Page 47 of Secrets at the Little Music Shop

‘I was frightened.’ I found I’d backed up, the edge of the table was digging into the backs of my thighs and I couldn’t go any further without using my bodyweight to force it against the wall.

‘Why? Did you think I’d refuse to sell any more of your buckles?’

‘That night. With Harry. The way you ran. You were — freaking.’

Ben shook his head slowly. ‘And that’s it? I lost it and you thought you’d come pry into my secrets? Using Zafe, which, I have to say, is like using a dirty weapon.’

I forced my voice to be calm. ‘Ben, the way you took off I didn’t know what to think. Zafe was the only person who’d know where you might have gone.’

‘Great. Well you found me. Congratulations, go get yourself a gold medal. And then just plain go.’

‘I only wanted to — talk.’ His expression was so dark that I couldn’t even bring up the subject of my leaving town.

‘Right. So you smacked me round the face that night to — what? Bring me to my senses? Oh, Jemima, you have no idea what you’re dealing with here.’

‘Then tell me.’ I moved across the kitchen until we stood only one flagstone apart. I stared into his eyes, watching the pupils widen until they almost completely overwhelmed the irises, turning them into ebony discs. ‘Go on. Tell me what it is that’s screwing you up so totally.’

‘Why?’ His voice was little more than a whisper and his eyes flickered, taking in all of my face.

Because you need a friend, I wanted to say. You need someone to stop this happening. But my throat was clogged with my own reasons.

‘You’ve talked to Zafe, he’ll have told you about the drugs . . . do you think I’m a junkie? Is that it?’

‘Ben, I don’t know what you are.’

‘Oh, God.’ The click as the kettle turned itself off was so loud in the sudden silence that it bounced off the walls. Ben was breathing faster now, his ribcage moving under a skin that seemed slick. Was he sweating? ‘Jemima.’

‘I’m listening.’

He gripped the edges of the sink behind him. ‘I feel sick.’

‘Do you need me to get you something? Valium?’

Ben’s eyes were suddenly intense. ‘You seem to know a lot about it. What’s your story then, Jemima?’

I shook my head. ‘No. That’s not what this is about.’

He exhaled. ‘All right. Listen. You’re wrong. I haven’t taken anything since I came out of rehab. It’s been a close-run thing, sometimes, but I learned my lesson.’ Ben’s knuckles were grey against the white enamel. ‘I’m better than that, stronger. I found that I don’t need a head full of coke to tell me who I am and there’s nothing like having been an addict for showing you how shallow it all is. Been there, done that.’ And I wasn’t sure if he meant the drugs or the fame. ‘And now — now everything is different.’

I could see the muscles in his shoulders standing out under the strain. Something was going to give. ‘Jemima—’ A seething roll of thunder built to a tympanic crescendo and then died to a mumble. Outside the sun was killed by the cloud and a prickle of static electricity made my head tingle. Ben ignored it all, just stared at the floor as though his breakfast was about to reappear. ‘Jemima,’ he said again, glancing my way and then jumped as a lightning flash speared through the room and was gone.

‘Just a storm,’ I said. ‘Must be nearly overhead, judging by that thunder.’

‘Thunder?’

And suddenly I understood. ‘Oh, my God. Ben.’ The guitars he couldn’t play. Harry crying upstairs. Ben hadn’t known he was there.

He saw the understanding in my face and he broke. The tension in his shoulders transferred to his back and he jolted away from the sink, dropping to the floor with his forehead on his knees, his whole body shaking. Not just crying but sobbing as though everything dear to him had died.

‘But how—? I mean—’ The party where he’d known what I was saying on the other side of a crowded room. ‘You lip read.’ I went to him, sat beside him. Touched his arm until he raised his head. ‘Ben. Oh, God, Ben.’

The expression on his face was one I never want to see again. His eyes were black and it hurt to look into them, his hair was stapled across his cheeks with the tears that smeared his skin. He’d been holding this alone for such a long time, carrying it like a private horror. Under my hand I could feel him trembling. ‘Tell me,’ I said. ‘Just tell me. All of it.’

It came in fits and starts and bubbles of speech. His breath sounded as though it came over cogwheels in his throat and his chest heaved with the effort of drawing in air. He’d been diagnosed with a disease that caused a disintegration of the tiny bones of the inner ear, told his condition could stabilise or worsen at any time. Hoped for a miracle and then on stage in Philadelphia suddenly realised he was completely deaf. Ben looked deep into my face as he shared the terror, the isolation. ‘It’s congenital. My sister has lost part of her hearing, too. That’s why I bought them the place in Vancouver, there’s a university out there doing research on stabilising hearing and working on rebuilding lost bone. Just because it’s too late for me doesn’t mean she can’t be helped. But there’s no cure,’ he finished. His skin was chilled under my hand but his breathing was rapid, feverish. ‘It’s like being completely alone, trapped in here.’ He touched my forehead with his nearest finger.

‘But hearing aids—?’

‘Only work if the bones of the inner ear are intact. Mine . . .’ He tailed off, making a crumbling gesture with his hands. ‘Been through all this with Dr Michaels. Every option. But it’s a bastard of a disease, Jem, because once the hearing’s gone there’s nothing to be done.’ He gave a dark smile. ‘And, believe it or not, I’m luckier than a lot of sufferers because all the work with the band, being on stage and having to communicate over the music — I learned to lip read a long time ago. Dr Michaels wanted me to learn to sign but that’s a fast-track to living a completely separate life. Everyone knowing. I wanted . . . I wanted to pretend I could still hear.’ He shook his head. ‘Shit. Thought I’d done all my crying. Sorry.’

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