Page 24 of Secrets at the Little Music Shop

Ben had left a note pinned to the door of the shop. ‘Had to go early. Door’s open, see you later. B.’ There was a smudge after the initial, almost as though his pen had hovered uncertainly over an ‘x’ then decided against it, for which I was glad.

I went straight to the computer and hit Ben’s guest account. Googled ‘Willow Down’, 4 million entries. I could be reading through this stuff until I started thinking all rock musicians were long-haired layabouts who should get a proper job. I went for the first, the Official Site. Opened the page and there was Ben staring back at me from the screen. A little younger, a little unfocused about the eyes, but definitely Ben. Next to him was the heading ‘Band to reform without troubled front man Baz Davies’.

Oh.

Well, at least I knew now what he’d seen in Metal Hammer. No wonder he’d been so upset, it must be like finding out that all your best mates from school had a reunion and never even invited you. I read on. ‘The new line-up with Zafe Rafale moving from bass to lead guitar will be playing dates from next spring. There’s been no news on Baz Davies since he walked out on the band in Philadelphia during their world tour in 2005.’

‘You only had to ask.’

The voice from over my left shoulder made me leap up and crack my shins against the counter. The pain, in turn, made me angry. ‘What the hell are you doing, creeping up on me like that!’

‘Creeping? Oh yes, sorry, I was forgetting that this was my shop and that on no account was I to walk in through the front door!’ Ben slapped his forehead. ‘I just keep on not remembering that.’

I wanted to blank the screen but since I knew he’d already seen what I was looking at, it seemed pointless. Still, the picture of him almost throbbed. ‘Why are you back?’

‘Appointment was cancelled.’ He looked at the computer. ‘You Googled me.’

‘I . . .’

Ben shrugged. ‘Yeah. Well.’ We both stared at different parts of the floor for a moment. Ben had his hands in the pockets of a pair of black jeans which made him look even skinnier than usual. ‘I think this is where you apologise?’ he said at last.

‘Do I?’

‘Yeah. Then I make us both a coffee and we forget any of this ever happened.’ Those deep brown eyes flickered up to meet mine for a moment. ‘Please.’

‘I’m sorry,’ I started. The wary look stayed in his eyes. ‘But you’re — you were incredible, it says so here. “Best guitarist of a generation”.’

‘Things change.’

‘Yes but—’

‘Jemima.’ Ben came very close, standing with his face almost touching mine. ‘It hurts. It hurts like hell, what I used to be, all the things I lost. So please don’t tell me that I ought to go back to the band or that I should start playing again or any of the other crap that people have spouted at me. If I could, I would. But I can’t. All right?’

‘You’re hiding.’

‘Yes, I’m hiding!’ Ben turned away from me.

‘But what is there to hide from?’

He didn’t seem to hear me. Instead he stared at the posters which papered the shop walls so colourfully. ‘Zafe Rafale was my best friend,’ he half-whispered. ‘My mate. We did everything together after we left school, started the band, got drunk, got stoned. Shared everything. Then I let him down big time.’ Now he faced me. ‘Things got fucked up so royally, so spectacularly that I—’ Suddenly he stopped talking. His face was a blank mask. ‘This isn’t your problem.’

I had to knit my fingers together to stop myself reaching out for him. The pain was so manifest that he was hunched slightly beneath it and I wanted to touch him. To take some of it away. He was standing so close that I’d only have to reach up and I could put my arms around his neck, pull his head down and — hell, what was the matter with me?

‘OK, I’m sorry I Googled you. I was curious that’s all. But all it is, you were the singer in a band I’ve never heard of, and now you’re not.’

Ben smiled and the mood lifted. ‘That’s it,’ he said. ‘That’s precisely it. Mr Nobody, me.’

We grinned at each other and, for one tiny moment, the sheet which hung between me and the real world lifted a fraction and I caught a glimpse of the life I could have, if I could only stop walking away from the possibility. A man, maybe not this man, but one like him. A baby, a Harry of my own, if I wanted one. A career rather than makeweight jobs to earn money. I could have any of those things, all of them, perhaps, if I wanted it enough, and all I had to do was stop running.

‘Shall we go out?’

The barrier slammed down again as I stepped back and banged myself again, my hip this time. ‘What? Out? Like as in out out?’

‘I meant shall we go out for a coffee rather than drink it here? There’s a snazzy café round the corner and I feel like celebrating the cancellation of my appointment with a hazelnut latte and a big bun.’

I breathed again. Why had I thought that he was asking me to go out with him, as in a date? When I already knew that he didn’t. And I wouldn’t, anyway? Oh, this was not good, this was not good at all. ‘All right. But it better be a very big bun.’

‘Oh, and I got some flowers. Would you take them to Rosie? To say thank you for dinner last night?’

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