Get Into The Light: Chapter Twelve- If I Gave You Diamonds and Pearls Would You Be a Happy Boy or a Girl?

Instead of focusing on the triumph of the gig (okay it couldn’t quite be classed as a triumph but it had got people talking and even Bob Van Veen had come over to congratulate us) and the fact that I was now ushered to the front of the queue at The Roxy and people whispered my name - in fact I was becoming a minor Amsterdam celebrity -none of this mattered. If anything the additional attention I was getting made me even more paranoid. For the first time people were actually talking about me and I wasn’t just imagining it.

‘Who cares what two girls think of your performance? How many people came up and told you you were great?’
‘One person.’
‘What about Joost? Eddie? Charles? Forest? Don’t any of them count?’
‘Not really.’
‘You’re just fishing now,’ Carl said pulling his headphones on.
‘Those people don’t count. I’m interested in the girls that were standing right at the front. What were they saying?’
Carl was already shut away in another world. I envied the fact he could escape just like that. It didn’t matter how long I sat at the typewriter looking for words that rhymed with TRANCE, I never got the sense of time being suspended, complete absorption - I never got that feeling EVER. Did I care what the girls had said? And if so why? Miss Ellen didn’t give a shit what other girls thought. I needed to channel some of that. But had they really been talking about me? If only the mystery could be solved! And the fact that everyone was talking another language - that just made things worse. It was very easy to get the wrong end of the stick- in fact it was natural to pick up the wrong end of the stick and thrust it into your eyeball until your brain exploded – all these people whispering in another language- all the potential evil of what they were saying- all the anxiety- all the terrible portent.

Two days passed. I couldn’t sleep. I woke in the night thinking about the two pairs of eyes. I thought about all the occasions when I’d felt this way. On balance there seemed to have been quite a lot of fear in my life. I wondered if it could be tracked back to the time in infants school when a goat had eaten my skirt. I thought about Mum. I wondered if Dad had grown his hair again because I wasn’t around to tease him. I thought about my school friends and how ridiculous it would be to pick up the phone and call one of them. They’d already applied to university. The conversation would be awkward. They’d never understand how I felt. Just like Carl said. I was a success!

‘Are you sure you don’t want to come?’ Carl asked two weeks after the video shoot.
I’d developed this new habit of picking the dry skin off my mouth. I couldn’t stop doing it. Sometimes I picked so hard that the skin bled but mostly I just took skin from the corners and rolled it into little balls - then flicked these balls into the imaginary eyes of the trolls who’d been talking about me.
‘Where?’ I asked, inspecting a grey ball that I’d created from a continual twisting of my bottom lip.
‘I told you yesterday- the rough edit is ready. I’m going over to Joost’s to watch it through. I might be late though- there’s still quite a lot of work to do apparently.’
One girl was ginger and the other blonde. Or one was mousy and the other silver-grey. One was Indian and the other Chinese. One was a Queen and the other - a Frog.
‘Forest thinks that MTV will probably play it - they’re looking for more local content. Did you ever think we’d get on MTV so soon?’ Carl said raising his eyebrows.
‘Your trousers are too short,’ I said, ‘What’s that all about?’
‘I thought this was what you wanted. I thought you wanted to be famous and do something creative,’ Carl said.
He marched into the kitchen and swilled his coffee cup under the tap.
‘You hated the cleaning and you said you hated school and now things are actually happening- and this is QUICK because it usually takes months- MONTHS- for something as meaningful as this to happen and you’re just watching TV and munching on your lips all day.’
He was just like a parent. Everything he said made sense and it was utterly infuriating.
‘How about a nice cuppa to make you feel better?’ Carl waved a teabag in my direction.
Usually a tea would have been welcome but this tea was so flavourless and limp that you wanted to pour it into the nearest pot plant and be done with it. It wasn’t worth the electricity that it took to boil the kettle.
‘I feel creepy right now,’ I said.
‘Oh Lola. I’m sorry. I just don’t know what to do. What do you want?’
Carl pulled me up and into a tight embrace. I breathed in the mix of aftershave and cigarettes. Part of me relaxed, felt stupid for being so dramatic but there was another layer deeper down that still felt uncooperative. And there was also a lump in my throat that was hard to explain away. I lit a cigarette and plopped down on the chair. There was something suffocating about this man with the feminine ankles.
‘What’s up with you?’ he said, ‘Really? What is it?’
‘I don’t know. Everything feels wrong at the moment.’
‘Lola, the girls weren’t talking about you. Or if they were they were probably saying- ‘Who’s that amazing girl?’’
‘Don’t wind me up.’
‘Do you want me to stay here with you - We could rent a couple of videos and get a pizza?’
‘No, you go- I’ll be fine. You can report back and tell me how great Lynette looks.’
Carl sighed. He was probably thinking back to the moment on the tram and how he should have pressed the alarm bell and had the police drive me straight to Stadionplein and got me back on the coach to London. He was thirty years old. He didn’t want to be a parent to his girlfriend right now.

