Please Don't Stop The Music (12 page)

‘
Well …’ Ben lowered his voice as the rest of the coffee queue
looked up at us. ‘Most people don’t. It’s five years ago and I was
quite different then.’

I
just gaped.

‘
And
it’s not like I’m in hiding or anything. I mean, I walk around,
people see me. I just don’t – it’s not as if I go round introducing
myself “Hi, I’m Ben Davies, I used to be in Willow Down”, or being
on Never Mind the Buzzcocks, or programmes like that. Most people
who do recognise me just think they’re mistaken.’

Oh,
God. I was going to wee. Here, on the spot. I was astonished that
the entire crowd in the coffee shop, which seemed to be entirely
made up from a SAGA coach trip and some overdressed Goths who’d
probably got lost on their way to Whitby, weren’t all listening in
to our conversation. This man, who’d been a virtual hermit for the
last five years, was offering to come to a party. With
me.

‘
I’m
sorry, I need to go to the toilet,’ I said.

‘
The
sound of the flush helps you think, does it?’ Ben asked, a bit
kindly for my liking.

‘
It’s either that or pee on your shoes.’

‘
So,
do you want me to come then?’

Oh,
more than anything, Ben Davies, do I want you to come with me. I’ll
get you to play your guitar to me and you’ll realise that you’ve
nothing to fear from the world. I’ll tell you my secrets and my
fears, and just maybe sharing them will take away their power.
‘I’ll be back in a second,’ was what I said.

I sat on the toilet for far longer than was
necessary with my head resting against the cool paintwork of the
stall. I couldn’t believe that I had so nearly betrayed myself.
What the hell was the point of making all those promises, of
swearing that I would be my own person, only to have it all wiped
out by one man? All right, that man was – come on, say it, Jemima –
that man was sexy, but you
swore
, Jemima, on your brothers’
lives, that you’d never let yourself get used again. He might not
look like a user, but none of them do, do they? Until they have
you, and then …

When
I came out of the toilet, Ben was sitting opposite a man at a
corner table. They were deep in a conversation which involved a lot
of hand-waving. ‘You don’t understand anything about me, do you?’
Ben was saying as I approached. ‘I’m not giving in to
this!’

‘
It’s not a question of “giving in” Ben,’ the other man
replied quietly. ‘It’s a question of adjustment.’

Ben
was breathing deeply. His skin had the faintest trace of sweat on
it and his eyes contained an expression of barely restrained panic.
‘Ben?’

He
jumped as I touched his arm. ‘God! Jemima!’

‘
Sorry, am I interrupting?’ I looked from Ben to his friend.
It was the man I’d seen outside Ben’s shop the time that Ben had
kissed me. This time he was wearing cords and a frayed-looking
shirt, but he still had an air of authority. ‘I’ll just
go.’

Ben
grabbed my hand. ‘I’ll come with you,’ he said, winding his fingers
through mine so tightly that it hurt.

‘
Ben. You can’t keep doing this. I really thought we were
making progress, you’ve been getting on so well. Please don’t tell
me you’re going to give it all up now! For the sake of what?’ The
man eyeballed me as though it was my fault.

Ben’s grasp on my hand was threatening to cut off the
circulation. In his other hand the bunch of carnations bobbed as
though they too were being throttled. ‘I’ll come to the next
appointment,’ he said. ‘But I’m not promising anything.’

‘
That’s all I can ask.’

‘
Fine.’ And Ben stood up so quickly that the table rocked,
endangering the overfilled salt cellar. Not letting go of my hand
he squeezed us between the seats until we reached the door and
burst out into the sunlit square beyond.

‘
Okay,’ I said levelly. ‘So what was
that
all
about?’

Ben
shook his head. ‘Nothing.’

He
still hadn’t let go. I could feel the bones of his fingers against
mine and the warmth of his body radiating from beneath today’s
God-awful T shirt. ‘I’m beginning to feel like a member of the
Scooby-Doo gang, with all this mystery,’ I said. ‘Shaggy, probably.
Not one of the girls, they always find out what’s going on within
seconds. And anyway, I can’t do the socks.’

