Page 172 of The Last Love Song
‘Everyone used to say that,’ agreed Helen. ‘So you can give me her new address?’
‘Of course.’ The woman opened the file. ‘She went to what we call a halfway house. Care in the community is the thing these days, you know. The government doesn’t have the money to keep places such as this going any more. Here, I’ll write it down for you.’
‘How...how did she seem when she left?’
‘Oh, better than when she arrived. This was the one place she seemed to feel secure. As a matter of fact, she was very excited when she left. She went on and on about this Music for Life concert. As soon as she heard about it, she sent away for a ticket.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes, it arrived just after she left. I posted it on to her. Oh, she did love her music, but of course you probably know that.’
‘After so many years of being out of touch, I don’t feel I know her at all. Were there...were there any bands or records she liked in particular?’
Helen nodded as the woman gave her the answer she knew she would hear.
‘And there was one song in particular she played over and over on that tiny little tape recorder of hers.’
‘Which one was it? Maybe I could buy her a new copy as a present for when I see her.’
‘Umm, I’m not very good on pop, especially not sixties pop. I prefer country myself. I think it was one of the later ones, just one of them singing. It was different from their earlier stuff.’
‘Was it called “Losing You”?’
‘Er, yes, I think it was, but I couldn’t be sure.’
‘Oh well, if youdoremember, you could always let me know. Listen, I mustn’t take up any more of your time.’ Helen stood up.
The woman handed her the address printed out on a sheet of paper. ‘Send her my love when you see her. After all these years, I’ve become fond of her. Looking at her, you’d never think...well...such a tragedy, really. Goodbye, dear.’
Helen stopped at a motorway cafe to eat and mull over the conversation. She bought a newspaper and flicked through it over her bland cheese and lettuce sandwich.
‘Plans for tomorrow’s concert are going well,’report the organisers. ‘As each hour passes we’re getting more and more bands offering to turn up and sing for Africa.’
Of course, having so many superstars under one roof is causing a security nightmare, especially as it was reported yesterday that Con Daly, newly returned from his self-imposed exile, has received a death threat, citing the concert as the target point.
‘It’s probably a crank, but we are taking the threat seriously as Mr Daly has been threatened before,’ said a spokesman at Scotland Yard. ‘I’d warn anyone out there who is thinking of causing trouble in any way that the security operation will be the tightest seen in years.’
Helen’s blood ran cold. She swallowed.
‘Oh, God.’
‘Testing, testing, one, two, three, four, five, bananas, apples, Bob’s balls.’
The voice boomed through the huge loudspeakers as Johnny, the concert organiser, shepherded The Fishermen onto the vast Wembley stage.
‘So, guys, Tina will be at the front while your gear is moved into place. When she’s finished, you step onto the stage, which will be in complete darkness. I’ll announce you to a major dramatic drum roll, then the stage will move forward automatically. When the crowd eventually calms down, which we reckon could take as long as ten minutes, you begin your set. Okay so far? Con?’
Con had wandered to the front of the stage and was looking across the stadium.
‘Sure.’
‘At the end of the set, the spotlight will fall on you, Con. You begin the first verse of “Losing You” while we organise everyone backstage to come out and join you for the final verse. I’d be prepared for at least three encores. No one will want it to end. We’ll eventually bring it to a close by going via satellite to New York. Okay?’
Everyone nodded.
‘Good. Now, you’re scheduled for three this afternoon. I can only give you forty-five minutes to rehearse; we’ve thirty bands to give practice time to and you’ve got fifteen minutes longer than most.’
‘That’ll be fine, Johnny,’ said Todd.
