Chapter 8
8
JONAH
By Thursday lunchtime, the house and grounds have been fully transformed into the latest venue to host the Terra Firmer Festival.
There’s a real buzz about the place as the crew puts the finishing touches to the staging of it, as the first festival-goers begin to arrive and start setting up their tents and camper vans in the nearby fields. The crew have brought their own portacabin toilets and showers, so the house’s facilities shouldn’t get too much of a bashing. Dee tells me they’re expecting about two hundred and fifty people to be coming and they have their own security on hand to make sure we don’t get descended on by any gate-crashers. Not that that’s ever been a problem before, she assures me.
I’m impressed with how the guy who runs the festival has been able to divert all his staff and volunteers to a new venue at such short notice. The fact we’re only a few miles away from the venue he’d originally booked for it has benefited him and it seems his team, along with Dee, have been able to adapt the site plan to make it fit with our grounds and the layout of the house.
When I questioned whether people actually enjoyed going to a festival outside the summer months, she seemed to think it was actually a good idea. ‘To ward off the winter blues.’ Which makes some kind of sense, I suppose? I’ve definitely suffered with SAD before in the cold, mostly sunless months of an English winter, so I can see the logic behind it. We have to do something to naturally raise those depleted serotonin levels.
I have to admit, I’m a little nervous about how this weekend is going to go, though. But I can’t worry about that now. It’s a well-oiled train, fully in motion and there’s no way to call a halt to it now that people have started arriving.
You know what? I’ve never seen so many people in leggings before in one place – both men and women. Most of the festival-goers I’ve seen arriving are wearing outfits in a kaleidoscope of colours, in every sort of fabric imaginable. There’s an awful lot of fake fur, flowers and sequins on show. And the glitter – which I’ve been assured is strictly bio-degradable – is everywhere.
It’s wild.
I’m already starting to regret my decision to stay hidden away. This long weekend looks like it’s going to be a blast. There’s a palpable feeling of excitement and purpose in the air and it’s really brought it home to me how long it’s been since I had any kind of fun.
I wander over to where the hot tubs have been set up and, from the sounds of it, are already thronged with people. I can definitely see the appeal of this feature in such cool weather. Even though it’s been a fairly mild winter, there’s still a nip in the air.
What I’m not prepared for, as I surreptitiously peek through the hedge that shields them from the house, is the nudity.
It’s the most incredible thing. The people jumping in and out of the hot tubs seem not to be wearing a stitch and appear entirely comfortable with it.
In fact, no-one’s batting an eyelid – except me. And that’s only because I’m taken aback by the complete lack of self-consciousness in evidence.
It’s actually really inspiring to see.
Freeing.
I’m half tempted to join in, but I know that would be a terrible idea. It only took one person to get out their phone and film the humiliating end to my relationship last year to make it the most watched meme on the internet for a while. Just when I was starting to slip out of the news cycle too. I thought moving here and maintaining a low profile would keep me out of the sight line of all those ‘social commentators’ who love to tear anyone with any kind of celebrity down.
Even though I’m not performing any more, the fact I’m my father’s son means people are always interested in what I’m up to, even when it’s totally banal and ordinary. I can’t even go out for a meal without people staring and whispering about me, let alone get naked in a hot tub.
Just as I’m thinking this, I hear someone say loudly, ‘So has anyone spotted Jonah yet? Do you think he’ll grace us with his presence?’
‘I can’t imagine him just hanging out with the rest of us, can you?’ a woman in the same hot tub says. ‘Shame though. I’d love to chat to him about why he disappeared from the music scene. I always liked his band’s music.’
Hearing this gives me an unexpectedly warm feeling in my chest. Until another voice pipes up and says, ‘That dross? The guy’s not a patch on his old man.’
The warmth disappears.
This is exactly why I made the decision to lay low in the first place. When you’re as famous as I am, every fucker has an opinion on everything you do.
I slink off back to my office, cursing the accident of being born into the family I was once again.
I don’t see Dee for a few hours as I determinedly stay at my desk, working through a backlog of emails, trying to push away my feelings of FOMO. When she talked me through what would be happening during the festival, she made it clear she’d be on site and on hand till late into the evening each night in case anything was required from the hotel, so I wouldn’t need to get involved. But once again, I’m itching to see what’s going on now. I can hear the happy hubbub of festivities floating in through my office window. There’s live music being played somewhere in the house, a violin I think, and earlier I caught the sound of the piano coming from the library.