‘
It’s just … nothing. Look, I’d better go back to the shop.’ I
waited for him to ask me to come too, but he didn’t. Just passed
the flowers to me.

‘
I’ll maybe see you on Monday?’ I relaxed my hand and his
fingers fell away. ‘For Saskia’s party?’

Ben
shrugged, shook his head. ‘Yeah. Maybe.’

‘
Tell you what, I’ll come to the shop and we could go on from
there. It’s only round the corner.’

This
time Ben looked at me and smiled. ‘Were you the kind of kid who
thought your teachers lived in the school?’ he asked.

‘
What?’

‘
I
won’t be at the shop. Not in the evening.’

‘
Oh!’ I was embarrassed, but at least he was smiling. He
looked so much nicer when he smiled, less moody rock-star. ‘You’ve
got a house.’

‘
Mmm-hmm. Here –.’ Ben pulled out a pen from his back pocket,
grabbed my arm and wrote an address up my wrist in black biro.
‘Come here. Monday, around, what, seven?’

Then
almost as if it was he who was embarrassed, he turned with a flick
of his hair and vanished into the tourist crowd, leaving me
standing a bit stunned. The ink on my skin made my arm feel stiff
and I couldn’t stop staring at the hieroglyphs he’d scrawled
alongside my veins.

* *
*

‘
He lives
where
?’ Rosie was jiggling Harry on
her hip and trying to set out a batch of cards when I got home and
spilled my story.

‘
Wilberforce Crescent.’ Almost unconsciously I was tracing the
writing with my finger. ‘Seventeen.’

‘
Wow, that’s a bit posh isn’t it? Oh, now look what I’ve done!
Jem, could you take … thanks.’

I
took the proffered Harry and rested his weight against my shoulder.
‘I suppose he must have bought it when he was, you know,
famous.’

‘“
Famous” isn’t a dirty word, Jem. Well, only when it’s applied
to Jason, when suddenly everything becomes dirty. Anyway, it might
not be his, maybe he’s renting or living with someone. Maybe that’s
why he doesn’t date, because he’s not single.’ Rosie began brushing
chalk over the cards with a goose-feather.

‘
He
came to dinner on his own. And he doesn’t behave like a man who’s
attached.’

Rosie looked up at me, sudden interest flaring in her eyes.
‘Oh ho! Did he make a move on you?’

‘
No!
It’s just the feeling I get from him. You know how married men just
seem – different. More secretive.’

Rosie turned her back to me. ‘Do they?’ She busied herself in
her bag, pulling out stems of grasses and pressed
petals.

‘
I
mean I know Ben is secretive, too, but not in the same way. I think
he’s secretive because he doesn’t want to remember
stuff.’

‘
OK,
so what’s your excuse?’

It
was my turn to revolve, using Harry as a shield. ‘I’m not
secretive.’

Rosie snorted. ‘Much! Anyway, is he coming on Monday or are
the pair of you so collectively secretive that you didn’t tell him
where it was and he wouldn’t tell you whether he was
going?’

‘
Um.
Something like that.’ I joggled Harry.

‘
God, you should get jobs as spies. Oh SOD!’ A bunch of the
cards slipped from the edge of the table and cascaded to the floor
in a jumble of pink chalk and brittle stalks. Instead of bending to
pick up the overspill Rosie began to cry.

‘
Rosie?’ I put the arm which wasn’t supporting Harry around
his mother. ‘What’s up?’

‘
Nothing!’ wept Rosie. ‘Except I keep
dropping things and Harry won’t go to bed and let me get on and I’m
really tired but I’ve got to get these done before Monday and I
just feel so
useless
.’

‘
Ah, useless. Now there’s a feeling I’m
right at home with.’ I gave her a squeeze. ‘Look, I’ll take Harry
down to the workshop. Jase can help me mind him to give you some
space, and if I was you I’d use the time to have a bit of a sleep.
I’ll give you a hand to catch up with the cards this evening. And
in the meantime you can gaze on the flowers that Ben sent over for
you and ponder on the fact that despite the fact he’s
my
friend, you’ve got
carnations and all I’ve got is a cheap tattoo.’ I brandished my
written-on arm.

