Follow a Star (26 page)

Even as he rooted for her, hoping that she would survive this very public and unexpected scrutiny, Bill could feel her slipping away from him. In three scant minutes, the May he was so fond of had blossomed into Cherry, a confident performer who beamed as she thanked the audience and then at Thunder, who mouthed a query at her. May nodded and together they began a heartbreaking version of Carole King’s ‘So Far Away’ and when at last her eyes met his, Bill almost believed she was singing it for him.

As the last chords faded away, everyone got to their feet for a standing ovation, except Bill. This was Cherry’s world now. If this was what she’d been missing and if it made her happy, he was happy for her. But in the noise and applause he slipped away unnoticed. He’d seen enough.

Early on Sunday morning, May concluded that at some point in the night, she
must
have fallen asleep because she wouldn’t have pulled the knitted bedspread over her head otherwise. Not on such a sweltering night. Her subconscious mind, however, wasn’t bothered about physical discomfort; it just wanted the emotional pain to stop.

She staggered over to open the caravan door and let in a welcome breath of air, then sat down to perch on the steps. Beyond the caravan everything was peaceful with no sign of the tumultuous events of the previous evening. The early morning sun was already strong on her bare feet and the tide was creeping up the banks chivvying pink-legged oystercatchers in their frantic search of the mudflats. May watched them with sympathy; there was every chance she was about to feel the force of events beyond her control too.

Last night’s impromptu gig had been at first terrifying, then exhilarating as the mood of the audience changed. The point when they stopped holding back and embraced the music with her was always triumphant. It was a heady experience, even in a small venue, maybe more so when you were close enough to read the expressions on individual faces. She’d proved to herself she could stand up on stage without Aiden. But now she had to face the future without Bill. She rocked forward, overwhelmed with loss for a man, it seemed, she never really knew.

It was her own fault. She should have listened when he’d cautioned her against putting too much reliance on feelings that had boiled up in the intensity of a shared world at sea. Perhaps the only reason she’d come to think of him as someone she could lean on, a man who was strong and dependable, was because of her own frame of mind when she stepped aboard
Lucille
with him. Naturally, she’d had to rely on his great experience offshore because her limited sailing skills wouldn’t have got them out the harbour. Yep, with hindsight it was easy to see why her body had put two and two together and concluded that the right answer was a very hot one on one.

But surely Bill knew her well enough to see how reluctant she’d been to join Thunder in the spotlight? When she’d looked back at him to see him smiling at her, she thought he was willing her on, sending her his support. So why had he walked out on her when she needed him most?

There were many reasons why she’d already decided, even before the text from Aiden that had destroyed the little self-confidence she had about her stage appearance just before the festival, that performing wasn’t her first love. Touring exhausted her, especially the first one when the demands of travelling around the country on a tight budget meant nights sleeping in the van or the cheapest B&B, assuming they could find one that was open. Then there was the logistics of lugging equipment or worrying about someone else ‘borrowing’ it.

Aiden had pushed her hard, signing her up to anything and everything, trying to get a buzz going so that when the album was released there’d be a massive demand for it. Even when the single went stellar and ‘Chillin’ in the Park’ made life on the road more comfortable, she’d never adjusted to the nocturnal hours or the feeling that she was living her life upside down.

What made it worthwhile was feeling the response to her songs. Seeing the audience lift their arms towards her as she stood on stage, hearing them applaud and call for more. Even ‘Chillin’’ for all its faults had made a lot of people happy. But not Bill, it seemed.

And that was another downside. Once her career took off, the men who tried to approach her after a gig increasingly saw the singer, not the woman. May felt as if they saw her as a potential conquest, someone to notch up on a bedpost, or, when she had the audacity to reject them, to criticise or poke holes in. And she already had Aiden to do that. When she tried to make friendly conversation – and there were many times on tour when she would have been glad of a friend – other men were simply too intimidated by her fame to engage.

Bill, she’d hoped, was strong and level-headed, sure enough of himself not to be bothered by all that – but he’d taken off at the first sign of her success. Maybe she should have told him about her alter ego sooner – but Bill’s reaction was exactly the reason she’d been so hesitant. As much as she ached for him to hold her, as urgently as that demanding voice inside was prompting her to climb into the first taxi she could summon and get over to Bill’s place and into his bed
now,
the fact remained that he’d turned his back on her.

