about to take over when Georgia stuck her arms out to Thunder, clearly hoping to be picked up. ‘At least I haven’t lost me touch with the birds,’ he said, looking at Harry who nodded before lifting Georgia into his arms. ‘Aren’t you a cutie, just like my granddaughter? Now, be a good girl for me, because I want to talk to your mum about a boat.’

‘I’ll put you on a waiting list, shall I?’ said Harry, folding her arms again.

‘Well, that depends,’ Thunder began, slightly distracted by Georgia who was babbling at him and trying to grab hold of the diamond cross hanging off one of his earlobes. ‘This is the one I like the look of, right here.’

He looked up at
Maid of Mersea
and Harry, much to May’s amusement, stepped protectively in front of the wooden props surrounding the forlorn boat.

‘All right, you’ve had your fun. Why are you really here?’

‘Straight up, darling, I want to buy a boat!’ Thunder said, visibly wilting in the force of Harry’s hard stare. ‘And this one here’s got great character; looks a bit lived in, like me.’

‘True,’ Harry agreed, softening a little, ‘but you do realise you can’t just put her back in the water and expect to sail away in her.’

Thunder winced as Georgia successfully caught his earring then gently unwrapped her fingers. ‘I’m not planning on sailing off anywhere. I’ve had enough of big boats, big seas, and mutinous crews. I’ve come back to the area where I grew up to do a bit of pottering round the backwaters in a little boat that I can manage by myself. And if what you’re saying is that the boat needs a bit of tender loving care, well, I’ve got plenty of time to give it to her.’

‘You wouldn’t need to do it all by yourself,’ Harry said, beadily. ‘We offer the full range of services at Watling’s to help you get her seaworthy again at a very competitive rate.’

‘I’m glad to hear you singing from my kind of song sheet,’ Thunder agreed with a big smile despite the very angry-looking left earlobe he was sporting thanks to Georgia’s attention.

‘Well, well, well, Cinders,’ said Harry, looking up at the old boat. ‘Looks as if you’re going to the ball after all. Do you want to take a closer look?’

‘Do I?’ Thunder smiled.

‘Over to Auntie May, then,’ said Harry, removing a surprised Georgia from Thunder and passing her to an even more startled May.

May, who couldn’t remember the last time she’d held such a small human being in her arms, couldn’t help pressing her cheek against Georgia’s head, unable to resist her fluffy baby curls. Would she ever be in a position to think about having children of her own? she wondered wistfully. She caught Bill watching her and felt unexpectedly shy.

‘I can’t offer to take you to a ball, I’m afraid, only somewhere rather more mundane,’ he said as Thunder went off to help Harry put a ladder up the side of the boat. ‘I want to ask a favour. Cecil’s having his op on Friday and it would really give him a boost to see you before the procedure. I wondered if you’d consider coming up to the hospital with me tomorrow evening to wish him luck. And to thank you for your time, maybe I can repay you by cooking a meal. That is if you’re not busy …’ He looked up at Thunder at the top of the ladder who, restricted by his leather trousers, was having a spot of bother lifting his leg over
Maid of Mersea’s
guard rails.

‘I thought we’d been through all this in Ramsgate,’ May complained, rolling her eyes. ‘And it cost you a curry.’

‘I didn’t realise he was famous then!’ Bill protested.

‘What? So you’re accusing me of being some kind of groupie now, are you?’ she couldn’t help teasing. She took a deep breath. ‘Bill, you asked me who I worked for but not what I did, remember. I suppose I’d call myself a writer.’

‘Really?’ Bill sounded impressed. ‘What do you write?’

‘Songs,’ she said, after a slight pause.

‘Without a musical instrument? How do you do that? You didn’t bring anything with you, did you? Not that I saw, anyway …’

‘Well spotted,’ she said, and laughed. ‘I wish I did have my guitar with me now. I miss not having it. But I can still write. You can sing, can’t you Bill? Don’t deny it because I’ve heard you singing “Learn to Fly” enough times!’

He looked embarrassed, as well he might, she thought, given the number of times he’d let rip at the helm when he thought she was fully occupied doing something else.

‘There you go, then,’ she smiled. ‘If you can sing “Do-Re-Mi” you can write a song entirely in your head without a musical instrument. No wonder everyone thinks they can do it!’

‘But you must be very talented to make a living at it,’ Bill enthused.

May laughed at that. ‘When everyone’s downloading music for free? At, say one penny per download, that doesn’t go very far if there are three songwriters.’

Bill pulled a sympathetic face. ‘But you get by?’

‘There’s more money if the artist is still selling in a physical format, like CDs. And if you get on an advert – but that’s what everyone’s trying to do.’

‘You’re young, though,’ Bill said. ‘I don’t want to crush your dreams, but there’s plenty of time for you to get your big break. And when you do, I’ll be able to tell everyone that the person who wrote it was once sick over the side of my boat.’

‘Cecil might dispute ownership with you,’ May reminded him. ‘I’ll mention it when we visit him.’

‘And I’ll have to cook for you now,’ Bill said firmly. ‘I don’t want to see a struggling artist starve.’

‘I’d like that,’ she said happily.

‘Just one thing?’

