I
was a couple of glasses into the meal and beginning to feel like a
gooseberry. This was the first time I’d met Gaby but I wasn’t
surprised at how seamlessly her silver and cobalt bandage dress clung
to her – the bodice consisting of two giant silver bandages,
crossing from each shoulder to the back of her waist – or at how
impressively her butter-blonde hair gleamed. I’d seen enough of her
in celebrity magazines to know what to expect.
What
I hadn’t anticipated was her accent. Maybe that explained why Jay,
who hated pretension, was hanging on her every word.
My
opening shot had been unimaginative.
‘So
you’re from Liverpool?’
‘Yeah,
a Scouser through and through.’
That
was the cue for Gaby and Jay to perform a Scouser joke for my
benefit.
Gaby: ‘Why wasn’t
Jesus born in Merseyside?’
Jay:
‘Because God couldn’t find three wise men and a virgin.’
On
a roll, they delivered a few more, which was my cue to put on a
they’re
funny but I shouldn’t be laughing
face, all the time inwardly fretting at how relaxed they were
together.
When
they finally ran out of steam, I said, ‘So that’s what you’ve
been up to all week – practising your comedy routine.’
‘Among
other things,’ said Jay, cryptically, and I felt a tiny jab of
fear.
They
followed their gag routine with an inventory of the songs they’d
been developing, from a mixture of Gaby’s half-finished scores and
some ideas of Jay’s. They glanced at me every so often, their gazes
returning to each other.
‘Honestly,’
Gaby said, twinkling at Jay, ‘The time’s just flown by. I’ve
just loved it. Your place is so peaceful.’
Jay
was twinkling right back at her and I suffered a deeper stab of
anxiety.
‘And
the evenings? You haven’t been bored here on your own?’
‘No
way,’ she said, directing her answer at me for five seconds before
switching to Jay. ‘I had dinner in my room, then I got comfy in my
PJs, went over the lyrics...watched a bit of telly. It’s been
great. This is the first time I’ve eaten in the restaurant.’
It
was plain why. There were a number of necks craning in our direction
and I didn’t think James Jay, singer/songwriter, or Pandora
Armstrong, novelist manquée,
were the ones turning heads.
‘So you didn’t
miss home?’ I said, hoping she wouldn’t see through my attempt to
discover if she had a ‘significant other’.
Gaby
blinked slightly. I sensed she’d detected a certain wifely unease
and I kicked myself for being too obvious.
‘Just
the cats,’ she chirped, ‘but I talk to them on the phone every
evening.’
I
had a vision of a troupe of performing cats answering the phone and
miaowing into it.
‘Sounds
like something off You’ve
Been Framed,’
said Jay.
She
laughed. ‘My ex moved in to look after them. He holds the phone and
I talk to them. Daft, isn’t it?’
I
bared my teeth in a smile, my disappointment at her boyfriend being
an ‘ex’ rather than a gorgeous hunk she loved with all her heart
and soul, rendering me temporarily speechless.
‘What’ll
happen to them if you go on tour?’ said Jay, with more concern than
I thought necessary.
‘Well,’
she said, looking dejected, ‘If Rog can’t be there, I suppose I’d
have to board them. But I’d be worried sick. They’re Burmese and
they need to be round people...’
There
was a pause and Jay finally dragged his eyes away from Gaby, towards
my direction.
‘We’d
have them, wouldn’t we, Andy?’
Since
when were we a cattery, I thought. And what if Oscar and Fritz
object? But good manners got the better of me and I smiled as
sincerely as I could.
‘If
you think they’d be all right with the dogs...’
They
exchanged a glance and the gooseberry effect intensified to the
extent that I almost felt myself turning green and hairy. Gaby leaned
forward and let the silver bandages take the weight of her voluptuous
breasts.
Neither
Jay nor I could take our eyes off them. For me, it was admiration for
the designer’s feat of engineering. For him, giving him the benefit
of the doubt, I’d say involuntary desire, which I couldn’t really
blame him for. She knew what she was doing all right.
Gaby’s
smile blasted me between the eyes.
‘We’ve been
sending demos of the songs to my record label and they love them.
With the ones I’ve already written, there’s enough for an album.’
‘Fantastic,’
I said, thinking of how much this must mean to Jay. ‘I can’t wait
to hear them.’
There
was a pause, which can only be described as pregnant, and I regarded
them expectantly.
‘We’ll
both need to go to the studio next week,’ said Jay, speaking faster
than normal. ‘They want Gaby to get a shift on.’
‘Which
studio?’
‘Abbey
Road.’
I
was puzzling out why Jay needed to be present at Gaby’s recording,
when she answered my question.
‘Two
of the numbers are duets. And he’s playing on most of the other
tracks.’
She
sounded apologetic, which made me suspicious.
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