Please Don't Stop The Music (11 page)

‘
I’ll look forward to it.’

When
Ben had left, Jason collapsed onto the sofa and farted hugely.
‘It’s those frigging beans, Jem,’ he said not apologetically. ‘An’
I reckon you and our Mr Davies could get a very nice thing going,
if you know what I mean.’

‘
Don’t be silly.’ I helped Rosie clear the table.

‘
Honest. I saw you and him giving each other the old
googie-eye treatment. He’s gotcha goin’, admit it.’

‘
He’s screwed up.’

‘
Yeah!
Gorgeous
an’ screwed up. Thass what
you girls all love, isn’t it? Bit of the old tormented genius
thing. All the secrets, all the mystery. Hey, you could get it out
of him, why he quit that band, sell your story to the rock papers!
You’d make a mint!’

‘
Immoral, even for you. Besides, old news. No-one’s going to
pay a fortune for that.’ Yawning enormously I scraped the last of
the food into a freezer container. ‘Are we washing up tonight,
Rosie?’

‘
Nope. I’m off to bed before Harry wakes up. Night,
Jase.’

Jason looked a little bit deflated. ‘What, not even a
snog?’

‘
Sorry.’

‘
An’
I put me suit on an’ everything! I dunno, what’s it take to get a
shag round here?’ But he grinned to show he was joking, or if not,
at least not annoyed to be cast out into the cool night, still
carrying the bottle.

Rosie looked at me. ‘What is it with you and Baz – sorry,
Ben? I’ve never seen you so – I dunno what it is. It’s like you’re
both scared of each other somehow.’

‘
He’s way too sharp. Talk to him for long enough and you’ll
feel like you’ve been juggling razor blades.’

‘
Yeah, well. He’s bound to be a bit spiky, look at what he’s
been through. And now he’s running a poky little shop in the back
end of York with no customers and, by the look of it, no friends. I
think he needs you, Jem.’

‘
Oh,
rubbish! He’s fine. I think he likes his life the way it is
now.’

Rosie gave me a very hard look. ‘But what about you? I was
watching you two all through the meal, tiptoeing around each other,
never asking the right questions. Him I understand. But you? Why
are you so scared to get involved, Jemima? You say talking to him
is like juggling razor blades, well sometimes talking to you is
like juggling soap bubbles. What exactly is your
problem?’

My
mouth opened and then closed again. I literally could not think of
anything to say. I’d never been so glad to hear Harry begin one of
his chugging cries upstairs in his cot. ‘Harry’s awake,’ I said
unnecessarily.

Rosie cast her eyes wearily at the ceiling. ‘And so another
day dawns,’ she said. ‘Goodnight.’

I
watched her head up the stairs. She’d been on top form all evening,
sparky and witty and much more like the Rosie she’d been before
giving birth. I hoped she’d turned a corner. She clearly adored
Harry but it was as if she’d never been prepared for the
fundamental life change that having a baby would bring and now she
was fighting it. A kind of tussle between her love for her child
and the restrictions that he placed on her life.

I sighed and stared at the wall, much as
Ben had done earlier. Ben. With his guilt and his fear and his
awful confusion, all because he’d walked away from his life. And I
knew deep in my heart that I could help him to feel better. All I
had to do was talk to him. Tell him. Say those words that I found
it impossible even to think,
I know how it
feels, because I did it, too
.

Don’t think about it. Don’t think about his expression – that
helpless turmoil in the face of discovery. Don’t think about the
occasional bone-cold touch of his fingers, his huge eyes so full of
disaster …

In
fact, go to bed.

* *
*

30th
April

Weather. I’m sure there was some. Didn’t notice.

I
went to dinner with her. Surprised? Yeah, not as much as I was.
Last week I was ready to jack it all in, go move to Greenland,
somewhere, anywhere no-one would know me. Where nobody would be
looking at me, saying ‘didn’t you used to be in that band? Didn’t
you used to be somebody?’ But really, what did I think? That none
of the guys would ever play again, just because I shat on them from
a height?