‘Hmm?’

Bill ran his hand through his thatch of red hair in a gesture that May recognised from the boat, as one he used when he was in a hole and unsure of how to proceed. She felt her heart swell with … with … affection, yes affection. That was it.

‘About Thunder … since you’re a songwriter and he’s a singer, you ought to talk to him about your career. He might know someone who’d be useful to you.’

Oh, he was a sweetie. May was half tempted to tell him about her so-called career, but the sight of Matthew hurrying back with what looked like a considerable collection of vinyl albums under one arm was a reminder of how even the most straightforward and sensible folk could get a little bit star-struck when you least expected it. Just for now, she wanted to enjoy being plain May Starling, accepted for who she was, not what she was. And, yes, she had to admit, she wanted a quiet life and the chance to get back on good terms with Bill, who’d been understandably frosty with her.

‘Bill,’ she said, shutting him up. ‘I appreciate the career advice, but can we just forget about Thunder? You’re the one I want to see, especially when you’ve offered to cook.’

‘Really?’ Bill beamed at her and May felt her stomach flip and told herself that it was just Georgia, digging her little heels in as she tried to escape.

In Walton House, the next morning, casting her eye over the bookings, Fiona ran her hands over her stomach enjoying the silence as she swung gently to and fro in the turquoise swivel chair behind the curved reception desk. She could see they were in for a quiet couple of days. The two women in Fastnet, apparently besotted with Little Spitmarsh’s blend of old-fashioned kiss-me-quick appeal and new café culture, were no trouble at all and took themselves out for most of the day. The three vacant rooms left Fiona feeling torn; it made for a much lighter round of cleaning, but it wasn’t brilliant for the bank balance, especially given how much it had cost them to convert the old house in the first place.

Of course, there was Thunder Harwich, who’d turned out to be a bit of star. When he’d booked Lundy for the entire coming month, she prepared herself for some inappropriate touching and lots of tedious boasting about his glory days, but he appeared to be a reformed character. Even his singing, sounding out above the shower as she passed his room, had mellowed since his last visit with far less of the roaring like an injured lion. Never a fan of commercial music, unlike Paul who loved bubble-gum pop, Fiona liked simple acoustic guitar-based music so some of Thunder’s more soulful, melodic tunes – even through a couple of doors – nearly brought a tear to her eye … unless of course, that was from something else bothering her. She really ought to find the right moment to talk to Paul when they weren’t both exhausted, but hadn’t anticipated just how well he and Thunder would hit it off this time.

A smudged shape beyond the greens and blues of the stained-glass panels of the original Victorian front door showed that someone was about to come in.

‘May!’ she said perking up before it occurred to her that the younger woman might not welcome her news. ‘I’m so sorry, but Mr Cavanagh left yesterday.’

‘Believe me, I wouldn’t be here otherwise,’ May said vehemently. ‘I’ve come to see another of your guests. It seems everyone who is anyone stays at Walton House!’

‘It’s mainly us or a pub called The Admiral, and I wouldn’t even wish The Admiral on—’

‘Aiden Cavanagh?’ May suggested, her voice tart. ‘You warmed to him too, huh?’

‘Well …’ Fiona struggled to find something diplomatic to say.

‘We’re not a couple,’ May said, apparently reading her mind. ‘But just for the record, there’s definitely no romantic link between me and the man I’ve come to see today.’ Leaning closer, she added, ‘Especially not when he rocks a pair of leather trousers more like Bertie Bassett than Jon Bon Jovi.’

‘Mr Harwich?’

They exchanged amused glances. ‘That’s right,’ May nodded. ‘I think I’ll need a recovery coffee with you after, if you’re free when I’ve finished my meeting.’

‘I’ll be there,’ Fiona said, pleased. ‘And in the meantime, I might get five minutes with my own husband. He and Mr Harwich have got quite a bromance going on. They’re in the lounge, come through.’

Paul, hunched over a table, was studying an iPad, and Thunder’s arm was slung over his shoulder while he also stared at the screen.

‘See what I mean about property prices? I’ve got to get myself back to this part of the world,’ Thunder was saying. ‘I mean, I’ve got a bloody lovely house in Surrey – modern Tudor with an indoor swimming pool, state of the art kitchen and a marble hall. But I’m hardly ever there. It’s a waste, isn’t it?

‘What’s really getting to me is that I feel bad about my sister. She lives with me, you see, looks after the place for me and she hates it. Hates not seeing anyone, misses the sea and loathes rattling about an empty house all on her own. She really could do with some company so I’ve got to do us both a favour, put the house on the market and get back to my roots.’

‘Hello,’ said Fiona. Thunder, she already knew, was a bit hard of hearing, but what was absorbing Paul’s attention?

‘May, my darling, you made it!’ Thunder said, getting to his feet. ‘Excellent!’

‘Well, I’ll get some coffee, shall I?’ Fiona offered. At that moment Paul’s eyes met hers and instinctively she knew he was hiding something. What on earth was making him so shifty? But then he looked at May and his eyebrows shot up.

‘I know you!’ he said excitedly. ‘You’re—’

‘Shush,’ Thunder interrupted. ‘Not right now she isn’t, are you, May?’