Page 46 of Secrets at the Little Music Shop

‘You were a lot closer.’ I smiled a saccharine smile back.

‘Yes, well, that was business.’ Saskia fluffed her hair. ‘Do ask him to get in touch, won’t you? I’ve a few little propositions I’d like to put to him. Super.’ Saskia turned. ‘Alex! I’m ready now. You can drop me off at the house before you go, I’ve a few phone calls to make.’ She turned to wave manicured finger tips at me. ‘Ciao, sweetie.’ Her voice lowered an octave to take her leave of Jason. ‘Goodbye, my darling.’ He merited a kiss on the cheek. ‘And if you could let Rosie know I’ll be by sometime on Sunday for the rest of the consignment?’

The big black car swept away in a spray of gravel. I turned to Jason. ‘Can you smell brimstone?’

‘I dunno. Whatever perfume Saskia was wearing has made my nose bleed.’

* * *

Rosie woke me when she got in at three, wanting an update on Harry’s evening. I suppose it was understandable, what with the carrycot-under-the-wardrobe incident, but I suspect I might have been a little less than understanding, being dragged out of sleep to describe nappy contents. The discussion meant I was slightly sleep deprived when I drove off in Jason’s car the next morning. Robin Hood’s Bay was a tiny village clinging to a rapidly eroding cliffside, all hanging baskets and provisions merchants, like something out of Enid Blyton. I inched the car down to the slipway at the bottom of the village, failing to spot any sign of Ben, his car or any street bearing any name like ‘moor’ or ‘main’. In fact, half of the main road had fallen into the sea a few winters ago. Carefully I turned around, inching the car in reverse because there wasn’t much room, and headed back up the slope again past the hotels and guesthouses, past the old railway station and up to where the buildings gave way to fields. I pulled into a gateway, killed the engine and got out.

Far below me on the beach I could hear the sound of children yelling. The sun was brilliantly white, shadows were short and I felt my chest burning with something, some emotion I couldn’t name. I leaned against the car and took a deep breath, the heat and light making everything feel slightly unreal, dreamlike, listening to the children playing at the foot of the cliffs, and then I recognised the feeling. It was longing.

Some deeply buried part of me wanted this. To stand in the sun, listening to children — my children — play. To have a normal, loving man to go home to, a gentle, smiling man who’d flick his hair out of his eyes and take the baby from me. Ask me how my day had been. Kiss my cheek and then later, in the secret night, draw lines of flame across my body.

Ben.

His was the face I saw, the fingers I imagined. His was the body that stepped in to fill the gap in my fantasies. If only I could reach him, talk to him . . . if only . . . If only I could overcome everything I was. If I could forget all the promises I’d made. If only things were different.

I shook my head. Sleep deprivation. That’s all it was. Tiredness and unaccustomed driving in a car that smelled of solder and Lynx. As I stood breathing heavily, sun reflected from something very shiny and speared through my eyeball like a migraine. I blinked, turned and caught sight of the road sign. Moor Road it said, with the sun winking and gleaming off it and all but beckoning in a deliberately provocative manner. The feeling that I’d been fooled by some stunt on Zafe’s behalf, some way of getting rid of a troublesome groupie, left me and was replaced by a prickle of nerves. Ben was here. Somewhere.

My stomach squeezed and my body turned, so used to running, to getting out of situations before they went bad that it was an automatic response. I was half way into the driving seat with my knuckles white against the doorframe before I managed to tell myself that this was just a stop-off. Just a clearing-the-air pause before I could start again somewhere, clean slate.

Do this, then it’s over. It’s all over.

Number nine was carved on a weathered bit of elm, nailed to a swinging sign at the end of an overgrown driveway which curved and dipped. The house was a long way from the road. Once I rounded the first bend I could see a car slewed casually across a grassed-over turning circle. It was an Audi but I couldn’t be sure it was Ben’s. Despite the car the house had a deserted look, curtains pulled across most of the windows and paintwork peeling from the frames. An enormous ash tree flourished alongside and hung its branches down over the guttering. It made the house look like an emo kid trying to hide behind its fringe.

I wasn’t brave enough to knock. With the gravel crunching a give-away under my feet, I tried to look as though I had called on unidentifiable business and shuffled around the outer wall of the house down a paved walkway and into the back garden.

Where Ben was sprawled face down on the overgrown lawn.

I gave a moan and dashed over the spongy grass to crouch beside his body. He was half-dressed, barefoot in those painted-on black jeans and the lack of shirt left his tattoo darkly visible, scrawled across his painfully pale skin. I laid a hand against his ribcage to check for movement. He couldn’t be dead. He just couldn’t.

He wasn’t. With a yell that made me leap several feet backwards he jumped to his feet. ‘What the . . . ?’

‘I’m sorry, I thought you—’

He cut me off, pulling at the T shirt he’d had cushioning his head. ‘What are you doing here? How did you know . . . ? Why? It’s not . . . Harry, he’s OK, isn’t he?’

‘Zafe gave me the address.’ I watched Ben blinking his way back to wakefulness. ‘And Harry’s fine. What were you doing out here?’ I couldn’t keep my eyes off his naked chest. Even though he was clutching his T shirt against himself like a shield enough flesh was available for viewing to show that he had bones and muscles and very little else. He looked like a vertical greyhound.

‘What does it look like I was doing? I was lying in the sun.’

My heart had settled. ‘It’s not working. You still look like half-a-pint of milk.’

An almost-smile. ‘And while I wasn’t expecting a “hello, gorgeous”, I still find myself surprised. So then. Presuming you didn’t come just for the insult opportunities?’

‘I thought you might—’ No, it was too stupid to say, with him standing there looking baffled, still blinking sleep from his eyes. ‘I had to show Zafe my boobs before he’d tell me about this place.’

‘Sounds like Zafe. He’d make such a rubbish spy.’ Rubbing a hand through his already disarrayed hair, Ben moved off towards an open door at the back of the house, not inviting me to follow. Beyond the door I could see a cool, dark room with a table and chairs set on a bare slate floor. The sun scalded my skin as though it was driving me towards the shade but more heavy-headed clouds were building on the horizon, hinting at a coming storm. I shielded my eyes and looked up at the sky.

Ben stopped in the doorway and turned round. ‘You’ve come this far. You might as well see the rest.’

The grass was mossy under my feet like walking on fat green pillows, suddenly becoming cold hard stone as I stepped into the shadow of the kitchen. Between its thick walls and floor hung a pool of cool air and I felt myself relax a little.

Ben, busy plugging in a kettle, ignored me. He’d dumped his T shirt on the table and when he turned to search for coffee I found that my eyes would not move from the middle of his chest. His body hair was as dark as the hair on his head, spiralling from around his nipples to a narrow band running down the centre of his concave stomach. His arms were lean but strong, with the muscles running long and smooth down to his elbows. His ribs pushed the skin of his chest as he breathed, rolling with each exhalation and making the shadows that fell across his body move like snakes.

‘Why did you come?’ He was wreathed in the gloom at the far side of the room, the kettle sending a shiver of steam between us. He looked like a ghost.

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