And that was even before he’d known what a field day the press would make of her impromptu public appearance.

May started flicking through the websites on her phone. ‘Cherry blossoms from pop star to sophisticated singer-songwriter in secret acoustic gig’ beneath some grainy mobile footage of her and Thunder singing a duet. ‘Cherry flaunts her curves in show-stopping dress’ with a close up of her top-half. And, oh, Bill was going to love this one: ‘Cherry and a male friend make quite a splash!’ beneath a photo of his lips locked on hers as they embraced at the end of the regatta.

Even Thunder’s ex-girlfriend had been quick to jump on the bandwagon, therefore providing the tabloid with a thin excuse to reproduce a photo of Paige in skimpy black knickers, pouting at the camera with her hands barely covering her breasts. ‘Glamour model Paige Mosse, close friend of revived rocker Thunder Harwich, recalls seeing the happy couple on their luxury yacht in harbour only a couple of weeks ago. “They were low key about their affair,” she told our reporter, “but anyone could see they only had eyes for each other.”’

May blew out a deep breath and tapped out a text to Bill. He’d walked out on her, but she was going to be the bigger person and leave the door open – for a little while anyway. She didn’t want Cecil thinking she’d forgotten him either. The final Parade of Sail as visiting yachts prepared to leave Watling’s at the close of the regatta was taking place later that morning and she knew he’d be looking forward to seeing it.
Hope Cecil enjoys the show
she wrote to Bill.
Sorry I won’t be there with you.

In the creek a cormorant popped up struggling to swallow a gigantic mouthful. The feeding frenzy had begun – so who, thought May, switching off her phone, would be next to throw her to the piranhas?

As cheers sounded over at the yacht basin, May felt her throat tighten thinking about Bill, just a short walk away from her. All she wanted was to be wrapped in his arms, her cheek pressed against his chest, her senses revelling in all that was familiar and dear about him. If her feet would only follow her heart’s instructions, she could have that now … but it wouldn’t be what she needed. The Bill she thought she knew had been conjured up as a quick-fix solution, not as a man she could count on.

May got up and went inside the caravan. All of this was make-believe too, a pretty little playhouse where grown-ups could go on a sentimental journey to a world that had never existed. As clever as the mix of retro and mod cons was, she was willing to bet that the attractions of caravan living began to pall after a week of rain or plummeting night-time temperatures. And as much as she would have liked to hang on to the rose-tinted glasses that had made it seem so charming and romantic, it looked as if it was time to get back to reality.

When she heard footsteps outside the caravan, May felt her heart leap with excitement. Bill! He’d got her text and had come to make up with her. It was difficult not to let her disappointment show when she skipped out to find Tyler, Harry’s young assistant, approaching.

‘Harry sent me down to see if you’re okay,’ he said apologetically.

‘I’ve been better.’ She tried to smile. ‘But, hey, I’ll survive.’

He gave her a quick, searching look. ‘You were terrific last night. I didn’t think your music was really my kind of thing, way too poppy for me, but I liked the stuff you did with Thunder. That “Follow a Star” song, was that really yours?’

When the voyage is over, will we still be friends? Say we’ll still be friends.

She gave a short laugh. ‘Yeah, that’s the other side of me.’

He nodded, then hearing more noise from the boatyard, looked over his shoulder.

‘Harry asked me to tell you that she’ll catch up with you after the regatta, but she wanted you to know that the press are hanging around and making a bit of nuisance of themselves.’

May groaned. ‘Oh, I’m sorry, I’ll get packed up and get on my way.’

‘No.’ He gave her a quick reassuring grin. ‘Harry’s been throwing everyone off the scent telling them you were last seen heading off in a black Mercedes in the middle of the night. And you’re safe here. Harry said to reassure you that the caravan’s yours for as long as it suits you – if anyone’s trying to find you, they’ll have to get past us first.’

May didn’t need to think about it. The more time she had to decide which way to jump next, the better. Even so, she was deeply touched by the kindness of people she barely knew. She swallowed hard, and Tyler touched her arm briefly.

‘I told you, you were amongst friends here.’

Leaving her to it, he started to walk away then stopped and smacked his forehead.

‘I nearly forgot, there’s a couple just turned up in a beaten up old camper van claiming to be your parents. Looks as if some people will try any tactic to find you.’

Cathy and Rick, here? Had they seen the news already? Did they think the golden goose was about to lay more eggs? And then suddenly it didn’t matter what motive had brought them there; they were her mum and dad and she wanted to see them.

