Read Always Something There to Remind Me Online
Authors: Lilian Kendrick
‘Every month when the Storytellers’ Circle met in the back room at the Old Crown, Lee was the star of the show. He would stand in the centre of the room and spin his tales to the group who willingly lost themselves in his words. Others stood up and took their turns and all were greeted with polite applause, but Lee would take the audience on a journey to distant lands and play with their emotions in a way no other performer could. You could almost say that he was worshipped in this tight-knit group of story addicts.
‘One night, as Lee was telling his most enthralling story, he noticed that a woman had crept forward and was sitting at his feet, gazing up at him in awe. He smiled at her and continued with his tale. When he had finished and the sound of the applause was thundering around him, he stooped to pick up his glass of beer from the floor. The woman took his hand.
‘“Teach me.”
‘“What?”
‘“I want to be a storyteller. Will you teach me?” Her blue eyes glistened with unshed tears as Lee started to turn away. “I’ll give you whatever you want in return.”
‘“Whatever I want? That’s a dangerous offer to make. You don’t know what I’ll ask for.”
‘“I mean it. Teach me to tell stories and I will give you anything that you desire, but only when I can stand here and tell a story as well as you do. Until then I am your handmaid.”
‘So Lee agreed and Ella became his handmaid. For three months, he schooled her in his art. They met at his home and at the beach and sometimes in the big city park as he taught her how to observe life and nature and people and include them all in the stories she told. At the Circle meetings, she continued to sit at his feet and learn.
‘At last it was time for graduation.
‘“Tonight’s the night. I think you’re ready.” Lee was clearly proud of their achievements.
‘The Circle was in session. Lee stood up and told his tale, receiving the usual rapturous response. He raised his hands and the group fell silent.
‘“Friends, tonight I am pleased to introduce a newcomer, about to tell her first story. Please welcome my … er … apprentice, Ella.”
‘There was a stillness in the room as Ella took up her position. She told the most wonderful story. Lee was stunned that he had not heard this tale before. In all the hours they had spent together, she had clearly saved the best until now. He watched and listened, captivated as she moved him first to laughter and then to tears with the truth and tenderness of her performance. When, at last, the story ended he was drained as he looked at the radiant face of his former student smiling across at him as the audience shouted and screamed for more.
‘Lee leapt to his feet, but no one noticed. He stood on his chair and raised his hands. Eventually, the applause stopped and Lee returned his attention to Ella.
‘“It’s time to settle your account. Remind me, my dear, what was the fee for your lessons?”
‘“I believe I offered anything your heart desires, and you have indeed earned your fee, so name your desire.”
‘The room fell silent as everyone watched the master storyteller cross the room.
‘“My heart’s desire is that you should never tell another story.”’
Des stepped back from the microphone and the room erupted with applause. He resumed his seat and the show continued, but the rest of it was lost on me. I squeezed his hand by way of congratulation, but found I was reluctant to release it. As he made no attempt to pull away, we sat through the next half-hour holding hands while I pretended I was still paying attention to the performance. How had I never realised how talented this warm and witty man was? I was so glad that he had chosen me as a friend. Life without him would be dull indeed.
‘You have to tell me where we’re going,’ I moaned, ‘otherwise I won’t have a clue what to wear.’ It was Saturday afternoon.
‘I’m not telling you; it’s a surprise and you never have a clue what to wear anyway,’ Trudi teased. ‘Wear your audition dress and be ready for nine o’clock. I’ll come over to your house and we’ll call a taxi.’
‘There’s no need for a taxi. I’ll drive.’
‘No you won’t! This is our first big night out in ages and Christmas is only two weeks away, so you’re going to have a drink or two and let your hair down.’
‘I’m really not sure about this.’
‘Look, we promised ourselves a night out, so there’s no getting out of it. I’ll be there at nine. Oh, and put some make-up on.’ She hung up and I hauled myself off the sofa to start the long process of making myself presentable.
The taxi dropped us off in a side street near the city centre and Trudi led the way into an unpretentious-looking pub. I followed her to a staircase in the corner of the main room and then all became clear as I saw the posters advertising the ‘Salsa Party Night’.
‘You’ve got to be kidding! I can’t dance,’ I said.
