Page 26 of Secrets at the Little Music Shop

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.’

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