After Carl left, the flat quickly grew dark and cold and instead of turning the lights on, instead of switching on the fan heater, or making some weedy tea – all things that would have let some light filter in, I sat and twisted my bottom lip round and round until I’d got four or five balls of dried skin. Slowly the uncooperative feeling switched into something else, more like the feeling you get after you’ve cried for hours and feel almost hung-over from sadness and now the spike worked its way up, starting in my stomach, migrating into my chest and then I was pacing up and down the flat, the TV on with the sound down and then sitting down on the toilet because it helped slow my mind and then back to the chair, then the sofa, then the floor with my back against the wall. A man was demonstrating how to cut vegetables with a chopping contraption. I tried to get my breathing back to normal. The man was chopping vegetables. The vegetables were bright and appealing. There were peppers, some courgettes and now some tomatoes going into the mix. The vegetables would have been great roasted up with some garlic and rosemary. Next the man was chopping his fingers, putting them in one by one and each finger was pulverised into bloody mincemeat. Next all this mincemeat would be put into sausages and fed to unsuspecting school children. And there were wolves that would eat you if you were all alone. It would be a slow process because it would be hard to kill you with one bite. Quicker than being trampled to death by canaries but not much. And a Grizzly bear would bite your ears off whilst you were struggling on the ground and then bury them - coming back later to harvest the rest. How long would it take to die in the forest? There were men who picked up girls in cars and strangled them - throwing them into ditches like sacks of rubbish. All this was true.

The restlessness was getting worse. Running cold water on my wrists, staring into the sink, some new machine that made vegetable chopping a more pleasurable activity- none of it made any difference.

During the first year of 6th form, there’d been short periods of time where I couldn’t breathe properly. Usually a mild feeling of indigestion would signal the start, then my heart rate would pick up and the next thing was a strong sensation that any minute I was going to keel over. I had to disappear into the toilets, or outside and curl up - try to do some damage limitation just in case. What worried me most during these episodes (which only lasted a minute, maybe even less) was what other people would think. Even when I was in the depths of something terrible - all I could think about was OTHER PEOPLE. Then I'd think about the resigned sigh of a bird that’s been tormented by a cat for hours and finally gives up. There would be some relief in doing that. But this was different. This felt more prolonged.

I wished there was someone here right now to witness it properly and take notes.