Rosie gave a snot-ridden smile. ‘Yeah, for an expensive
address.’ But she let me collect Harry’s changing bag, bottles and
blanket and I even thought I heard her give a small sigh of relief
as I lugged him and his paraphernalia out of the door.

‘
Jason!’ I strapped Harry into his bouncy chair and sat him
down in the doorway to the office. ‘Are you in?’

‘
Oooof! Ow! Sorry, Hazzer me old mate, didn’t see you down
there!’ Jason barrelled in through the double doors and tripped
over Harry, causing him to ping alarmingly up and down for a few
moments. ‘Woss up?’

‘
Are
you busy?’

Jason looked at me suspiciously. ‘Is this one of those,
wossname, trick questions? I’m an international artist, babe,
course I’m busy.’

‘
Could you keep an eye on Harry for a few minutes? I’ve got
some research to do.’

Jason stared at me for a second. Then a
smutty grin spread over his face, which made him look even more
Johnny-Depplike than usual. ‘Oh, I see.
That
kind of research is it?’ And he
picked up Harry, bouncy chair and all. ‘Come on little guy. We’re
not wanted round here, not unless you wants to be drowned in all
that oestrogen stuff.’

‘
What are you talking about?’

Jason just winked and he and Harry went off into the big
studio from where I could hear the commentary to a football match
issuing from Jason’s expensive sound system.

I fired up the computer and called up the
Willow Down website. Seeing Ben through pictures made me realise
just how good-looking he was. Real life seemed to deaden the impact
somehow, or maybe it was something to do with the awfulness of his
clothing. Clothing which seemed to be purposefully designed to
conceal what these old photographs revealed to be a fantastic body.
My God, I had no idea that under those skuzzy T shirts there was
this muscular torso, whip-muscled arms and corded shoulders. Or,
presumably they still were there, but he didn’t pose quite the same
way, with his mouth unsmiling, hair carefully tumbled and his hips
thrust forward in invitation. I’d certainly never seen him stand
like that, but then I wasn’t sure any human
could
stand like that, not without
invisible support from behind. His fellow band members weren’t bad
either, a collective of dark eyes and tight jeans, like a sack-full
of male models handed guitars and dropped onto a
stage.

Zafe
Rafale, despite his slightly Greek name, turned out to be an
ash-blond beauty. All finely chiselled bone structure and immensely
long legs like a palomino stallion; his pictures showed him
flinging himself around the stage, arms variously wielding a
sunburst-yellow guitar or just a microphone. One shot showed the
two men duetting. Ben had his eyes closed, one hand loosely around
the neck of his guitar, the other holding the microphone stand.
Zafe, hair plastered sweatily to his forehead, was pulling at the
neck of his T shirt as though about to remove it. With Ben’s dark
hair and Zafe’s resplendent goldenness, they looked like the rock
world’s version of Yin and Yang.

‘
Thought so.’ Jason loomed at my elbow. ‘Having a touch of the
lusty are we, Jemima?’

‘
It’s not like that,’ I replied, without turning round. ‘I’m
interested, that’s all.’

‘
Yeah, interested in pictures of young blokes getting their
kit off and wagglin’ around a stage.’

‘
This is Willow Down.’ I clicked to enlarge the picture. ‘Are
you sure you’ve never heard of them? What with you being such a
mover and shaker on the youth scene.’

‘
Nah. Name rings a bit of a bell. Maybe I heard something when
I was in the States. I’m not really an indie-music kinda guy, Jem.’
In the workshop, Harry raised his voice in a squawk of protest at
being neglected. ‘You’re so interested, why doncha just
ask?’

I
sighed. ‘He’s not keen to talk about it.’ Plus, I wasn’t keen to
push him. Not for all the reasons that Jason might assume, either.
Keeping secrets myself made me hyper aware of how an enquiring
conversation could turn. One moment you’re asking simple questions
about someone’s family – the next they’ve spun it all round and
they’re asking you about yours.

‘
Man
of mystery. Ah, go on, Jem, you love it really. Maybe I should try
it, being all cool and inscrutable and stuff.’