Please Don't Stop The Music (20 page)

Jason gave me a sleazy grin and cupped his groin. ‘Better
believe it, darling.’

* *
*

Rosie was scrubbing the kitchen when we arrived. A huge
bucket of bleach stood in the middle of the floor and the place
smelled like a swimming pool.

‘
Oh,
Jason, you found her!’ Rosie clambered to her feet and gave me a
moist hug.

‘
Steady. I can feel myself going blonder just standing here.
What are you doing?’

‘
Making sure that when that stupid woman comes back she can’t
find anything to complain about.’ Rosie peeled off a rubber glove
and rubbed a streaming eye. ‘She told me I had to clean this place
from top to bottom.’

‘
She
what
?’

Jason, wisely, put the kettle on. Rosie slumped down on the
edge of the table. ‘She looked everywhere, Jem, it was awful. Even
in my wardrobe. She found some old biscuits that I’d left in the
cupboard that had gone all soggy – you know I don’t like those
horrible ones with the coconut in …and she said … she said
…’

‘
She
said the place was unfit to house a baby.’ Jason had to finish for
her.

‘
Hang on. The social worker said that?’ I sat next to Rosie.
‘That the place was unfit?’

Rosie just nodded. She seemed numb but that might have been
the fumes, the place smelled so strongly of chlorine that we could
have used the kitchen to purify water. I put an arm around
her.

Upstairs Harry let out a wail. ‘I’ll go,’ Jason said. ‘You
make the tea, Jem. And there had better be biscuits, I’m warnin’
you now.’

I
waited until he left then gave Rosie a squeeze. ‘Rosie, I don’t
want to make you feel like an idiot but you did ask for ID, didn’t
you?’

She
paused half-way to pushing her hair up onto her head.
‘What?’

‘
I
have never in my life heard of a social worker calling in like
this, no prior contact or anything, and telling you to clean your
house. I mean there’s no problem with Harry is there? Even the
doctor said he was extraordinarily healthy –’

‘
You
mean, she might not have been real?’ Rosie looked around at the
gently steaming bucket and the bleachy condensation running down
the walls. ‘That I’ve done all this for nothing?’

‘
It’s just a bit odd, that’s all. Social workers are normally
pretty laid back about things unless they think a child is in
actual danger, which Harry isn’t. So I take it you didn’t ask for
ID?’

‘
She
said she was … oh, Jem, I’ve been a nutjob again, haven’t
I?’

Jason, coming back in, met my eye over
Rosie’s head and mouthed, ‘
Saskia
’. I nodded.

‘
I
think you’ve been deliberately fooled. Someone’s idea of a sick
joke, maybe?’ Jason raised his eyebrows.

Rosie let out a huge breath. ‘God. You’re right of course.
She didn’t even offer me any ID and she looked a bit – skinny for a
social worker.’

‘
Yeah, well, I don’t think they all look like King Kong you
know.’

‘
And I
thought
it was funny, her wanting to
look through the cupboards. I – God, Jem, you’re
brilliant.’

‘
Just doing my job, ma’am.’ I tipped an imaginary
hat.

‘
And look at it this way, you won’t have to
clean this place again for
years
.’ Jason passed Harry over to
his mother. ‘Think of the time you’ve saved
yourself.’

‘
It
doesn’t really work like that, Jason.’ Rosie cuddled Harry to her.
‘So. In recognition of my being such a total moron I suppose I
ought to cook you dinner, Jem.’

Over her head Jason mouthed
‘
Thank you, God.
’
Rosie went on. ‘You are such a good friend,
Jemima.’

Jason raised an eyebrow behind her back. I
felt a wash of such shame that my cheeks must have coloured. How
could I have thought that it would be so easy to leave? I looked at
the walls, at the hallucinogenic pattern on the old lino, smelled
the musty cooked-in smells underlying the bleach.
Why
couldn’t I just
settle here?