I switched over to the local cable channel. It was Sunday. I hadn’t even thought about what day of the week it was. It felt irrelevant when you went out four nights out of seven and didn’t have to get up at a normal time. There was a Catholic mass on TV. I turned the volume up. I didn’t really believe in God apart from the really desperate times when I sent out all my good wishes to him and his family and asked him to please, please remedy whatever was going wrong. The priest looked vaguely familiar like someone I’d seen at school or a parent or something. I flipped the channel. An MTV VJ popped up- an inane grin plastered across her open, freckled face. She never worried about bears feasting on her ears.
‘At number nine we have Mr Big with ‘I’m the One’ and at number eight we have Extreme and ‘More than Words and there’s a surprise newcomer at number seven’.
Number seven flashed onto the screen. I flipped again. CNN. CNN seemed to be mainly weather updates (with a backing track of corny, elevator music) and then someone would read out a headline and then it would cut to an advert for an insurance company. But this time the newsreader spoke for more than the regulation thirty seconds.
‘300 people have died in a ferry disaster off the coast of the Philippines. The passengers boarded the already overbooked Prince Star ferry at Cebu port at 9.30am. The boat had just departed from the port when it started to sink. Panic quickly ensued and hundreds jumped overboard in a vain attempt to save themselves’.
The camera panned across the port and focused on what looked like the hull as it disappeared under the frothing water. The sea was swirling with ant like figures. Some moving, others lay still already. My heart was somewhere in my cheeks right now.
‘Official government investigators are blaming Lola Summers for the tragedy,’ the voice said.
And in that moment I couldn’t quite believe it but it also made complete sense. Here was the reason that I couldn’t sit still. Here was the reason those girls had been talking. There was something terribly wrong, something I was responsible for and I’d known it all along. I turned the up the volume.
‘Police found invitations to an exclusive performance of the up and coming Amsterdam Dance act- Cyberia on some of the victims bodies. We go LIVE to Sergeant Aganad Santos.’
The camera cut to a fat, sweaty man wearing black rimmed glasses.
‘The tickets caused a frenzy. Many innocent people thought the boat took them directly to the port of Amsterdam but its destination was actually Norway. These people would never have died if they hadn’t been invited to this … rave… dance… concert.’
He shook his head stared into the camera lens.
‘We are sending out an international warrant for the arrest and detention of one Miss Lola Summers.’
I wondered if Mum was watching and then remembered that she didn’t have CNN back at home and it was Sunday night so she’d be making a giant saucepan of rubber ratatouille and listening to Joni Mitchell. I actually felt calm. I’d invited those people to a gig. And I didn’t remember inviting them but it must have happened because the news said so. I flipped again. Kristina Max popped onto the screen grinning wildly.
‘Here at number seven we have Prince and his tribute to a very special girl. This is ‘Diamonds and Pearls’ and……. Lola, we’re thinking about ya! Stay cool.’
She blew a kiss and the screen dissolved into Prince sitting astride a velvet piano stool.
‘If I could I would give you my world, but all I can do is offer you my love,’ he sang and I felt a surge of emotion flood from the screen because Prince had penned this special song- knowing full well what I was going through right now- perhaps knowing all along that I’d be blamed for the deaths of these people when I actually had no idea where the Philipines was – was it next to China? Or was it somewhere near Australia? Did Prince even know where it was? In some way, the fact that Prince had written this song seemed to mitigate some of the terrible negatives. It was completely selfish but I was actually more excited about Prince than the people that had died.

The only thing that could have happened was some sort of brain control. I’d somehow invited those people to a show using subliminal witchcraft - that’s what the girls had been talking about- not my stupid dancing, not the way that I slumped on stage like a snail in a decaying shell- no they could see there was some sort of dreadful mind power at play and they were in awe of it but also very scared. Which was how I felt right now but also flattered because how many women had Prince actually penned a song for? I thought about the possibility that we might actually have a relationship - not just an imagined relationship (I’d fantasised about living with Prince and how I’d be his muse - he’d call me ‘THUNDERFLASH THUNDERTHIGHS’ and make me dress up in violet basque) and I’d never mentioned it to Carl before but I was pretty sure that I’d have to leave him if I started a relationship with Prince right now because it wouldn’t be fair to keep things as they were.

