one-hit wonder (45 page)

“I’m glad you came, Mum.”

Gay nodded. “Yes,” she said brusquely, “so am I. It’s good to close things properly. Isn’t it?”

“How did you manage it?”

“Well—I suppose I, er . . .
psyched
myself up, as they say.

And Mr. Redwood’s been marvelous. In fact”—she stopped and turned to look Ana in the eye—“Mr. Redwood has proposed to me.”

Ana stared at her mother incredulously. “What!”

“Mr. Redwood. He proposed to me. A few evenings ago.”

“And you said . . . ?”

“Well—being a widow doesn’t really suit me, you know.

I’m not the type to enjoy being alone. And now that you’ve finally come out of yourself, started making something of your life—well, I can’t expect you to sit around with me for the rest of your life. And Mr. Redwood really is a kind and caring man and . . .”

Ana turned to her mother and grinned. “You said yes, didn’t you!”

Her mother blushed very slightly and nodded. Ana screamed and then put her hand over her mouth when she remembered she was in a graveyard. She almost threw her arms around her mother, too, and then remembered that her mother would probably die of shock if she did. So she just stood there and beamed at her instead. “I think that’s fantastic,” she said. “Really, really fantastic.”

“Well,” sighed her mother, “it’s not the most romantic of comings-together—more of a collaboration really. But I think it’s for the best.”

“You will—you will be
nice
to him, won’t you, Mum?”

“What on earth do you mean?”

“I mean—you’ll appreciate him. Tell him he’s good. Tell him he’s kind. Tell him you’re glad you married him. Won’t you?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Anabella. I shall treat Mr. Redwood with every respect. The same respect he shows me.”

Ana beamed at her and Gay allowed a smile to slip across her face.

“So,” she said, “what of you? What are your plans for the future?”

Ana shrugged. “D’you know?—I have no idea. None at all.

I’m going to have to move out of the house I’m staying in next week. Gill’s got a long-term tenant moving in on the weekend. I’ll find another flat. Or I might stay with Flint . . .

I’ve really been too busy to think about it.” Gay pursed her lips. “This Flint fellow. Was he a lover of Bee’s?”

Ana giggled. “What?”

“You know what I mean.”

“Well—actually, yes. They did sleep together once. A long time ago. But he’s
my lover
now,” she said.

She waited for her mother’s shocked reaction, but it didn’t come. “Yes,” she said dryly, “Hugh did tell me he suspected there was something going on with you two. Well. I’m glad. I like the look of him. And he’s a big man. I’ve always liked a big man. They make you feel very protected. And they tend toward gentleness.”

They were approaching Mr. Redwood’s car now and Ana sped up. “Mr. Redwood,” she gushed, “Mum’s just told me the news and I think it’s
wonderful.
I think you’re completely insane, but it’s still wonderful. Congratulations!” Mr. Redwood’s neat face opened up into a massive grin.

“Well—I can’t tell you how happy I am to have your approval, Anabella. That really does mean an awful lot to me.” He pulled himself nimbly from the car and gave Ana a strong, very un-English bear hug.

“Welcome to the family, Mr. Redwood. And at least I know that you know exactly what you’re letting yourself in for.”

He beamed at Gay. “Oh yes,” he said, “I most certainly do.”

“Now,” said Gay, ignoring Mr. Redwood’s affectionate overtures, “I’ve brought you some things. Clothes. Books.

Records. Et cetera. I thought you’d probably like to have them with you.”

Mr. Redwood leapt to attention and unlocked the trunk of his car.

“And there’s this, too.” Gay handed Ana a large manila envelope. “It’s a letter. To you. From Bee. I’m afraid I, er . . .

well—I should have given it to you before. I’m not really very sure why I didn’t. It’s not something I’m very proud of.

Maybe you should save it for later—save it for a quiet moment. Urgh . . .” She put her hand to her forehead and drew a breath. “Now I really, really must be going. I really am feeling rather . . . urgh.”

Mr. Redwood dashed from the back of the car to the front and opened the passenger door for Gay, who collapsed daintily onto the seat.

Ana called Flint and Keith over to help Mr. Redwood transfer her boxes from the back of his car to Flint’s and then Gay said good-bye.

“You will keep in touch, won’t you? Things will be much easier now that I’ve got Mr. Redwood. He can answer the phone for me. . . .”

“Or you could answer the phone for yourself?”