You know something? That’s
exactly
what I thought.
Willow Down was
my
band. Okay, mine and Zafe’s. And now Zafe is out there again,
taking over, doing what he thinks is right, but … what about me,
doc? What does that leave me with?

And then. At first I thought she was coming
on to me. She’s the first person to touch me … hey, get your mind
out of the gutter, man, she’s the first person to get inside my
head. To look as if she even wants to try to understand what’s
happening to me. I guess what I mean is, she’s the first person to
see
me
. Not Baz,
not the guy with the lead guitar, but me. Ben.

Thought about standing her up. But, in the
end, I couldn’t do it. She’s got this wounded kind of expression,
like she’s been kicked in the face and is trying not to show it,
the thought of making that expression worse … nah. Not me. Not
cruel. Stupid, yeah, hold my hands up to that one, even a little
crazy maybe sometimes. Well, you of all people know what it was
like before. And now, shit, I can’t find the words to say it … it’s
like
this
is the
‘before’. Like something really big is waiting to happen, muscles
tense, mind all silver-wire; almost like the coke cutting in,
taking it all up to some new level.

No.
Before you get that look, reading these words and kinda looking at
me over the top of this notebook with that caved-in face like I’ve
disappointed you in some fundamental way. No. Let me say it this
once. I DID NOT USE. I am not using. Told you, never
again.

I’m
tempted though. When she … when Jemima found out who I was, I
thought it was over.

What, though? What could be over? There’s nothing to finish.
She’s a friend and I don’t think she’d break over this. But she’s
getting into me, one tiny little slice at a time. Like a diamond
punch.

Chapter Ten

Ben
had left a note pinned to the door of the shop. ‘Had to go early.
Door’s open, see you later. B.’ There was a smudge after the
initial, almost as though his pen had hovered uncertainly over an
‘x’ then decided against it, for which I was glad.

I
went straight to the computer and hit Ben’s guest account. Googled
‘Willow Down’, 4 million entries. I could be reading through this
stuff until I started thinking all rock musicians were long-haired
layabouts who should get a proper job. I went for the first, the
Official Site. Opened the page and there was Ben staring back at me
from the screen. A little younger, a little unfocussed about the
eyes, but definitely Ben. Next to him was the heading ‘Band to
reform without troubled front man Baz Davies’.

Oh.

Well, at least I knew now what he’d seen
in
Metal Hammer
.
No wonder he’d been so upset, it must be like finding out that all
your best mates from school had a reunion and never even invited
you. I read on. ‘The new line-up with Zafe Rafale moving from bass
to lead guitar will be playing dates from next spring. There’s been
no news on Baz Davies since he walked out on the band in
Philadelphia during their world tour in 2005.’

‘
You
only had to ask.’

The
voice from over my left shoulder made me leap up and crack my shins
against the counter. The pain, in turn, made me angry. ‘What the
hell are you doing, creeping up on me like that!’

‘
Creeping? Oh yes, sorry, I was forgetting that this was my
shop and that on no account was I to walk in through the front
door!’ Ben slapped his forehead. ‘I just keep on not remembering
that.’

I
wanted to blank the screen but since I knew he’d already seen what
I was looking at, it seemed pointless. Still, the picture of him
almost throbbed. ‘Why are you back?’

‘
Appointment was cancelled.’ He looked at the computer. ‘You
Googled me.’

‘
I
…’

Ben
shrugged. ‘Yeah. Well.’ We both stared at different parts of the
floor for a moment. Ben had his hands in the pockets of a pair of
black jeans which made him look even skinnier than usual. ‘I think
this is where you apologise?’ he said at last.

‘
Do
I?’

‘
Yeah. Then I make us both a coffee and we forget any of this
ever happened.’ Those deep brown eyes flickered up to meet mine for
a moment. ‘Please.’