And of course, the easiest explanation for what was happening right now was that I was asleep. Any regular person who had a nine to five and was laying out their clothes for work the next day would think – ‘Oh I’ve just fallen asleep and had the most ridiculous dream!’ except my eyes were open throughout the whole process. The world was projecting absurd images into my eyes and so I couldn't be asleep. I pulled the curtains shut with so much vigour that one curtain fell down. Two drawing pins fell too. I saw the wild woman from down the road. She was talking to one of the Hells Angels. I ducked under the window ledge and threw the black curtain over my head. There was going to be more talking. There would be reporters here. It was difficult to even start crying without knowing what the full implications would be.

And then I slept. Of course I slept. And it became impossible to differentiate the period of time before the sleep and the actual slumber. When I awoke, the curtain was lying on the floor and I’d dribbled onto the pillow. There was a crease in my cheek – like I’d been asleep for many hours but in fact the clock said it was only two am. Carl had been gone for five hours. The TV was on but there was no mention of any boat and MTV was playing non-stop Heavy Metal. I lay looking up at the ceiling. I didn’t even care where Carl was right now. I was suspended in the midst of a rapture. God was showing me that there were many different realities. He was teaching me a good lesson about how important it was to not spend too much time thinking. I wasn't sure whether it was time to start wishing him well or enquiring about the general health of his family and friends. Instead I switched back to the local cable channel- the priest was reading to the congregation. The mass must have been going on for hours. I’d never heard of one that went on for so long.
‘We pray for all the victims of the boat disaster. We pray for their families. We pray for their safe passage to heaven and we pray for the safety of all those who find themselves at sea tonight.’
It was all true then. There were footsteps on the stairs. I worked my face into the pillow.

‘Lola - what have you done with the curtain?’ Carl said switching the light on.
He looked slightly pissed and was swaying.
‘The news…… all those people died…they drowned… all because of ME!’
‘What are you talking about?’ Carl said.
He hadn’t even closed the door behind him – perhaps he wanted to run away. Images flickered on the TV screen. Images of the sea at night. A green bulb on the front of the camera briefly illuminated random arms and legs as they floated past. Carl shut the door and rushed over. I sat up and hid my face in his chest.
‘I did it!’ I cried.
‘Lola.… that accident- why are you even talking about it?’ he asked, his voice shaking now.
‘I invited those poor people and I don’t even remember doing it.’
‘That’s just ridiculous. You haven’t slept- perhaps you had a nightmare- you’re tired. You never should have gone out with Lynette on Thursday. You need to take it easy. None of this is happening,’ he said.
‘It’s nothing to do with the pills if that's what you're thinking.’
‘You’re having a bad reaction. It’s my fault. It’s all my fault.’
He sounded like he was about to cry- a bubble of snot blew out his nostril.
‘I knew there was something worse than those two bitches talking and I was right because look what’s happened!’
Carl’s eyes were shiny. He stood up and walked into the kitchen. He poured a glass of water and drank it down.

‘I’m a murderer,’ I said.
‘Why are you saying these crazy things?’ he called back.
He lit a cigarette and sat down on the chair opposite me.
‘What’s going on?’
I rubbed my face where the crease was but didn’t answer. I couldn’t answer. Everything was upside down.
‘You’ve got to believe me,’ I said and started to cry.
'Don't you realise how you sound right now?' he said.

Carl got up, opened the door and ran down the stairs. He came back up and grabbed his pack of cigarettes and a lighter, then disappeared again. The door slammed. I thought about following him. Instead I crawled over to the window. There was no one. No reporters. No cameras. Not even the Hells Angel’s dog. Then I saw Carl in the phone box outside the snack bar. He was on the phone. It didn’t seem impossible that he was talking to the police right now. I crouched down lower and bit into the window frame a little with my top teeth. The pain shot up into my gums and provided some sort of grounding- I was here- this was happening. I pulled away again. Carl had hung up and was walking towards the petrol station- the orange glow of a cigarette hanging from his fingertips.
‘I didn’t even tell you about Prince yet,’ I whispered, ‘I didn’t want to say anything because I thought it might make you upset.’