“Well. One thing at a time, Anabella. One thing at a time.

And thank you for this, by the way. For organizing this. I think it’s been a very good thing.” She smiled tightly and Ana smiled back at her.

“Me, too, Mum, me, too.” She kissed Gay lightly on one cheek and closed the door on her.

“Oh, Clint,” said Gay, suddenly winding down the window and beckoning at him. “I wanted to apologize for last week.

For your hand. I’m terribly sorry. It was most unnecessary and really rather vulgar. I’m most embarrassed.” Flint shrugged it off and waved a nearly healed palm at her, and then Mr. Redwood and Gay reversed from their parking space and drove away.

Ana turned to Flint as the car disappeared from view.

“Thank you,” she said.

“What for?”

“For that. For what you did with Mum. She wouldn’t have come otherwise.”

“Yeah she would,” he said, enveloping her in a hug.

“She wouldn’t,” she insisted, wrapping her arms around his huge torso, “and you are wonderful.” She tipped her head up toward his and smiled as his lips touched hers.

“Come on, you two—enough of all that,” said Lol, twirling a shawl over her shoulders as the sun started disappearing behind the trees, “we’ve got a party to go to!”
forty-four

“Hi there, everybody. Hope you’re all enjoying this very special soirée. My name is Lolita Tate and these other guys”—she indicated the musicians behind her—“are just some weird old blokes who can play instruments. This bloke”—she pointed at Keith—“is the world’s greatest living tambourinist. And also, I am very happy to say, my lover. And we’ll be your band for tonight. We’re happy to do requests, so feel free to offer suggestions. We’re also very happy to accept guest musicians during the course of the evening, so if anyone thinks they can do any better than us, just let us know.

OK, boys—take it away.” The drummer tapped his cymbal three times and then the band launched into a fantastic version of “Born to Run.”

Ana turned to Flint and smiled. “Can you dance?” she asked.

He grimaced. “Not even slightly,” he said.

“Good,” she said, “neither can I.”

They both leaned back against the wall and watched the party. Flint had his arm around her shoulder and she drew his fist toward her and kissed his knuckles. There were about thirty people in the room. A lot of the “fans” had stuck around, having originally said they were going to stay for only one drink. Amy was still here and was now dancing with one of Keith’s friends, who looked as if he was thoroughly enjoying himself. Ed had left immediately after the service at the cemetery, his eyes looking slightly red but with a sense of relief about him that it was finally over. And Dr. Chan had told Zander about a dozen times that they had to leave but he was still here, drinking a warm shandy and sneaking puffs on other people’s cigarettes when Dr. Chan wasn’t looking.

Lol’s voice was absolutely incredible. Ana had never heard her singing live before, only on tape, and shivers ran down her spine just listening to her. And the band was brilliant.

Ana had no idea that Lol was going to put together such a professional outfit for her. Saxophones, trumpets; electric, acoustic, and twelve-string guitars. The band was almost bigger than the party.

Flint and Ana held each other tight and watched the band, swaying around a bit, both with matching stupid grins on their faces, chatting every now and then. A still-dancing Amy tottered toward them, grinning from ear to ear.

“Oh Ana,” she said, “Bee would have loved this, you know.

It’s been a marvelous day. Absolutely marvelous. Now. There was something I needed to ask you. And I know that now’s probably not the best of times, I know how busy you young people are, but I needed to ask you—about John. Not that I’m not thoroughly enjoying his company. I am. But dear Freddie has some, er . . . objections to his presence. And I wondered if you might give some thought to alternative arrangements for the dear creature. . . .”

Ana looked at Flint.

He smiled at her. “I’ll have him,” he said easily.

Amy clapped her hands with delight.

“Really?” said Ana. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” he said, “why not? I’ve always wanted a pet. And he can catch spiders for me.”

“You’re scared of spiders?”

“Uh-huh. Terrified . . .” He addressed Amy. “How’s about I pop around tomorrow and pick him up?”

But before Amy could answer, there was a lull in their conversation, just in time for them to hear Lol say, “We have a singing virgin in the house, a certain young lady who tells me she thinks she can sing but she’s not sure because she’s never sung in front of anyone before. Well, singing runs in her family, so I’m convinced she’ll be great. Ana—where are you?”

And before she could do anything about it, half a dozen pairs of hands, including Flint’s, had bundled her up onto the stage, and six seconds later she was standing over the microphone shielding her eyes from the glare of a spotlight that she hadn’t even realized was there until that moment.

