Ch.12: Fangirl

Don drove us to Brentford. Mrs Shields still wasn't responding to texts or calls, so we'd have to knock on her door and hope for the best. And I'd really have to hope we didn't run into Jake or Kelly.

Just like yesterday, Don pulled up outside the block of flats, and Jude and I headed inside. Jude took the stairs at an easy jog, and to anyone else he probably looked as laidback as ever, but I could see the tension in the set of his jaw and the slight clench of his fists.

Was that because he knew the risks of running into fans while we were here, or because he was mad at Jake?

When we reached the seventh floor, I knocked on Mrs Shields' door, bracing myself for the fact that she might not be in, and I'd have to come back again. Then I heard the shuffle of feet from inside, and I breathed a sigh of relief.

The door opened.

Mrs Shields blinked at me, her tortoiseshell-framed glasses balanced on the end of her nose, her floral dress at odds with her fuzzy slippers.

"Camden!" she exclaimed. "How lovely to see you."

I hugged her, breathing in the familiar smell of her perfume.

"Come in." Mrs Shields beckoned us into the flat.

"Do we have time?" I asked Jude. I didn't know when he'd told the rest of the band to arrive at the studio.

"We have as much time as we need," he said.

Which wasn't really an answer.

Mrs Shields squinted up at him. "You look terribly familiar, young man." She adjusted her glasses, squinted some more, then her eyes bulged. "Oh my goodness, you're Jude Scott. What are you doing here?"

Hastily I pulled Jude into the flat and shut the door. It hadn't even occurred to me that Mrs Shields would know who Jude was.

"Camden Harris, you're friends with Jude Scott and you never told me?" Mrs Shields gave me a severe look.

"It's a fairly new friendship," Jude said smoothly, when it was clear that I had no idea what to say.

Mrs Shields' eyes sharpened. "Just friends?"

My gaze slid to Jude, and I thought my expression was neutral, but apparently not because Mrs Shields cackled with laughter.

"That's what I thought," she said.

Jude gave me an amused look.

"Sorry," I mouthed.

"Sit down, sit down." Mrs Shields flapped her hands in the direction of the sofa wedged against the wall. I sat down, while Jude folded himself into the armchair opposite. "I'll make you kids some coffee," Mrs Shields said, heading into the kitchen. "Camden, do you still take two sugars?"

"Yes, thanks."

"Jude?"

"One sugar," he replied.

A couple of minutes later, Mrs Shields bustled back into the living room, carrying three mugs of coffee on a tray. Her slippers made little shushing noises on the carpet.

"Camden, the cat mug is yours," she said.

Jude handed it to me.

"The mug with the ducks is for you," Mrs Shields told him.

"Thanks," Jude said, taking it.

He settled back into the armchair, and it struck me how absurd he looked in here. His tall, tattooed frame, crammed into the faded rose-print chair, was completely out of place in the little flat, where polished ceramic ornaments sat on a wooden sideboard, and lace curtains fluttered in the breeze coming through the open window.

Mrs Shields perched on the sofa next to me, and eyed Jude over the rim of her mug. "I must say, you're even sexier in real life," she said.

I almost choked on my coffee.

Jude looked like he was trying very hard not to smile.

"I didn't think you'd know who he was," I admitted, wiping my mouth.

Mrs Shields gave me an oh please look over her glasses. "I'm a big fan."

"Really?" Maybe I was being judgemental, but I couldn't help it. Mrs Shields was a sweet little old lady, decidedly not the target audience for a heavy rock band.

Mrs Shields laughed. "Oh, Camden, I was a huge metalhead back in the day."

"Really?"

She nodded. "Wait here."

Putting down her coffee, she got up and walked into her bedroom. I glanced at Jude and he smirked.

"What can I say? I'm irresistible to women. Of all ages, apparently," he said.

Mrs Shields came back into the room, carrying a photo album. She settled down beside me, and flipped the album open to a photo of a leggy blonde with bouffant hair and heavy eyeliner.

"Oh wow, is that you?" I said.

Mrs Shields smiled fondly at the photo. "Spicy, wasn't I?" She turned the page.

"Is that David Lee Roth?" I said, peering closer.

The former Van Halen frontman stood along a young Mrs Shields, his leather jacket hanging open to reveal his chiselled torso, a lit cigarette dangling from his lips.

"I followed all the bands around in those days," Mrs Shields said, turning another page.

There she was with Bret Michaels, Ritchie Blackmore, Joe Perry, David Coverdale. There she stood with Rick Allen, his remaining arm around her shoulders, and there again sandwiched between Tommy Lee and Nikki Sixx, both bleary-eyed and worse for wear. There she was with Alice Cooper, and there with Ozzy Osbourne, who was in a floral dress not unlike the one Mrs Shields currently wore.

"This is amazing," I said.

Jude had got up from the armchair and was leaning over the album, looking at the photos upside down.

"Kevin DuBrow looks pleased to meet you," he noted, as I flipped to another page.

"Oh, he was," Mrs Shields said, her voice distinctly suggestive. "You'd have been very pleased to meet me too, if you'd been part of the rock scene then."

Jude looked grave. "My loss."

Oh my God, was my elderly neighbour, who baked cakes and made coffee for me, really implying that she'd been a groupie back in the day?

Yes.

Yes, she was.

"You'll let me take a picture with you, won't you?" Mrs Shields asked, looking up at Jude. She didn't quite bat her eyelashes, but it was close.

"It would be my pleasure," he said.

Something had changed about him when we walked into this flat.