‘Then it’s time you learned. Where’s your spirit of adventure?’
‘Oh well, why not?’
We paid the cover charge of £10 each to a young woman at the door to the upstairs room and she stamped the backs of our hands, by way of a receipt. I found it amusing.
‘They’ve been doing this in clubs for years; you really should get out more,’ Trudi said.
The room was large and softly lit, with a bar at one end and standard pub-style tables and stools surrounding a modest dance floor. Opposite the bar was a small dais which housed the DJ’s sound system and mixing-desk. The speakers were enormous and the heady beat of the Latin music assaulted my eardrums. There were only a few couples dancing and we sat and watched as they moved expertly to the music. It was fascinating to see how they performed the sensuous twists and turns in such perfect unison. I knew I could never do that, but I thought I would be quite happy to watch and admire them. I was also pleasantly surprised that the other ‘partygoers’ ranged from twenty-something to at least sixty years old, so we fitted comfortably into the middle. We bought a bottle of wine and made ourselves comfortable.
The set ended and the DJ announced that there would be a short break followed by a dance class.
‘Yes, folks. Our very own Emilio will be teaching you a few moves after the break. By the end of tonight we want to see you all on the floor.’
‘Have you been here before?’ I asked Trudi.
‘Yes, a couple of times with the girls from work. Wait until you see Emilio! If anyone can make you dance – he’s the one.’
I wasn’t convinced, but the break ended and the DJ was back at his desk. Emilio walked to the centre of the dance floor and introduced himself. There was a brief pause as almost every woman in the room sighed. The man was an absolute vision: tall, dark and handsome with deep brown eyes to die for. His voice was like velvet and his Hispanic accent would have melted an iceberg.
‘Don’t you think he’s gorgeous?’ Trudi whispered.
‘He’s only a kid,’ I replied. ‘He can’t be more than thirty.’
‘Age is just a number, Lyd. I wouldn’t let that bother me.’
Emilio demonstrated the basic salsa moves, clapping his hands to show the rhythm and counting aloud. ‘Tap, one, two, three …’ He tapped his right foot and then took three short steps to the right, and tapped his left foot and took three steps to the left. It seemed simple enough. He invited everyone to join him and, despite my protestations, Trudi pulled me to my feet and we joined the other learners. For the next half-hour, Emilio instructed us in the basics of salsa and merengue. I found that it got easier the more I drank. By the time the ‘class’ was finished and the normal dancing resumed I felt like a salsa expert. But I had yet to try it with a partner.
We sat down to catch our breath and almost immediately a guy came over and asked Trudi to dance. Emilio was ‘doing the rounds’, going from table to table, chatting to people and occasionally dancing briefly with some of the women who gazed rapturously at him. Trudi returned to the table, having extricated herself from the partner who had apparently been a little too enthusiastic.
As the evening progressed I had a couple of dance partners too. I even got to do the merengue with Emilio who was quite disappointing close up; however, I was drunk enough to tell him that Trudi would love to dance with him and he was gentleman enough to oblige by leading me back to the table and taking her onto the floor instead. That worked out for the best as they’d exchanged phone numbers before the night was over.
‘I can’t believe you passed on Emilio!’ she said when we got back to my place. ‘But I’m glad you did.’
‘He’s not really my type,’ I said. ‘You’re welcome to him. I hope he calls you.’
‘So do I, but I doubt he will. I bet he got at least a dozen numbers tonight. Who is your type these days anyway?’
‘Maybe I don’t have a type.’ I kicked off my shoes. I was going to have a hangover in the morning for sure, but it had been fun.
‘You’ve got a message on the landline,’ Trudi said. ‘Can I stop here tonight? I don’t feel like moving.’ She was stretched out on the sofa.
‘Of course. I’ll get you a duvet in a bit.’ I picked up the phone to check the message.
‘Bad news?’ Trudi asked when I sat down. ‘You look a little deflated.’
‘It was Des. He’s had to go away for a few days. His sister’s had a heart attack.’
‘Oh dear. Is she going to be OK? Where does she live?’
‘I don’t know. I didn’t even know he had a sister until now. He’s going to call me tomorrow if he gets a chance.’
