Follow a Star (25 page)

May saw Bill turn to his uncle anxiously, and although she too was worried about what the sudden excitement might do to him, a tiny part of her couldn’t help but observe that it would be just her luck for Cecil to need another night recuperating at Bill’s. Cecil, however, was punching the air, waving to the cheering crowds and was all set to let off a flare gun, until Bill stopped him in time. The photographers on the bank, disappointed not to get some atmospheric red smoke for the benefit of their pictures, looked around for something to point their cameras at, and, before she could do anything about it, Bill wrapped her in his arms and gave her a very long and very triumphant kiss.

Cathy felt positively triumphant now that she and Rick were on their way to Little Spitmarsh. The camper van sitting on their drive had always served as a symbol of how wild and free they still were beneath the wrinkles and mortgage, even though the furthest they’d been in months was a trip to Bognor. But now it provided a means for her to demonstrate that she could be a responsible parent too. The impasse with May had gone on too long and she was determined to do something about it.

She dug in her bag for her tobacco tin and then, sighing, her reading glasses so she could see what she was doing. It was a bit of a miracle that she and Rick had got through another rough patch that would have seen many other couples dividing up their LP collection. They had talked, shouted, cried – though only because she’d been overwhelmed when Rick presented her with the couple of hundred quid he’d made selling his bike on the hurry to help her raise some ready cash – and then they’d made up.

So far Aiden had ignored every appeal she’d made to him; Soul Survivor remained locked, barred and dead to her. She wished she could assume that meant he’d lost interest in May too. With his latest signing, Molly Gordon, popping up and popping out everywhere, it seemed likely. But then again, this was Aiden, what else might he be capable of? What were the chances now of May resuming her career without his professional support? Well, they’d find out soon enough. Since May was determined to hunker down in Little Spitmarsh, Cathy had decided her best course of action was for her and Rick to go to her and help pick up the pieces.

All the same, with a long drive ahead she decided that the single carriage road in the heart of the Surrey countryside would be a good place to roll a spliff so she’d be nice and mellow in the event of any uncomfortable conversations arising. Getting old was no sodding fun, she decided; the bloody reading glasses were a dead giveaway that you were past it, for a start. Concentrating on trying not to spill everything as they ricocheted off a pothole, she was carefully laying out a tobacco paper when she heard a muffled roar beside her.

‘Don’t you ever fucking grow up, Cath?’ Rick bellowed, fumbling with the panel beside him. ‘For crying out bloody loud!’

In the next instant, he’d grabbed everything off her lap and sent it sailing out the window. There was a metallic clatter as it landed in the road.

‘My glasses case was with that lot,’ she said resentfully.

‘Too fucking bad. If you think I’m turning round you’ve got to be joking.’

She folded her arms. Some dog walker was going to get lucky tonight when he picked up her tin. At the speed they were going, if she was really minded, she could probably open the door, jump out, run back and catch up with Rick again before he’d crawled round the next bend. She’d forgotten quite how sluggish the old VeeDub was and that it was a complete pig to start; perhaps her memory was letting her down too?

Every time they slowed down, she found herself listening as the engine coughed and threatened to stall. When they rounded a bend, she was deafened by a combination of the crockery rattling in the back and Rick swearing as he struggled with a cranky gearbox and absence of power steering.

‘So how come you were suddenly able to take time off?’ she said, when they had settled into some sort of rhythm in the slow lane.

‘I was getting to that,’ Rick said grimly.

Cathy slumped in her seat. Just when she thought life was about to pick up again, it seemed this excursion together was a swansong to mark the end of their marriage.

‘You’re leaving me for Bekah Edwards.’

‘What?’ Rick swerved and nearly took them on to the hard shoulder. ‘No, you dozy cow. I must be a hopeless bloody case as I still prefer you, so you’re stuck with me.’

He reached out and squeezed her thigh briefly. ‘Sometimes I think you’ll never be satisfied until you’ve pushed everyone who loves you away. Cathy, you’re not that little girl who got ignored when her baby brother came along. No one’s going to lock you in your bedroom for hours at a time or run you cold baths any more. You’re a grown woman with a family that loves you and it’s about time you realised that and let us in.’

Don’t let anyone get too close, that had been her safety mechanism. She dabbed ferociously at a tear that was threatening to spill over.

‘I was afraid of what I might have inherited, that I might be capable of abusing the people closest to me, but I’ve ended up worse than them.’

Rick gave a dismissive snort. ‘You’d have to go some to be worse than your parents.’

