She seemed lost in her memories as she floated to the sofa and sat down.
I joined her, making slow movements so I wouldn’t startle her. ‘Do you want to talk about him?’
‘This isn’t an interview. Everything I’m going to tell you is still off the record. But seeing as you’ve got such strong opinions about my life, you should at least do me the courtesy of hearing my side of things.’
‘It’s off the record, I promise.’
‘I met Benedict in a recording studio – it was 1985 and my last album had flopped. Although, in today’s terms, it would have hit number one. Anyway, it was decided that I needed fresh blood. Patrick brought him in. He wanted to shake things up a bit. Told me not to get involved with him.’ She laughed. ‘Benny was a session player. When I heard him play “Never Let Me Down” I knew I had to have him for my band. Then when I met him, I knew he was the one.’
I nodded, not wanting to interrupt her reverie. But for long moments she didn’t speak.
‘Can you tell me about your tattoo?’
It was a risk asking such a direct question, but this might be my only chance. I was amazed she hadn’t kicked me out yet.
‘Benny and I went on holiday in Bermuda,’ she said. ‘We were burned out after two solid years on the road – we were like zombies, sleeping all day and drinking all night. But one day, someone persuaded us to go snorkelling. We were as hungover as dogs – God knows how we didn’t drown – but we were taken to this amazing reef and spent an hour swimming beside these exquisite seahorses.
‘That holiday saved us. Seeing nature up close put everything in perspective. We decided to get clean and got matching tattoos to remind us of that feeling, but after I’d got mine, Benny confessed he was terrified of needles and had been too scared to tell me.
‘I told him I hated tattoos too, and had only done it because I thought he liked them. We laughed so hard.’
She paused, remembering happier times. With her lips parted, her face appeared softer and she looked a decade younger.
‘That’s not what you told me last time, Marcie. You told me you got the tattoo to remind you of a necklace you lost.’
She frowned and the lines on her face returned.
‘When he couldn’t get the tattoo, I had the necklace made for him. He told me he’d always treasure it.’
‘It was your present to him?’
‘A woman giving a man jewellery – is that too feminist for you?’
‘No, of course not,’ I said. ‘But why did you lie?’
‘I lost him when he lost the necklace.’ She laughed bitterly. ‘Turns out, few things are as permanent as tattoos. At first he told me he’d lost it, but then one night, after we’d been arguing, he told me he was through with me, and that he’d given the necklace away. Can you believe that?’
‘He gave it to Jessica Honey?’
She nodded.
So, Jess had been telling the truth.
‘It damn near broke my heart,’ she said.
‘I’m so sorry, Marcie.’
‘Then he died and I learnt what real heartbreak was.’
Tears filled my eyes, but hers stayed dry. There was so much pain in what she was saying, but her voice was even; it was like she had numbed herself to it. Who could blame her?
‘And now he’s gone I can never make up for the things I’ve done to him.’
Jessica had told me that Marcie and fidelity hadn’t been closely acquainted – I guess she’d been right about that, too.
‘You need to forgive yourself. You might sing like an angel pickled in whisky, but you’re still human.’
‘What did you just call me?’
