‘I think you know that the
cupboard was bare.’ He shook the tapes in her direction. ‘These are
just crumbs.’
Jay frowned a little, an
expression blurred by the effects of alcohol. ‘What do you
mean?’
‘There are no new tapes, and the
computer files are empty. Dex’s recent work just isn’t there.’
Jay’s pale face seemed to bloom
with grey. She sat upright abruptly, although her gaze became
unfocused. ‘You know what this means?’ she whispered.
‘Yeah, I’m in deep shit.’
She looked up at him with the
eyes of an old woman, her fingers involuntarily kneading the fabric
of the sofa. ‘No. He must have planned this. Even before he left
home, he must have known...’
‘Of course he planned it!’
Michaels snapped. ‘What else did you think? He fell over, bumped
his head and lost his memory?’
Jay put her face into her hands.
‘When did he decide, when?’ She expelled a groan.
‘Don’t blame yourself,’ Michaels
said stiffly. ‘I’m sure it could have happened at any time. Dex was
always unstable.’
‘Get out,’ Jay said dully. He
left.
No body was ever found. There
were often sightings: Dex was in New York, playing in a punk band;
someone else reported meeting him on a train in France; while yet
another claimed he was living as a down and out in the netherworld
of London. Jay didn’t believe any of these stories. If Dex was
alive, he’d have contacted her somehow by now. It came to the point
where her own grief seemed meaningless. Dex had abandoned her. Was
she going to sacrifice her own life to him too?
Gradually, she regained the
ability to function, if only through sheer will, and opened her
door to the world again.
Gina was first across the
threshold. ‘By God, girl, look at the state of you,’ she said
cheerfully, and Jay could almost hear her friend’s knuckles
cracking at the prospect of sorting her out. For a while at least,
Jay allowed Gina to take her in hand.
With Gina’s help and
encouragement, Jay did all the things she supposed other people in
her situation did. She rang help-lines and hostels, seeking a
genuine sighting. She gave interviews, hoping that Dex would read
her pleas for him to get in touch, just to let her know he was
alive and all right. But, if he was alive, he clearly didn’t want
to be found. Occasionally, she dreamed of him, the worst times
being when she dreamed of waking in the middle of the night, the
police hammering on her door. They’d take her identify a body in a
stark, subterranean room. Dex would be lying on a slab, beautiful,
but bleached of life.
Dex’s band dispersed, and most
drifted out of Jay’s life. She still maintained a close friendship
with Gina, whose support carried her through the dark days of
depression that occurred with less frequency as time went on.
Gina’s husband Dan formed a new band called ‘Planet’ and secured a
contract for himself with Sakrilege. The record label put a lot of
money into ‘Planet’ and they found success remarkably quickly,
which would have surprised Jay, had she been more aware of what was
going on around her. Sakrilege appeared to make a point of not
beefing up Dan’s prior connection with Dex. That was most
uncharacteristic.
Jay could not work for nearly a
year, but once she emerged blinking into daylight, her old friend
Grant Fenton, gave her a regular feature spot in ‘Track’, the style
magazine he now edited. It took all her energy just to reach that
one deadline every month, but Fenton was patient with her. They
went back a long way. Eventually, the pain began to ebb from her
heart, and Jay was able to take on more work, freelancing for
several publications. She was not blind to the fact that her role
in Dex’s life had enhanced her desirability as a writer.
Sakrilege released an album,
called ‘Silences’ of the unknown songs Zeke Michaels had found in
Dex’s work-room, and subsequently a retrospective double CD called
‘Turn Around’. Both went platinum. Jay was not surprised. Her own
dark prophecies came true. Dex became an icon, his haunted face
emblazoned on T-shirts, although there was no grave that could
become a shrine. Now, it seemed his shadowed eyes had harboured a
secret. Jay tortured herself because she’d never known it was
there, never mind what it might have been. Why had he disappeared?
Had he been murdered? She had to resign herself to the fact that
she would probably never know.
On the third
anniversary of Dex’s disappearance, a documentary about his life
appeared on TV. Jay was hurrying around the flat, getting ready to
go to a gig, where she planned to interview the band. One of her
favourite boots had disappeared. As she cursed and rummaged through
a pile of un-ironed washing in the utility room, a voice bellowed
from the sitting room: ‘Hey, Jay! Come and look at this.’
