Please Don't Stop The Music (19 page)

I
left her cuddling her son and went up to my room. Most of my gear
was bagged; shirts oozed over the lip of my rucksack and my
toiletries scattered like a puzzle over the jutting window ledge. I
stared at it all. I’d never hung anything up or made use of the
tiny cupboard. Even though I’d thought I was settled, my
subconscious had known and told me not to bother, not to
unpack.

I started to sweep loose items back into my
bag. Panic was floating somewhere in my chest, unhooked from its
perpetual moorings by this turn of events.
Time to go, time to run.
My mind
raked back over Ben’s behaviour, his desperation for contact and
then his ultimate rejection of it, but I didn’t kid myself that it
was because of the way he’d let his guard down that I was going. It
was
my
lowering
of the barrier that had frightened me the most. The sudden rise of
a desire that I thought I’d killed, the desire to be held, to be
loved. An emotion that I could not allow. One I couldn’t afford. To
let myself desire was to risk falling in love, and to love was to
trust. To trust was to hand over control and no man was ever going
to control me again. Never.
Especially
not that bony freak with
the messed-up hair and even more messed-up mind.

A
sudden, unbidden vision of his expression when Rosie had come down
the stairs carrying the screaming Harry. It had been a mixture of
fear and an almost unbearable resignation, as though he was coming
to terms with something that he’d never wanted in the first place.
A hungry longing mixed with such pain that his eyes had blackened
with it and his face had fallen into stark lines. My heart twitched
like a kick.

* *
*

20th
May

I’m
sorry. I can’t go on with this. I wanted her, wanted the life I
thought I could have, and now I know I can’t. All that happens is
that I can see what I’ve lost.

There’s nothing left.

I
have to go.

Chapter Thirteen

The next day I left Rosie lying in,
whistled a cheery ‘see ya’ through her door and hoisted my rucksack
onto my shoulder. I’d written her a note of farewell and left it on
the pillow of my bed, stripped the sheets and duvet and put them in
the washing machine. Wiped all the surfaces clear of any trace of
my occupation. She would forget me in no time as lots of people had
done before her. Just because I’d felt more at home here, more
settled than I ever had anywhere since I was fifteen, it gave me no
rights to call the place home. I
had
no rights. No beliefs, nothing
to pin myself to. I was a ghost, living on another plane of
existence, one not even suspected by any of the people who called
me their friend.

A
pang of remorse shot through me so fast I had to stop and catch my
breath. I was walking towards the bus stop, past the gateway to the
opulence that was Saskia and Alex’s enormous converted farmhouse.
Now I’d never get to show Saskia how wrong she’d been to turn me
away from her shop, to carry on this stupid vendetta that she’d got
going, for whatever pointless reasons. Never get to rub her nose in
my future success. Another dart of loss pierced a hole in my gut,
but this time I straightened up, faced forwards and ignored it. The
bus was coming. The past didn’t matter – I had to keep telling
myself that. Recent past, long past, it made no difference. It was
all gone. I could forget.

The
shop was closed. The main window was obscured by a huge metal cover
locked in place and the door had bars down on the inside. It didn’t
look as though Ben had been there all day.

I breathed hard, as though I’d run, and
wiped my arm across my eyes. What was I
doing
? I never cried, not ever. I’d
shed my last tears five years ago, that had been another promise. I
was tired surely, that was all. And a little disappointed to find
the place locked up and silent. I’d wanted – what
had
I wanted? To talk?
To find out what his problem was? Or just to confront him, to ask
him how he dared to unsettle my well-being with his sudden insights
and his equally sudden turnaround, which had allowed me inside his
head while he kissed me senseless?
Stupid.
Stupid.

My path to the station took me past
Wilberforce Crescent. The extra half-mile of walking got my
feelings under control and I was well able to convince myself that
I needed to let him know I was leaving. Just – and this was
important –
just
so he could have a chance to find someone else to work in the
shop.

I
rang the bell. There was no response so I tiptoed down the basement
steps and squinted through the blinds covering those windows which
lay below street level. Between the vertical slats I could just
make out a set of musical instruments laid on the floor as though a
band had broken off mid-practice. A guitar rested against a
keyboard, casually angled, and a drum kit had the sticks crossed
over it. A bright cherry-red guitar had been dropped and lay on its
face looking oddly forlorn. And everything was covered in
dust.

There was something naked about those unused instruments
closed away in that basement rehearsal room, something bitter in
the positioning. As though Ben had been there, trying to play,
trying to recreate Willow Down. Or was I reading too much into it,
was it just a room that had been closed off and
forgotten?

I
sat on the step and chewed my lip, a tiny fantasy about breaking in
quickly running to the inevitable conclusion. I’d probably end up
being hauled out by six armed-response units.

A
car beeped from the road. I jumped to my feet, eyes scanning for
the smooth lines of the silver Audi but alighting instead on the
sassy lines of Jason’s sports runabout.

‘
Hoi, Jem! You’ll get piles sitting on them steps! Wotcha
doin’?’

‘
I
thought you were in London.’ I wandered over to where he was
holding up the traffic.

‘
Yeah. Consortium seen. Back now. Bin looking for ya.’ Jason
tweaked open the door for me to get in, pulling aside a crate
containing a huge quantity of cogs and wheels plus a large square
metal box. It looked like he’d dismembered Robbie the Robot. I
hesitated and he raised an eyebrow. ‘You running out on us,
girl?’

‘
I
…’

‘
Wanna tell me about it?’

‘
Nothing to tell.’ I got in the car.

Jason looked up at the house. ‘This your man’s place then?
Must be loaded, thass all I’ll say.’

‘
He’s not
my
man
. And why were you looking for
me?’