I had sobered up rapidly and just felt really tired. I gave Trudi the spare duvet and went to bed, but I lay awake for a while thinking about Des and his sister.
Dear God, I can’t stand the thought of anything hurting Des. Please take care of him and his sister.
I felt childish praying like that, but it helped.
Despite the late night and the massive quantities of alcohol I’d consumed, Sunday morning arrived without a hangover. Trudi went home shortly after eleven and I resigned myself to spending the day on my own. I was sitting at the desk writing Christmas cards when Des rang. He sounded calm enough.
‘My brother-in-law called me yesterday afternoon with the news, so I had to dash. I was lucky to get a flight at short notice at this time of year.’
‘A flight? Where are you exactly? I thought you were just out of town somewhere.’
‘Not exactly.’ He tried to sound flippant about it. ‘I’m in New York. Janie’s husband’s American; she’s lived here for the last ten years. Fortunately, it looks like she’s going to carry on living here for a fair while too. The heart attack was relatively minor and she’ll be out of hospital in a few days.’
‘Thank God. You must be very relieved.’
‘That’s putting it mildly. We hadn’t seen each other, or even spoken, for five years.’ His voice cracked a little and I could sense that he was tired and emotional.
‘Did you have a row or something?’
‘Another time, eh Lyd? I don’t want to think about it right now. She’s going to be fine and that’s what matters. I’ll be home on Friday, all being well.’
‘Look after yourself, Des. I don’t want you collapsing from stress or anything.’
‘You don’t? That’s nice to know. How are things with you anyway?’
‘Just fine, thanks, but don’t worry about me. Concentrate on your own life for a change. I’ll still be here in a few days.’
‘I’m glad to hear that, Lyd. Talk soon.’
Then he hung up and I wondered if I should have said something else, like ‘I miss you’. But why would I want to say that? Anyway, I finished writing the Christmas cards and forced myself to think about how I’d spend the festive season this year.
Last year I was invited to visit my cousin Cheryl in Wiltshire. She’s the only family I have left really. She has three kids and it was cool to be there on Christmas Day. The youngest boy, Eddie, is a real sweetie. His birthday was on Christmas Eve and he’d just turned nine. He spent a lot of time trying to teach me how to play a computer game about football. I wasn’t very good at it, but we had some fun. The twins, Rick and Sheila, are fourteen, so they spent the whole of Christmas with their mobile phones. Apparently, it was essential to keep the world informed of their every move. They’re nice enough kids, but I have to say Eddie is my favourite. If I had a child, I’d want him to be like Eddie, but it’s probably just as well I didn’t have kids. I’d only spoil them.
I’d hoped to go back this year, but Cheryl and George had decided to take the family abroad and spend the holiday in a gîte in Normandy. So it looked like I’d be home alone.
I sighed and turned on the computer to check my email. If nothing else, I could while away some time disposing of the usual stack of spam. After twenty minutes of forwarding jokes and deleting adverts for Viagra, I was ready to call it a day when a new message arrived from Boswell and Tinker Entertainment. I recognised the name immediately as the agency representing Alley Kat. My heart skipped a beat as I clicked to open the mail. I wished that Des could be with me to read it, but I knew I couldn’t wait until he got back.
The contents of the missive set my heart racing:
Hi Lydia,
I’m writing on behalf of Josh Greenwood with reference to your recent email. Mr Greenwood wishes to express his gratitude for the interest your fanzine has shown in his career. He rarely grants interviews these days as he values his privacy, but would be prepared to make an exception in this case on condition that there is no advanced publicity relating to the time and venue of the meeting. He would also require a written guarantee from you that nothing would be published without his prior approval.
Mr Greenwood’s band, Alley Kat, will be performing at the Regal Theatre on December 24
th
. If you are prepared to agree to the above conditions, send me an email and I shall place your name (+1) on the Guest List for the performance. I will be available to speak with you then to discuss the proposed interview.
Sincerely,
Angela Tinker
I squealed with delight and drummed my fists on the desk. I’m gonna meet him! I’m really gonna meet him! I clicked ‘reply’ but, as I tried to type, I found that I was too excited to be coherent and my spelling was suddenly atrocious. I reviewed my response in mock despair.