Then
Rosie’s words hit me. Good friend. Oh, my God. Of course
…

Chapter Fourteen

It
wasn’t the volume of the music that made my head ring, it was the
insistent bass. It echoed through me like a second heart beat and
rendered everything in the club dreamlike, although that could have
been the barely-there lighting. I bought myself a drink and held it
in front of me like a glass wall, lounging awkwardly against a
pillar and scanning the dance floor.

Opposite the bar was the DJ booth surrounded by girls looking
available. Its glass was tinted and the music was continuous so I
couldn’t tell if the DJ was there. I wished I’d brought Jason. He
might be a complete plonker, but he had the knack of looking at
ease anywhere and it might have stopped me looking like a woman in
search of a man. Which I was, but it was a particular man, not any
of these designer-clad guys, with their smooth taste in shirts and
their labels flapping.

I
began to sidle around the walls heading for the far side of the
club. Hidden speakers vibrated my lungs with volume and the
perpetual techno-trance music scraped across my nerve endings.
Finally I reached the DJ booth and looked in from behind, at the
back of a blond man in a white shirt with the sleeves rolled to the
elbows. He swivelled so I could see he had an earpiece in, and his
eyes closed and was singing to something that bore no resemblance
to the beat that was pumping out onto the dance floor. Two burly
black men with radios stood either side and a rope barrier
prevented the peasants from gaining entry.

‘
Excuse me.’ I approached one of them, yelling above the
music. ‘Could I speak to the DJ, please?’

Dark
eyes focussed on my face. I gave my winningest smile, lots of teeth
and lips.

‘
Whatcha want?’

‘
A
request?’ I had no idea whether DJ’s still played requests. I’d
been out of circulation too long.

A
grunt and the bodyguard folded his arms in front of his body,
settling himself further into the floor. ‘He dun’t do
requests.’

Now
I really wished I’d brought Jason. He knew the etiquette for
situations like this. Well, maybe etiquette was too strong a word,
perhaps violence was a better term. ‘I only want to have a word
with him.’

Another grunt. ‘Join the queue.’ A vast head nodded towards
the girls, still stationary-jogging, although not one breast moved
between the lot of them.

This
was stupid. I hadn’t paid fifteen pounds to come in here and then
another seven-fifty for a weak vodka only to be told I had to get
behind a bunch of teenagers. I waited until the guard had switched
back into resting mode then ducked under the rope and banged on the
glass wall. ‘Oy, Zafe!’

Three sets of eyes instantly focused my way and two extremely
large sets of arms came bearing down on me, grabbed me none too
gently and started to drag me backwards, heels skittering out from
beneath me. Inside his booth the DJ was already losing interest,
sliding back under his music again. I did the only thing a girl
down on the floor surrounded by enormous men could do. I lifted the
hem of my top and flashed my boobs.

‘
Oh,
bloody hell,’ one of the bodyguards exclaimed. ‘That’s all we need.
Put ’em away love, nobody’s interested.’

But
someone was. Perhaps it was because I’d taken the precaution of
writing ‘Baz needs your help’ in eye pencil right across my
breasts, with my nipples standing in for ‘e’s.

* *
*

Zafe
sat on an empty beer crate while I squatted uncomfortably on a
broken stool in a tiny office at the back of the club. He lit a
cigarette.

‘
You
do know I’ve got absolutely no reason to tell you anything?’ He
blew smoke. ‘That bastard dropped us all in the shit back in
Philly.’

‘
Yes, I know. But you were friends once. And honestly, Zafe,
you can’t feel nearly as badly about him as he does about himself.
You should have seen him when he found out the band was
reforming.’

Zafe
shrugged. His shoulders had filled out considerably since his days
in Willow Down, in the pictures he’d looked almost fragile, now he
looked like a rugby player. Still as blond, though, and with those
same beautiful cat-like eyes. ‘Yeah, well.’ He sounded almost
ashamed. ‘I’m still not convinced that’s a great move but the
management … hey, not your problem.’ Another puff of smoke. ‘So,
you’re what? Baz’s new woman?’