The next day, May was still glad that her parents had given her a reason to linger in Little Spitmarsh. If she stayed put, there was always the possibility that Bill might show up at the boatyard and tell her he’d got it all wrong, an apology May was starting to realise she deserved just as much as the one she owed him. Despite her suspicions, her mum and dad had been completely oblivious to what the press was calling her ‘secret gig’ until they’d seen all the reporters. They’d seemed mildly surprised to learn that Aiden wasn’t behind it, although their exchange of furtive glances seemed to suggest a mutual effort to back away from the subject of her career plans.

‘This is what you want, is it?’ Cathy asked doubtfully as they sat outside the caravan looking at the view. ‘Won’t you miss being in the spotlight?’

‘I’m happier here, in the sunlight,’ May replied. ‘I want to be free.’

In a spirit of reconciliation, May guessed, Cathy had started insisting that losing the shop was a kind of release. Rick had taken a break too, so they could catch up on some of the travelling they’d always promised themselves. Little Spitmarsh was their first destination so they could see May before moving on.

As things stood, it was also likely to be their final destination for the time being. In a style typical of her parents, they’d hurtled off with very little in the shape of preparation and forethought, so the camper van had limped as far as the boatyard and then conked out. Harry had very gallantly agreed to let them use the facilities there until it was fixed. As a consequence, Rick, who’d been intrigued to find a slip of a girl, as he put it, in charge of the boatyard, now seemed to think she was a bit of an oracle. It amused May to see him meekly deferring to Harry’s mechanical knowledge and consulting her about the best place to find spare parts for the VeeDub, especially when his ignorance of any other trade but roofing meant that nothing about their home ever worked for very long.

Cathy quickly got fed up of sitting around doing nothing. She wasn’t really attuned to the beauty of nature. May suggested a stroll round Little Spitmarsh, which fell flat when they’d passed the upmarket tourist shops in the old town resurrecting all the angst about Soul Survivor. May’s guilt and the voice inside that told her she could be doing more to relieve that situation was pushed to the back of her mind when they returned to Watling’s only to bump into Cecil tugging a trolley full of provisions towards the pontoon.

‘Cecil!’ she greeted him, hoping to keep the conversation brief and breezy. ‘How are you?’

‘Better by the day,’ he smiled, running an inquisitive eye over Cathy, who was in full rock chick mode in her skinny jeans and a pinstriped waistcoat over a white shirt.

‘Hang on a minute,’ said Cathy, bristling. ‘You’re not Cecil as in the skipper who was hoping to shed some inhibitions along with his business suit with my daughter, are you?’

‘Erm,’ said Cecil.

‘No,’ May said firmly. ‘I’ll tell you about it later, Mum.’

‘I’m equipping
Lucille
for a serious sail while my nephew’s not about to tell me what he thinks I can or can’t do,’ Cecil explained, nodding at the trolley. ‘He’s gone away for a couple of days on a job. Or so he says. I don’t suppose you can shed any light on why he’d take off like that?’

‘Perhaps something unexpected happened,’ May suggested, blushing.

Cecil raised an eyebrow, but she headed him off before he answered his own question. ‘Don’t you think you should wait until he returns before you go sailing on your own?’

The raised eyebrow joined the other in a deep frown. ‘Dear girl, I’m not an
invalid
,’ he said, chewing the word around with considerable distaste. ‘And I’m perfectly qualified to sail my own boat without my nephew’s permission. All I require is someone to mind the shop for me while I’m away. The dear old soul who’s been standing in for me’s been called in to have her bunion removed at last. The pain’s supposed to be dreadful afterwards, poor old stick, so she’s going to be out of action for a good long while. That’s the only thing stopping me.’

‘I have a shop,’ Cathy said beadily. ‘I don’t mind helping out while we’re waiting for the car parts to turn up.’

May sighed. Now she’d be in Bill’s even worse books. If there was such a thing. She introduced Cathy and Cecil. ‘Yes, but you don’t know anything about antiques, Mum. That’s Cecil’s trade.’

‘Actually, I do,’ said Cathy. ‘I used to run a bric-a-brac stall on the market when your dad and I were first married, before we got Soul Survivor.’

‘I don’t think Cecil’s stock could be described as bric-a-brac,’ May said, hoping that was the end of the matter.