It made me yearn to go in there and sit and listen to it. Though I was also aware I was actually feeling the urge to go and get my guitar and play along. It’s been a long time since I’ve experienced that. I’ve almost forgotten what it feels like to want to play music.
The judgement I’ve increasingly been subjected to about my musical talent has wrecked my enjoyment in performing though and I’m not exactly keen to invite it here in front of all these strangers.
As I’m finishing up for the day, ready to head next door to the small, one-bedroom ex-gamekeeper’s cottage in the grounds that Tessa and I turned into our home while the hotel was being renovated, I decide to have one last walk around the site.
Not that I’m checking up on Dee. I think I can trust her to do a good job here.
But it’s my hotel so I really should do a quick check-in, even if that means facing the stares and whispers of the festival attendees. It’s ridiculous to think I have to hide away from all this in case I hear someone criticising me. I need to grow a thicker skin and this could be the perfect event to start doing that. The ethos of this festival is all about fostering a sense of community and kindness to every individual, no matter their background or circumstances, after all.
The hotel is thronged with cheerful, friendly looking people, who all seem to know each other. As I walk by them, I feel some of them turn to look at me, but there are no shouts or direct approaches and people let me pass by without bothering me, which I’m relieved about.
After checking upstairs, then walking into the kitchens, which are busy with caterers, then the ballroom and offices, finding everything is being looked after and is running as it should, I’m about to wander back out into the gardens, feeling a renewed sense of composure, when I hear the sound of a female voice singing a cover of a classic jazz and blues number accompanied by the piano, coming from deep within the house. I stop in my tracks to listen. It’s beautiful. Heartfelt, haunting and full of emotion. So much so, it makes all the hairs on my arms stand up.
I walk towards the library, intending just to poke my head in and check it out for a moment before I head off home, but I’m completely floored when I see that it’s Dee standing next to the piano, with the soft light from the low, end-of-the-day sun pouring in through the large picture windows, highlighting her silhouette and making her golden hair shine.
She looks like an angel.
The small audience in the library is as rapt by her singing as I am and I stand rooted to the spot, mesmerised by the beauty of her voice.
I can’t tear my eyes away from her.
There’s something so evocative in the musicality of her voice. As if she’s actually feeling all the emotions she’s singing about. It makes me want to know where that’s coming from. What’s happened to her to make her feel those things.
The song comes to a close and she smiles coyly as the whole room erupts into applause and whistles of appreciation. Turning to gesture towards the piano player that accompanied her, she claps her hands in gratitude and the whole crowd copies her, adding in more whistles.
The atmosphere in the room is electric. And uplifting. My skin rushes with a kind of excitement I’ve not felt in ages and the FOMO intensifies.
The piano player holds open his arms and Dee steps into them, bending down to receive a hug and a kiss on the cheek.
Even though it’s probably only meant in a friendly way, an unexpected arrow of envy shoots through me, so that when she pulls away from the embrace and turns to see me lurking at the back of the room, I realise with a shot of regret that I have a scowl on my face.
Her warm smile is replaced with a frown of her own and worry flashes across her features.
I try to clear my expression as she makes her way towards me through the crowd of people, who are now chatting among themselves whilst the pianist noodles around with some background music.
‘Jonah, hey,’ she says as she makes it to where I’m standing by the door. ‘Sorry. I promise you, I’m keeping an eye on things. Jay asked me to fill in for someone who was supposed to sing now. Apparently, my friend, Pete – who I lived with during our second year at uni – told him I loved singing after the pub when we were all drunk and he wouldn’t take no for an answer.’ The stricken look on her face makes me realise she thinks I’m mad at her for showcasing her amazing voice, which couldn’t be further from the truth.
‘No need to apologise,’ I tell her. ‘I was just surprised to discover you’re such a talented singer.’
Colour rises in her cheeks. ‘Hardly talented.’
‘Your voice is beautiful,’ I reassure her.
She doesn’t seem to be able to meet my eyes now, clearly finding it difficult to accept the compliment. Again, I’m a bit baffled by this. I would have expected her to react very differently, based on what I know of her. She’s never struck me as the modest type.
The sofa facing the fireplace becomes free as a couple stand up to leave and I gesture towards it. ‘Take a break for a minute?’ I suggest.