‘Can’t!’ she called back.
‘No, really. C’mere!’
Reluctantly, Jay obeyed the
summons. Her partner of eighteen months was sprawled on the floor
in front of the sofa, a remote control in his hand.
‘What is it, Gus? I’m really
late.’
He gestured at the screen.
‘Lover boy’s in the news again.’
A ripple of cold went through
her body. ‘What do you mean?’ She knew, of course.
Dex’s face stared at her from
the TV; a familiar photo, with his hair falling over his
inscrutable eyes. In the memory of the world, he would be forever
young. For a few electrifying moments, Jay thought he’d been found.
She sat down on the arm of the sofa. ‘What’s happened?’
Gus cast her a shrewd glance.
‘Thought you’d be interested.’
His tone needled her. Dex was a
topic of which she normally steered clear. Any mention of him
triggered unwelcome responses in Gus, who could not conceal his
jealousy about her past relationships.
There was footage of Dex’s home
town, which Jay had never visited, and his sister, Julie, whom Jay
had never met. It seemed odd to think he’d had that other life,
long before she’d met him. Dex had never liked speaking of his
family; he’d shed that life. At the beginning of their
relationship, Jay had wanted to meet Dex’s people. She’d wanted to
share all of him. But Dex had been cool and firm in his refusal.
Jay imagined he’d fallen out with his parents and siblings. She
didn’t push the issue. After a while, it no longer seemed
important.
The sister would not speak to
the documentary film crew. She looked hard and tight-lipped; a
terrier of a woman who had not belonged in Dex’s career world.
The commentator’s voice,
relishing the words, drifted out into the room: ‘...and to this
day, no-one knows the true story behind his disappearance.’
These words conjured a tingle of
relief in Jay’s heart, as well as disappointment. The documentary
covered all the supposed sightings of Dex around the world. There
was even a blurry photo from Peru, where it was claimed he ran a
bizarre religious cult.
‘I thought you were late,’ Gus
said, after Jay had sat hunched up for ten minutes, staring at the
screen.
She roused herself. ‘Oh, yeah.’
She would say nothing more. She didn’t want a row tonight.
The documentary left her feeling
unsettled. She had to sit in her car outside the flat for a few
moments to compose herself. There were no photographs of Dex around
her home; she’d discarded all mementoes, but for a bundle of old
snaps and articles she kept in a sealed box at the top of the
wardrobe. She supposed she might look through it one day, when she
was very old and the final stings of Dex’s disappearance had been
pulled. Three years ago, she’d thought she’d never recover from his
loss. The depth of her grief had shocked her; she hadn’t realised
how much she’d loved him. She’d taken his presence for granted, and
couldn’t help punishing herself for not sensing something had been
deeply wrong with him. If it wasn’t for the fact his work had
disappeared, she’d have been able to think his escape had been
spontaneous. But she couldn’t think that. She’d had counselling,
and that had helped, although rum and Gina had done more to aid her
recuperation. Just the smell of rum now made her feel anxious.
Then Gus had come into her life.
She’d met him backstage after a gig. He was a sound engineer, one
of the best, who could pick and choose the bands with whom he
worked. Jay’s friends, relieved to see her with any man, insisted
she and Gus were an ideal couple, and in many respects this was
true. Gus wasn’t the showbiz party type, but he’d made lots of
interesting friends through his work, and now Jay’s social life
revolved around dinner parties and luxurious weekends at the
country estates of ageing rock stars. Gus could be possessive about
the past, although strangely not the present (she never had to be
careful where her eyes were roaming across a room), but other than
that, he was dependable, affectionate and reliable. She had a good
life. It was steady and certain, yet spiced with exciting events
and foreign travel. If some still backwater of her heart moored the
thought that something vital was missing, she ignored it. Dex would
always be a sore point for Jay, so she could hardly blame Gus for
feeling the same. Their friends knew better than to mention Dex’s
name in either of their company.