‘I still made a fist of being a wife and mother, though. I don’t know how you’ve all put up with me.’

‘Stop beating yourself up! We’re doing all right, aren’t we? Look at Stevie, Miss Independence, making her way in the world and taking on all comers.’

‘And May?’

He sighed. ‘That’s what we’re about to find out. It’s what Prince Bloody Charming’s been doing that we’ve got to worry about. I never did like how he packaged May, selling her like some bloody object. And I bloody hated that song he put her up to singing.’

‘We did all right out of it,’ Cathy reminded him.

‘Yeah, and that’s another thing. We’ve got to stand on our own two feet and not before time. I’ve got no work, Cath. The job I had lined up has been put on indefinite hold because the client can’t afford the upkeep on the place any longer, and everything else has dried up.’

‘Rick? Have you—’

‘Whatever you’re going to suggest, Cathy, I’ve thought of it. I’ve even tried pulling in a few favours to see if I can get some site work, but there’s nothing doing. There’s too many young blokes ahead of me.’

‘But—’

‘Sorry, love, you’re going to have to be strong and we’re going to have to pull together. Otherwise we’re both going to be right up shit creek without a paddle.’

‘Too late. I think we might be halfway there, Rick. The oil light’s on. Doesn’t that mean the engine’s frying?’

The guests were crowding into Samphire, eager to sample the Regatta Platter and to enjoy the evening entertainment. From the numbers arriving it looked as if Matthew’s chosen charity would receive a healthy donation from the event. Car doors slammed, and scraps of laughter and conversation floated on the breeze as they hurried towards the restaurant. May paused. The sunset, captured in the enormous glass windows as it blazed across the trembling waters of the creek, seemed particularly beautiful. A multitude of seabirds soared and twisted in the sky and her heart felt as if it was lifting with them. Or was that simply the effect of the man at her side, the warmth of his body close to hers and the familiar scent of him?

Bill stroked his fingers gently across her cheek and bent to brush his lips briefly to hers. ‘You look so beautiful, I’m afraid to touch you,’ he admitted, but came back for more nevertheless, before leading her into Samphire.

May smiled, relieved she’d got it right. Fond as she was getting of Little Spitmarsh, it wasn’t exactly known for its exclusive dress shops, but at the same time she guessed that most of the guests at the restaurant would be more concerned about the food rather than what everyone else was wearing. She’d opted for a halter-necked jersey maxi dress from one of the chain stores, in a lovely turquoise blue which suited her skin tone and was subtly flattering. The secret support meant she didn’t have to worry about a bra, and after giving the matter a great deal of thought she’d chosen a pair of cute but non-threatening silky knickers. Bill, she knew, would have fancied her even in a big ol’ pair of cotton rich, high rise, full-on granny pants, but it was a good feeling, after trussing herself up to meet some of Aiden’s expectations, to know that she would be acceptable just as she was.

‘Who’s a lucky boy?’ she heard Matthew tell Bill in a low voice as he showed them to their table. Matthew himself was looking effortlessly sexy in a white tuxedo and scruffy Levi’s, but Bill, beside him, made May feel she was the lucky one. She was a bit ashamed now when she thought about her initial reaction to him and how put off she’d been by the idea of sharing a small space with a big ginger builder. Now she thought how lovely the rich gold colouring looked against his dark navy jacket, though in truth he could shave his hair off and she wouldn’t care. And when she felt the heat of his strong hand on the small of her back, gently guiding her through the throng of people, she felt safe, not trapped. As for the rest of him? If she thought too much about that she might not be able to eat her dinner, which would be a waste. Above all, though, Bill was a kind and caring man, and that, she thought, feeling her heart skip a beat as he looked at her, made a very pleasant change.

Before she could get too starry-eyed, waiters began to circulate with the Samphire
Regatta Platter first course, an
amuse-bouche
of salmon and sour cream crostini. May let out a soft moan as it melted in her mouth, closing her eyes in rapture.

‘I wish you wouldn’t make that noise,’ said Bill, laughing.

‘Sorry,’ she said, looking round worriedly, thinking that like Aiden, he was complaining about her embarrassing him.

He grinned and leaned closer, saying in a low voice, ‘Not to put too fine a point on it, you moaning and groaning like that is playing havoc with my imagination, amongst other things. I have my breaking point, May, and picturing you in my bed, imagining making you cry out with pleasure is pushing me pretty close to it.’

‘Don’t hold back on my account,’ she whispered back. ‘We can go right now!’ Then she thought of how cross Harry would be if they sneaked out of her husband’s big fundraising event. ‘Although – I vote you give Harry our excuses.’