She nods, if a little hesitantly, and sits down with me, our thighs close but not touching. The sofa is an old one and sags a little in the middle so we naturally lean in towards each other. I feel the heat from her body radiating towards me and breathe in her sweet scent, shifting uncomfortably as my body responds to it in a wholly inappropriate way again.
What the hell’s got into me?
‘Thanks,’ she says, after a moment of awkward silence as we both shuffle around and finally settle ourselves into a more professionally suitable position. ‘I’ve always loved singing. I used to be in the choir at school but I had to give it up because rehearsals were taking too much out of my study time.’
‘Really? I’d have thought it was a good way to unwind.’
‘I was too much of a swot for that.’
I frown, not entirely able to picture it. ‘Apparently, music’s brilliant for cognitive development though.’
She laughs, as if I’ve said something funny. ‘Try telling that to my dad.’
I raise my eyebrows. ‘He’s not a fan of the arts?’
‘You could say that.’ Her frown returns and I have a strong desire to smooth it away with my fingertips. But I resist the impulse.
‘He’s never been that keen on us spending time on the arts. He’s business-focused through and through.’
‘Us?’ I ask. ‘You have siblings?’ I suddenly find I want to know more about her. That the vulnerability I witnessed when she was singing has me by the throat.
She stiffens, as if I’ve asked too personal a question and I’m about to tell her she doesn’t need to answer when she says, ‘Yes. A sister.’
When she looks at me, there’s a strange expression in her eyes. Perhaps she’s a little wary now after I told her off for flirting with me the other day. I’m going to have to tread carefully here so as not to cross the professional line I drew. But a few questions about her background shouldn’t be a problem.
‘Do the two of you not get on?’ I guess.
‘No, no, we do. We’re very different people, but I love her to bits. She can be a bit frustrating, but then can’t all siblings?’ She attempts a smile now and I nod back.
‘Yeah, my brother used to drive me nuts when we were younger. See this scar?’ I point to a small, white line above my right eyebrow.
She leans forward a little and peers at the place I’m pointing to. ‘Yeah, I think so.’
‘I got this when he pushed me into that fireplace.’ I point at the offending structure: a large, carved Bath-stone fire surround and mantelpiece which is a beautiful feature of the room. ‘It was after I beat him at Monopoly. I was fifteen and he was thirteen. I have to admit, I was gloating about it to piss him off, but even so.’ I fake a look of abject hurt and I’m pleased to see her properly smile now.
‘I didn’t realise your family has had this house for so long.’
‘Yeah, my dad bought it when I was a young kid and we used to spend some of our summers here. That’s why I’m so keen to keep it in the family. Good memories. It has to pay for itself though; upkeep is not cheap and I’m determined to pay my own way.’
‘So being a musician didn’t make you rich then?’ she asks.
A common misconception.
‘Ha! No. Sadly not. When you’re as famous as my dad, then yes, it does. But not a small fry like me. I never made it to the “big time”, despite all the effort I put in.’ I shrug, attempting nonchalance. I don’t want her to know how much that failure has played into where I am with my life now. If I’d still been a musician, I’m pretty damn sure Tessa would still be around. She loved the fame, even if it was only the adjacent fame that came with being part of the music scene.
‘So you don’t play at all now?’ I’m surprised to see she looks concerned by this.
I shrug. ‘I love playing my guitar, but I’m done with performing for strangers. It’s way too stressful. Especially when you have a powerhouse of a father like mine to live up to, but only a small percentage of his talent – or so the music press like to suggest.’
She frowns again, but this time in sympathy. ‘That sucks.’
‘Yeah. Big time. I’ve had this weight of expectation pressing down on me all my life. I kind of leaned into it and went a bit wild – got myself a reputation for partying a bit too hard, to be honest. People anticipated I’d follow in my dad’s footsteps by being a musician too, but as soon as I took that path, they did everything they could to cut me down. I’ve had a lot of hate on social media from random strangers who seem to have taken real offence to me just being alive. People despise me for being a “nepo baby” even though I worked my arse off to get where I did. I used to love playing music, but I’ve always known I’ll never be as good at it as my dad, so it got to the stage where I just thought, what’s the point? So I stopped trying.’
‘I’m sorry you were made to feel like that.’