Jay pressed her forehead against
the steering wheel, expelling a satisfying groan. She didn’t want
to cry, it wasn’t that, she just had to squeeze out the welling of
emotion that seeped from her memories. She shouldn’t have looked at
the TV. She should have shrugged, made a sarcastic remark, and
left. Now she was late
and
in a state. It wasn’t good.
Shaking her head, she started
the car and backed out of her parking space. Would there come a day
when she could bear to see his face on TV or dare to play his
music? She had to admit she’d never really liked it, not in the way
his fans did, yet she couldn’t stand hearing those familiar songs
now. She had nailed a lid down over her feelings, but still had to
avoid any confrontation with evidence that Dex ever existed. She
feared the corpse beneath the lid could very easily be reanimated
and rise up to haunt her.
At the gig, she felt as if she’d
half stepped out of the world. It was difficult to take the event
with any seriousness. Posturing men unfurled their egos about the
back stage area like so many peacock tails. The mere sight of them
irritated Jay to extremity.
You are nothings
, she thought,
followed quickly by:
Why am I here?
But it was a job she had
to do. ‘Kill Force’ were a big name, and ‘Track’ wanted an in-depth
interview with them. The only redeeming aspect of the evening was
the vocalist, Jez, with whom Dex and Jay had had a close
friendship, years before. Still, his band was mouthy, full of
themselves and confrontational. Even before they went on stage,
Jay’s jaw was aching from the instinctive gritting of teeth.
Subsequently, the interview
after the show was a battle rather than an exchange. It was made
worse by the fact that the drummer said, ‘You were Dex’s chick
once, right? No wonder he disappeared.’
Fortunately, she still had
enough wits to freeze her expression, raise her brows and say, ‘And
he’ll never be found, believe me.’
Afterwards, Jez tried to make
peace by taking her for a meal. It took some persuading, but
eventually she relented. She and Dex had once stayed with Jez and
his family on one of the rare occasions Jay had accompanied Dex on
tour. It had been a hedonistic couple of days.
Over tandoori, in a red-lit
restaurant in Soho, Jez said - American and into self-development -
‘You’re such an angry woman.’
Jay tensed, stirring lumps of
Plasticine-red meat round her plate. ‘Oh, come on, Jez, this world
is shit. It’s all so phoney. Don’t tell me you take it all
seriously.’
‘Are we talking about music, or
the world in general?’
She narrowed her eyes at
him.
He grinned; he had a very wide
mouth. ‘OK. Musicians are mostly fuck-ups with identity crises. So
what? This world is only as real as any other. You’ve milked it
enough.’
She sighed and drank some wine.
‘Maybe I’ve had enough of it. None of it matters, really. It’s all
about money, and ego, and dross.’
‘Some of us say it’s about
creativity too, and reaching out.’
Jay laughed. ‘Ah, the sweet
smell of sanctimony!’
Jez’s expression took on a pious
hue. ‘You should let the past go, Jay.’
‘Oh, shut up! It’s not about
that. I watched you tonight, singing all about the kids and their
anger and how they should fuck the system. Then you trot off to
your stretch limo, five star hotel and life of privilege. It’s a
sham, Jez. Get real!’
He nodded thoughtfully, clearly
determined not to let her offend him. ‘Yes, I hear you, but I was
part of the audience once, you know. I understand where they’re
coming from.’
‘But they’re not going to where
you’ve arrived, and never will. Write songs about your swimming
pool in L.A. Then I might respect it all more.’
He raised an eyebrow. ‘So what’s
bitten your tail tonight, then?’
Jay clawed her fingers through
her hair, pulling her eyes into an Oriental squint. ‘Bad day.
Hormonal or something.’
‘Bullshit. What’s up? Talk about
it.’
She glanced up at him. ‘You’re
so tolerant, Jez. You make me sick. Why don’t you go and trash some
hotel rooms or something? You’re unnerving me.’
He shrugged. ‘You know I went
through that phase four years ago. I have now moved on and intend
to write a book about my experiences in the near future.’
Jay warmed to him: an American
with a sense of humour. Despite her sniping, she knew he had
integrity and wasn’t one of those needy, greedy people that seemed
to comprise the greater part of the music world. Jez was in a
minority, however. ‘So, how are Ellie and the kids?’