‘
No.
Absolutely not.’ I cupped my hands around my knees to stop the
stool rocking. ‘He’s a friend, that’s all.’

Sapphire eyes slithered across my chest,
now properly covered once more. ‘Hell of a length to go to for
a
friend
,
flashing your 36Ds at the whole club,’ he said dryly. Another
mouthful of smoke threatened to obscure the single bare bulb
swinging from the low ceiling. Money clearly all went on front of
house. ‘Look love, Baz was brilliant back in the day. Best lead I
ever played with. But he was – how can I put it? Erratic. Bit fond
of the old marching powder, know what I mean? Just before we went
to the States on that final tour he took three months out getting
his head straight, cleaning up his act, all that kinda thing. But
when we got out there – it was like he just lost it. One night he’s
playing like he’s got the devil himself in his soul and the next –
pow, he’s outta there so fast the band didn’t know he’d gone ’til
next day. Woke up and he’s not on the tour bus, he’s not with some
girl, he’s just …’ Zafe broke off and rubbed at his arms as though
something had walked over his skin under his pale jacket.
‘Bastard,’ he finished.

‘
Where did he go?’

He
pulled a face. ‘Dunno. Didn’t even know he was back in York until
you just told me. He’s not been in touch. No calls, nothing. I
tried …’ He broke off and sucked hard on the cigarette for a
moment. ‘I was his friend and he wouldn’t talk to me about what was
going off in his life. Shut me out. Wouldn’t take my calls,
nothing. I went everywhere I could think of, hung out in some of
our old dives, all his favourite places, no-one knew a thing,
no-one had seen him. Knocked on more doors than a Jehovah’s Witness
that year.’

‘
Is
there anywhere you can think of that he might have run to?’ I was
gripping my hands tighter around my knees, could feel my nails
digging under my kneecaps.

‘
You
tried the house, right?’

‘
There was no-one in.’

Zafe
shook his hair, clearing his fringe from his eyes. He wore it
differently now, long at the front but spiky-short at the back,
like he had his expression on the wrong side of his head. ‘OK. You
know his family?’

‘
No,
like I said, I’m just a friend.’ Ben had never talked about his
family. Never really talked about anything close to him unless I’d
forced him. I shivered. He was more like me than I’d
realised.

‘
Ma
and sister live in Vancouver.’

‘
Canada?’ I was horrified by the snatching panic at the
thought that Ben might be that far away.

‘
Well done. Yeah.’ Zafe maintained the dry tone in his voice.
‘His dad died, they emigrated. All kicked off just as we started up
the band so Baz stayed over here. Bought them a place. Put all his
earnings into property, all that didn’t go up his nose.’

‘
You
think he might be in Canada?’

A
considered pause. Zafe narrowed his eyes at me through the smoke.
‘You sure you’re not some journo after the inside story? Everyone
wants to know what happened to the great Baz Davies.’ He lowered
his head. ‘Including me,’ he finished quietly. ‘Though … five
years, it’s a long time, I guess most people wouldn’t even
recognise him now. And the ones that do … phht.’ He flicked ash
onto the floor and stirred at it with a heel. ‘No-one cares any
more. Old news.’

‘
So,
even if I were a journalist, you’d help me?’

‘
Nah. If you’re a journo you can make it up.’ Those blue, blue
eyes fixed on me. ‘So, can you prove you’re not?’

I
held up my open hands. ‘How do I prove a negative?’

Zafe
stood up and ground out the cigarette stub with the toe of his
leather boots, forcing it to a smear on the concrete. ‘You been in
the house?’

‘
Ben’s? Yes, once. But only the hall with all those weird
tiles. Oh, and the big room with the sofas. The room with the
speakers set up. We went to an opening together and we had a drink
in there before we left.’ I had to look up at Zafe as he paced
around the cheerless cuboid room. He had a loose way of walking, as
though his joints were attached by elastic to his body.

‘
OK
then. If you are a journo, you’re one Baz trusts. He doesn’t let
any old hack into his place.’ He tapped another cigarette from his
pocket and lit it. ‘What?’