‘
I’m
sorry,’ I started. The wary look stayed in his eyes. ‘But you’re –
you were incredible, it says so here. “Best guitarist of a
generation”.’

‘
Things change.’

‘
Yes
but –’

‘
Jemima.’ Ben came very close, standing with his face almost
touching mine. ‘It hurts. It hurts like hell, what I used to be,
all the things I lost. So please don’t tell me that I ought to go
back to the band or that I should start playing again or any of the
other crap that people have spouted at me. If I could, I would. But
I can’t. All right?’

‘
You’re hiding.’

‘
Yes, I’m hiding!’ Ben turned away from me.

‘
But
what is there to hide from?’

He
didn’t seem to hear me. Instead he stared at the posters which
papered the shop walls so colourfully. ‘Zafe Rafale was my best
friend,’ he half-whispered. ‘My mate. We did everything together
after we left school, started the band, got drunk, got stoned.
Shared everything. Then I let him down big time.’ Now he faced me.
‘Things got fucked up so royally, so spectacularly that I –’
Suddenly he stopped talking. His face was a blank mask. ‘This isn’t
your problem.’

I
had to knit my fingers together to stop myself reaching out for
him. The pain was so manifest that he was hunched slightly beneath
it and I wanted to touch him. To take some of it away. He was
standing so close that I’d only have to reach up and I could put my
arms around his neck, pull his head down and – hell, what was the
matter with me?

‘
OK,
I’m sorry I Googled you. I was curious that’s all. But all it is,
you were the singer in a band I’ve never heard of, and now you’re
not.’

Ben
smiled and the mood lifted. ‘That’s it,’ he said. ‘That’s precisely
it. Mr Nobody, me.’

We grinned at each other and, for one tiny
moment, the sheet which hung between me and the real world lifted a
fraction and I caught a glimpse of the life I could have, if I
could only stop walking away from the possibility. A man, maybe
not
this
man, but
one like him. A baby, a Harry of my own, if I wanted one. A career
rather than makeweight jobs to earn money. I could have any of
those things,
all
of them, perhaps, if I wanted it enough, and all I had to do
was stop running.

‘
Shall we go out?’

The barrier slammed down again as I stepped
back and banged myself again, my hip this time. ‘What? Out? Like as
in
out
out?’

‘
I
meant shall we go out for a coffee rather than drink it here?
There’s a snazzy café round the corner and I feel like celebrating
the cancellation of my appointment with a hazelnut latte and a big
bun.’

I
breathed again. Why had I thought that he was asking me to go out
with him, as in a date? When I already knew that he didn’t. And I
wouldn’t, anyway? Oh, this was not good, this was not good at all.
‘All right. But it better be a very big bun.’

‘
Oh,
and I got some flowers. Would you take them to Rosie? To say thank
you for dinner last night?’

I
surprised myself with the fierce hot burn of jealousy. ‘If you
want.’

‘
She’s a lovely girl. And Jason’s a nice whatever it is that
Jason is. Artist. A good guy.’

‘
Yes, they’re lovely, both of them.’

Ben
went to the kitchenette to get the flowers and then busied himself
locking the shop door. ‘Are you and Jason …?’ He made a kind of
wavy motion with his hands. ‘Or is Rosie?’

‘
Good grief, no! He’s a friend. In as much as you can befriend
a wild animal.’

‘
Right. And you’re all going to this opening thing on
Monday?’

‘
Supposed to be, yes. Rosie’s flat out doing some more cards
for Saskia. She’s going to keep Saskia sweet, I’m only going in the
hope that she might change her mind about stocking my jewellery,
and Jason’s going because he’s kicking it all off. So we’re not
what you might call typical guests.’

Ben
steered me into the tiny coffeehouse beside the art gallery.
Fountains tinkled outside and made me realise how much I needed the
toilet. ‘If … if I went …?’

I
was so shocked I nearly wet myself. ‘What? You’d come? What if she
recognizes you?’