That rockstar charisma was still there, surrounding him like shining light, but at the same time it was somehow muted, like he was consciously pulling it inside himself, suppressing the arrogant swagger and allowing a more respectful charm in its place.

He helped Mrs Shields up from the sofa, and slung his arm around her shoulder while I took a couple of photos of them. For the third one, Jude kissed her cheek, and her face flamed pink.

We stayed for another half an hour, while Jude and Mrs Shields traded stories – her experiences with the rockstars of the golden age, and his experiences with some of those rockstars as they were today. I couldn't contribute much since I'd never met any of them, but that was okay.

There was something surreal and yet very sweet about watching the most famous rockstar in the world talking with an old lady like this. It made me see him in a different way, made me feel all warm inside, like I'd swallowed a beam of sunshine.

Finally, it was time to leave. I promised Mrs Shields that I'd print off the photos of her and Jude and drop them around to the flat. Jude carried the mugs into the kitchen and washed them.

I'd almost forgotten why we'd come here, until Mrs Shields disappeared back into her bedroom and re-emerged, her arms laden with plastic bags.

"I managed to save everything," she informed me.

"I really can't thank you enough," I said.

"You already have by bringing him here," she said, eyeing Jude appreciatively. Or rather, eyeing his butt. I couldn't blame her – it was a particularly good butt.

I half-expected Jude to call Don and ask him to carry the bags, but he took them from Mrs Shields, and loaded them onto his own forearms.

He walked out of the flat first, and I was about to follow him when Mrs Shields grabbed my arm. "I have no idea how you've ended up in his life, but enjoy him as much as you can," she said, and I saw a glimmer of the groupie she'd once been, sultry and bright-eyed.

"I'll do my best," I said.

***

"Can I take a bag?" I asked Jude as we started down the stairs.

"I've got it," he replied.

We walked down one flight in silence, then I said: "I wasn't expecting that."

Jude wryly smiled. "Neither was I."

"I wasn't expecting to see your softer side either. Who knew there was more to you than an arrogant rock god?" I teased.

Jude dropped the bags.

The next thing I knew, he'd pushed me against the wall, his hand twisted tightly in my hair to hold me still, his mouth plundering mine like he'd die if he couldn't taste me. His chest pressed against my breasts, his hips pushed against mine, and the hard length of him was wedged between my legs in a way that made me throb and ache and need.

I couldn't move.

I could hardly breathe.

Jude abruptly broke the kiss, scooped up the dropped bags, and gestured to the stairs.

"What was that?" I gasped.

I could still feel the pressure of his hand in my hair, the weight of his whole hard body leaning into mine, the searing imprint of his lips.

"Just reminding you that I'm still that arrogant rock god," he said, a wicked smirk curling his lips.

"I never doubted it for a second," I said, and followed him down the stairs.

***

Don was leaning against the Bentley, texting someone, and he straightened up as we came out.

"Let me take those bags," he said, walking over.

But Jude had stopped dead, staring at the car.

It took me a moment to see what he'd spotted – a small white envelope sitting on the bumper. There was nothing written on it, but despite the spring sunshine, I felt cold all over.

"Is that what I think it is?" I said.

Jude had told me that once he'd changed his number and his stalker could no longer call or text, they'd started leaving him letters instead. That envelope was the right size for a folded letter.

Jude grabbed the envelope, crumpled it in one hand and shoved it in his pocket. That was enough to confirm my suspicions.

"How did your stalker know we were here?" I asked.

Don stiffened in my periphery, and I turned to him. "Did you see anyone?"

"No," he said.

Including the time it had taken us to go up and the stairs, Jude and I had been inside for over forty minutes – more than enough for someone to sneak up when Don wasn't looking.

Jude opened the boot and started loading the bags into the car as if nothing had happened. How was he so calm?

I glanced at Don again; he shrugged.

"Jude, are you okay?" I asked.

He gave me a bemused look. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"Because either your stalker followed us all the way out here, or they somehow knew we were coming, and that's creepy as fuck."

"We don't know that. Maybe they just recognised the car," Jude said.

His words rang hollow.

"You're suggesting that your stalker coincidentally lives in the same area that I used to? Seriously, what are the chances?" I said.

Jude didn't answer.

A shudder rolled through me.

Was the stalker still here?

Were they watching us?

From behind the row of parked cars on the opposite side of the street?

From the many windows that looked out from the soaring tower block?

"Hey," Jude said, and put one hand on the back of my head, such a gentle gesture compared to how he'd grabbed me on the stairs. "It's okay."

"Is it?" I said.

Knowing that someone was stalking Jude was one thing, but actually seeing the evidence – physical evidence – and knowing that, while we'd been having coffee with Mrs Shields, the stalker had been here, had planted this envelope, and might be watching us now, made me feel like I'd swallowed a chunk of ice.

"Yes," Jude said firmly. "I know it's weird as fuck, but it won't last forever. Sooner or later, whoever this stalker is, they'll get bored and move on."

But what if they didn't?

Jude could brush this off all he wanted, but he didn't know that his stalker wasn't dangerous.

"Come on. Time to go to the studio," Jude said.

His hand moved to the small of my back, guiding me towards the car, but I couldn't help looking back, scanning the area one more time.

There was no one there, nothing moved, but I swore I felt the pressure of cold eyes boring into the back of my neck.

I climbed into the car, Jude following, and tried to put this out of my mind, tried to get excited about the fact that I was going to meet the rest of the band at the studio. But I couldn't shake off that chilly feeling of dread.