Bill shook his head. ‘We’ve got all night. And we’ve waited this long, so let’s enjoy the evening.’ Then he gave her a wicked grin. ‘Just save some of that groaning for later.’

Bill stole a glance at May whilst she finished off the last crumbs of a miniature apple tarte Tatin with a small appreciative sigh. No airs and graces with May, he thought. What you saw was what you got; a sweet, funny, undemanding woman who made him feel good and whose company meant more to him with every minute they spent together.

It amused him now to think how wrong his first impressions were of her. Gold-digger? Not the May who enjoyed messing about in old boats and was happy to spend her summer in a small caravan. High-maintenance? Certainly not. There was none of that fussing around with her hair and nails or checking her make-up in the mirror every five minutes that bored him stiff with other women. And dishonest? He’d been wrong to doubt her when she’d insisted her ex was off the scene.

Looking at her across the table, he couldn’t blame the guy for trying to hold on to her – already his life was brighter and happier because of her. His May, he knew deep down, was a one-man girl, who wouldn’t be going home with him tonight unless she took her feelings seriously. But what about his feelings? He took a deep breath. No question about it. Their relationship might be at an early stage, but he’d fallen hard.

Flip, she’d turned his life upside down. He liked living alone, or thought he did, but now he felt lonely when May wasn’t there. He considered himself an easy-going man, but now, he thought, scowling round the room, his hackles rose at the sight of more than one man eyeing May, wishing he could take her home. May herself seemed oblivious to the attention she was drawing in that jewel-blue dress in a flimsy fabric that clung to her breasts in stunning detail. Even Matthew, he thought crossly, hadn’t been able to resist a second glance. And then she looked up under her dark lashes and given him a big wide smile that told him beyond doubt that he was the only man for her.

Reluctantly, he dragged his gaze from her and folded his arms as the lights dimmed to a single spot, signalling that the evening’s entertainment was about to begin. Despite being impatient to go, Bill had to admit there was quite an atmosphere of anticipation building. Small white flames from the table candles added to the sense of theatricality, reflected in the floor to ceiling windows like snowflakes shimmering against the purple shadows of Campion’s Creek. Chinking glasses were muted and the murmured conversations dropped to whispers as his old friend took the floor.

Matthew was a showman, he’d give him that, Bill thought, chuckling to himself. Commanding, confident in his impeccable white tux and jeans and utterly charming, as he regarded the assembled crowd with a lazily amused gaze until there was absolute silence in the room. ‘And now, ladies and gentlemen …’

Matthew’s low, throaty voice even got May paying close attention, Bill noticed, a tad put out, until she flashed another quick smile at him and reached out across the table to lace her fingers in his.

‘Prepare to reset your minds before we meet tonight’s special guest. Your mental image of the man you’re about to hear may be of a fresh-faced kid in leather jeans taking the world by storm with the power of his voice that shocked and thrilled. He was the boy who became the accomplished front man holding stadium audiences across the US in the palm of his hands. The same man the music critics later said had sold his soul for commercial success and abandoned innovation. Or perhaps you’ll only remember the headlines and the old, familiar story of addiction and decline. The rock star in his darkened room, creeping out once in a while to perform in little-known venues to an audience that had largely turned its back.’

He paused, letting his words take effect, and people watched him, their willing smiles turning to apprehension. ‘Whatever impressions you have of this man, let me tell you now that the next forty minutes of your life will make you forget everything you ever knew about him. Ladies and gentlemen, for one night only, let me give you the one and only Thunder Harwich …’

Bill nodded, admiring his mate for revving up his audience so effectively, but he only hoped he knew what he was doing or the evening was about to take a dramatic and mortifying nosedive. Matthew stepped back into the shadows and there was Thunder, sitting on a stool, his head bowed towards his ebony Gibson acoustic guitar. Scanning the room, Bill noticed the embarrassed faces; gazes dropped to the table, fingers tracing the bases of empty glasses. A collective holding of breath, as if everyone feared they were about to bear witness to a humiliating disaster.

And then just as the silence seemed to grow too hard to bear, Thunder started plucking out the sweet sad notes and everyone leaned forward in their seats. When he started to sing, he gave a wry smile as some of the audience recognised the lyrics of Nick Drake’s ‘Fruit Tree’, the song about fame that some saw as a protracted suicide note in view of the writer’s early death. In Thunder’s hands it became both poignant and defiant, a declaration that the singer of this new interpretation was not going to lie down quietly.