‘Yeah, well, it is what it is. Tessa, my ex, tried to push me to stay in the profession – it’s what first attracted her to me I think; she’s always been a music groupie – but it got to the point where it was making me miserable, so I quit. I was in a bad place for a while after that, so I wasn’t a lot of fun to be around. It was one of the things – probably the main thing – that made her leave me. I wasn’t so interesting when I wasn’t a musician any more, just a depressed hotelier.’
She’s looking at me intently and I’m suddenly aware that I’m in “too much information” territory.
‘So tell me more about your sister. What does she do for a living?’ I ask, to change the subject.
She starts and her expression suddenly becomes wary again.
Ah hell , I’m making a real fucking mess of this conversation. My professionalism seems to have gone out of the window since I saw her sing.
But before I can retract the question and suggest we both get back to work, she says, ‘She’s started a company with her best friend. They’re making business software.’
‘Oh. Right. That sounds, er, profitable.’ I know fuck all about business software but I’m guessing anything in computing can bring in a good wage.
‘It could be, if they manage to get the VC funding for it so it can get off the ground. It’s tough going because there’s a lot less money floating around for tech startups now, but they’re both dedicated to making it work.’
‘Right. Sounds stressful.’
She nods. ‘It is. But she’s pretty determined to make it succeed.’
‘So determination runs in the family then?’ I say with one eyebrow raised.
But she doesn’t smile at that. ‘When you have a father like ours, you don’t really have a choice.’
‘You don’t get on with him?’
‘Um. I do. Sometimes. But he’s tough to please. Bea’s always found it easier to get on with him. She’s very focused, resilient and hard-working.’
‘She sounds like a laugh a minute,’ I say, laying on the irony.
But instead of smiling, she just blinks at me like I’ve personally insulted her.
‘She just wants to be successful.’ The sting of reproach in her voice makes me realise I’ve stepped over an invisible sibling-loyalty line. I admire her allegiance to her sister though. They’re lucky to be that close. I barely ever speak to my brother now. We don’t have a lot in common – never have.
It must occur to her that she’s being a bit snippy with her boss because she clears her throat, gives me a perfunctory smile, and goes to stand up. ‘I’d better get on with my job,’ she says.
‘Er, okay. Sure,’ I say, giving her a nod when she turns back to look at me, perhaps checking that everything is still okay between us.
I watch her walk stiffly away, out of the library door, my heart sinking. I was actually having a good time, sitting and chatting with her. Getting to know her a bit better. I find I want to do it some more. Now we’re getting into a better rhythm of working together, it’s becoming increasingly easier to talk to her, which is a relief after our rocky start. I’m actually kind of surprised how much more I’m connecting with her now. There’s something about her that invites confidences: an emotional intelligence I’ve not given her credit for. But she also seems to be much more professionally reserved around me now, after that talking-to I gave her about her job being in jeopardy. I’m craving to see the flirty, jokey Dee that I met when she first came here again though.
Perhaps I’ve been a bit too tough on her.
I should probably try and lighten things up between us.
Standing up, I nod to a few people who turn to smile at me as I make my way out of the library. There’s such a great, positive atmosphere here at the moment and I’m going to be sad to lose it when the festival wraps up.
I make my way back to my house and let myself in, feeling the quiet press in on me. It’s so different here compared to the party-like atmosphere in the big house. My skin itches with the urge to go back and re-integrate myself into the throng of people.
I feel cut off here, adrift. Alone.
Looking around, I notice for the first time in a while how dusty and oppressive it is in here. I’ve not done a thing to it since Tessa left. Perhaps it’s time for a lick of paint.
Flopping onto the leather sofa, I let out a sigh and stretch my arms above my head, feeling my muscles scream in protest at how stiff I am at the moment. I need to do something to release this stress and tension that’s bubbling beneath my skin.
My gaze alights on my guitar that’s been propped in the corner of the room for the last year, taunting me. I’ve not been able to either put it away, or play it up till now. But suddenly, my fingers are itching to touch the strings again.
Levering myself up from the sofa, I go and grab it, sitting down to wipe off a thin layer of dust with the bottom of my shirt. The wood gleams softly in the fading light from the window.
It’s such a beautiful instrument and it’s a travesty for it to be sitting, unloved, in my living room. I can almost feel it crying out to be strummed.
So, for the first time in a year, I prop it on my thigh, hug it close to my body for a moment, then take a breath and begin to play.