‘
Rosie’s havin’ a bit of a moment. I figured you could help,
talk her down, you know that kind of girl stuff. So I bin driving
around trying to head you off at the pass.’

‘
What are you talking about, you loony?’

Jason gave me a straight look. ‘I beat Rosie to it. Read your
note. Then I tore it up. Thought I could get to the station before
you did and thought I’d come this way. You got it bad,
girl.’

‘
I
do not! I just wanted to … after the way he left last night … I’m
concerned, that’s all.’

Jason accelerated into the stream of
traffic leaving the city. ‘Yeah. So you sit on his doorstep like
some kinda lost dog waiting for him to come home, just ’cos
you’re
concerned
?
Pull the other one, darling, it goes
ding-a-ling.’

‘
What’s the matter with Rosie?’

‘
Oho, touch a nerve, did I? Yeah, I reckon our little Jemima’s
burning the hot stuff for Benny boy. An’ for the record, I seen his
face, looking atcha like you’re gonna pull him from the
wreckage.’

‘
If
you could possibly tear yourself away from your rambling imaginings
about my love life, what’s the matter with Rosie?’

‘
Social worker. Turned up at the cottage. I just got back from
London, clapped out on the couch at the workshop and Rosie comes
burstin’ in in tears ’cos some nosey old crone came round wanting
to know if she’s feeding our Hazzer prop’ly. Looking in the
cupboards and checking his pram an’ stuff.’

‘
Bloody hell.’

It
was Rosie’s greatest fear made real. That somehow, someone would
begin to suspect what she suspected herself, that she couldn’t look
after her baby. It was all ridiculous, of course, overwork and
guilt making her feel useless; she adored Harry. A social worker on
the doorstep was the last thing she needed to make her feel like a
capable, coping mother.

‘
You
can talk her round, Jem, she’ll listen to you.’

‘
But
–’

Jason gave me a solemn look. ‘Luv. Whatever it is, whatever
you’re running from or to, it’ll keep. Honest to God, it will still
be there tomorrow. But today – today Rosie needs you. And, just
maybe, your man needs you, too. Doncha want to get things sorted
there before you takes off to lands unknown? Or is this how you
always work, get yourself involved and then run out, so nothing can
ever be your responsibility?’

‘
You know
nothing
about it.’

He
inclined his head. ‘Anyway, I reckons if I brings you back she
might cook us a meal. I’m up to here wiv your fancy London
restaurant mush, just give us one of Rosie’s Thai green curries an’
I’ll die a happy man.’

‘
Jason!’ But I had to let out a small laugh. His heart was in
the right place, even if it was firmly lodged just above a
complaining stomach. ‘All right. I’ll come back, for now. But first
I need some advice.’

‘
Wot, from me? Wotcha want to know? Nothing I can tell you
thatcha don’t already know, apart from maybe how to dance the
horizontal tango.’ He circled his hips suggestively and ended up
squeakily crushing himself against the steering wheel.

‘
How
do I go about finding him?’

‘
Ah,
wotcha want him for, when you can have me?’ he replied, slightly
gasping, trying to rearrange his crotch.

‘
Like you said, maybe I should talk to him. And don’t look at
me like that, it’s not what you said. I only … I only want to make
sure that he’s all right. He behaved like a bastard the last time I
saw him and I want an explanation. Yes. To check he’s alive and to
find out what the hell is wrong with him.’

Jason blew. ‘Phooooow. You reckon he’s done ’imself
in?’

‘
No!
Why, do you?’

‘
Rosie said ’e were off like a rat out a drainpipe once you
got started. Bloke that sensitive, well … Could of done anything.
Driven into a wall, hung himself.’

‘
You
are such a little ray of sunshine, aren’t you, Jason? Tell me then,
how do I find out?’

Jason looked at me, long and hard. ‘Whatcha crying
for?’

‘
I’m
not.’

A
finger which smelled of embalming fluid brushed my cheek. ‘Then
your skin’s leaking, kid.’

I gave a hiccup, a fighting attempt to keep
the tears at bay. I
never
cried. Not ever. ‘I’m fine.’

Jason jerked the car into a bus-stop and turned off the
ignition. ‘Bleeding women! Come ’ere,’ and a rough arm dragged me
into the surprising comfort of his fleece jacket. ‘Any more
’ormones on this coat and it’s gonna grow breasts.’

Jason’s gruff good nature was almost more
than I could bear. Silent tears burned down my face as he held me
tight against him. ‘I’m just …’ The words came out in half-sobs,
further muffled by the generous amount of Jason they were pressed
into. ‘Ben. He’s so … so
scared
… all the time. I want to know … what
he’s
… running
from.’

‘
He
prob’ly wants to know the same ’bout you, Jem,’ Jason said quietly,
rubbing my back as far as I could tell without lecherous intent.
‘We all knows you’re running scared too, my girl.’

I
struggled upright, tidying my face with the back of my hand. ‘What
do you mean?’

‘
Ah,
come on. You comes outta no-where, you never talks about what
you’ve left behind and you’re terrified of falling in love. That’s
some serious back-story you’re carting around, darling. And I
wouldn’t worry ’bout him topping ’imself. Guy wiv a face that well
known, we’d have heard.’ Jason gave me a bone-squeezing hug. ‘He’s
gone to ground somewhere, thass all. Hiding like.’

‘
Then I’ve got no idea even where to start
looking.’ Ideas were slipping through my mind like shadows. Yes.
I’d find Ben, find out what he was hiding. Jason couldn’t accuse me
of running out on anything unfinished. My behaviour would be
unimpeachable.
Then
I’d run.

Jason grimaced and re-started the car. ‘Sounds like what we
got here, my love, is a breakdown in communication. Basic
psychological problem, only way round it is for you and your man to
get it all out in the open.’

I
stared. ‘There’s more to you than meets the eye, isn’t
there?’