By the time Thunder had gone through a repertoire of songs borrowed from artists from Neil Finn to Nick Cave, everyone in the room knew they were witnessing something extraordinary. Thunder’s versions were stripped-back of any gimmickry; no showing off, nothing big or theatrical. They were personal, intimate songs about loss, delivered in a lived-in voice that resonated with a lifetime’s worth of regrets.

‘And here’s one you haven’t heard before,’ he said, before breaking into a song that raised the hairs on the back of Bill’s neck for its resonance with his own feelings.

‘
Follow a star, starting again. When the voyage is over, will we still be friends? Say, we’ll still be friends
 …
’

The chords died away and the applause was nearly loud enough to send waves surging across the creek. But if anyone in the room was surprised by what they were hearing, no one was more taken aback than Bill when Thunder paused in his set to explain what had changed his mind about hanging up his guitar for good.

‘I met a girl, you see.’ He smiled and people smiled with him, on his side. ‘No change there, you might say. But this wasn’t my girl, this was a singer-songwriter, a woman who’d had one hit and walked away from it all because she’d found fame such a demanding mistress. And whenever I heard her song played on the radio, I always thought it was a pity she’d lost heart in what she loved, that we weren’t all hearing that voice any more. Now, it’s different for me. I’ve been afraid to come back because everyone kept telling me what a talentless bastard I was, someone who’d lost it.’

A few people laughed, recognising themselves in his words. ‘Yet, you folks have been kind enough tonight to give me a chance. To make me think I might not be a lost cause after all. And if you’re wondering what happened to the girl who walked away from her success, she gave that song to me, so I’m really glad you like it because she’s got far too much talent to let it go to waste. Even better, she’s here in this room tonight and I’m hoping that together we can persuade her to face her fears and give the world a second chance to hear that sweet voice.’

Bill scanned the room wondering where the celebrity singer was, then he noticed Thunder was looking in their direction and seemed to be beckoning at May. Bill craned over his shoulder to see who was at the table behind them. Unless Carmen Moult, sitting there with an Amy Winehouse beehive, along with her husband Roy who had a very impressive quiff of his own, had a secret past life, this was beginning to feel very awkward. Poor old Thunder, he really needed to get his eyes tested.

Thunder was insistent. ‘Come on up here, honey. Don’t be shy now, you’re among friends. Ladies and gentlemen, please give it up for Cherry!’

He really was losing the plot, Bill thought, shaking his head. Shame. And after his performance had been so well received too. He turned, smiling to May to see if she was shrugging off the unexpected attention with her usual good grace and humour … and froze. There was panic in her eyes and she seemed torn between folding herself into as small a space as possible and bolting for the door. He reached across to squeeze her fingers to show her everything was all right, and she let them rest there briefly, her eyes cast down to their hands clasped together. Then she looked up at him with an expression filled with regret.

‘I’m so sorry,’ she whispered, and let go.

People around them were smiling and putting their hands together in growing applause, then a delighted Matthew came bounding out of the shadows, lifting May out of her seat and wrapping his arm round her waist, and guided her towards Thunder.

Cherry? Comprehension hit him so suddenly, Bill felt as if he’d been punched in the stomach. Aware that a few curious faces and a couple of cameras were also turned on him, he forced himself to keep smiling until they’d lost interest. All the time his mind raced, rapidly readjusting to this new information.

Cherry: candyfloss pop princess. ‘Chillin’ in the Park’: the feel-good summer anthem streaming all over the internet and pounding out of clubs, bars and wedding receptions everywhere. This was May who’d been sick over the side of a boat with him; the May who’d stoically kept steering through cold winds and churning seas which turned her face green. May, whose delicious curves took him all the way up to the edge of heaven. May was Cherry? Bill frowned as a picture started to form. In the small amount of television he ever managed to catch, even he hadn’t missed clips of the girl in the music video. She was blonde then, and perfectly made up. A glamorous and remote singer in a white sheer dress with flowers in her hair. Then, as the images blurred into one, he wondered how on earth he hadn’t known.

Careful to keep his expression neutral, he watched May, visibly trembling as she stood before everyone, and swallowed hard. Thunder played the intro to the song that all of them must have been able to sing in their sleep, except this version was a perky, quirky acoustic interpretation free from electronic wizardry. Shaken as he was, Bill still ached for her. In the growing tension, he willed her to overcome her nerves as Thunder repeated the same few bars, trying to encourage her to join in. Then, at last, hesitant and breathy as she started, May began to sing and Bill let go of the breath he’d been holding.