“Give her a huge round of applause, everyone.” Ana looked blindly into the crowd. Thirty-odd people suddenly looked like three hundred. A two-foot rostrum suddenly felt like a vast stage. Expectant faces beamed up at her, and she didn’t recognize any of them. She tried discreetly to get off the stage, but hands kept appearing from everywhere to push her back on. She turned around to Lol. “I can’t,” she mouthed.

“Yes, you bloody well can,” she replied, turning her back toward the microphone.

“But I don’t know what to sing.”

“What’s your favorite shower song?”

“My what?”

“My what?”

“What do you sing in the shower?”

“God. I dunno. Loads of different things.”

“Well. Pick one. Tell the band what it is. And then sing it.

You can sing it backward if you like.”

“Backward?”

“Yes. Facing away.”

“Oh God. This is horrible, Lol.”

“Yeah. It is. At first. But once you get going, you’ll be addicted. I promise you. Now. What d’you want to sing?”

“God. I dunno.” She bit her lip and looked at Lol desperately. Every fiber of her being was telling her to get off the stage. Now. Every brain cell she possessed was shouting at her to get off immediately, before she made a gigantic fool of herself. But then a little voice started talking to her. The little voice who remembered all those nights she’d lain in bed fantasizing about a moment like this, wondering if she’d be up to it, dreaming about having the sort of life where she’d even be asked to do this in the first place.

And here she was, finally, at the ripe old age of twenty-five, being given the opportunity to sing anything she liked with a band of professional musicians in front of a friendly crowd at her sister’s wake. She took a deep breath and said the first thing that came into her head. “What about . . . ‘Time Will Pass You By’?”

“What?”

“Tobi Legend.”

“Who?”

“Northern Soul classic.”

“Never heard of it.” She turned to consult with the band.

“Never heard of it.” She turned to consult with the band.

“OK,” she said, turning back to Ana, “
they
have. You’re on.” She winked at her and suddenly the drummer was tapping out the rhythm and suddenly the intro was playing and suddenly Ana was facing the crowd and suddenly she was singing. Fuck. How had that happened? She was singing. She was breathless at first, her voice slightly weak and quavery, but within the first few bars she was just . . . singing. In front of people. She didn’t look at them as she sang. She looked at the dartboard. She looked at a poster on the wall for a pub quiz. And all the notes came out properly. And she even started dancing a bit. And halfway through the song she actually forgot she was singing in public and just concentrated on getting the full meaning of the song from her soul to her lungs and to her lips. All she was aware of was the lyrics and how apt they were and how much she wished Bee could have been out there listening to them . . .

and then suddenly she was bowing and it was over and everyone in the room was going mental. A huge smile split her face in two and Lol grabbed her and hugged her and Flint leapt onto the stage and buried her in a bear hug and held her face in his hands and kissed her on the lips. Her heart raced with adrenaline and her face was flushed with heat and excitement. Oh my God. She’d done it. After all those years of fantasizing. All those years of dreaming. She’d got up on stage in front of people and she’d sung. And it was
brilliant.

One of the best feelings she’d ever experienced. She beamed at the crowd, who all cheered her on. She turned to Lol.

“What about a duet?” she whispered.

Lol nodded and hugged her again. “ ‘Suspicious Minds’?” she said.

Ana nodded enthusiastically.

The band started up again and the two of them launched into the song, Ana providing the harmonies. This time it was even more enjoyable, and by the time the song finished and the crowd started shouting again, Ana was ready to spend the rest of the night on the stage. “Am I all right?” she whispered to Lol.

“Ana, my love, you are much more than all right. You are fucking fantastic. Now sing something else. Quick. The crowd is getting restless.”

Ana turned and faced the audience. She smiled. They cheered. This was fun. And as she looked around at the faces in the crowd, she spotted a beaming Zander, his hands held above his head, clapping loudly and whistling, and it suddenly occurred to her that he was probably the bravest person she’d ever met. This party was for Bee, but Zander deserved a moment in the spotlight. Because he was here. At a party to celebrate the life of a woman who’d taken everything away from him. And then she remembered something. “A Song for Zander.” She’d finally put some music to it last week. She’d been intending to ask Lol if she’d be able to get it recorded for him, as she wanted to send him the tape in St. Andrews.