Trust Me (Beggar's Choice #2) Read online

  I’m still feeling the joy that always courses through me when I sing and so grinning at him saucily I say. “Please don’t call me Nelly, Mr Hudson, and as to whether you call me again– whatever!” and then I waltz out of the room to the sound of his laughter which is both rusty and contagious. It makes my heart hurt because it sounds underused, while at the same time is so infectious that it makes me want to laugh too. Looking back I see Bram staring at him in what looks very much like amazement. Yes, this job could be more trouble than it’s worth.

  Sid

  When Nell leaves the room silence falls for a second between Bram and I, and then he stirs and I smile because he’s never, ever been comfortable with silences. If there’s a quiet patch you can guarantee that Bram will fill it. “Fucking hell she could sing,” he mutters, and I look at him and nod. Her voice was amazing. It was so strong and had the purity and warmth of Karen Carpenter with a slight raspy undertone. Coupled with her looks and the way that she dressed it made her an unusual and mesmerising singer.

  I hadn’t paid her any attention when she first walked in, beyond being irritated. We’d had a shit day and both Bram and I had been amazed at the amount of people that come to these things and can’t actually sing. It had been like spending eight hours in the audition process of The X Factor, without any light at the end of the tunnel. The amount of groupies that had turned up on the other hand didn’t actually shock us at all. So, when she’d come in I’d ignored her, hoping that she’d go away just as quickly as she’d come, while I focused on yet another fucking text from Leah. The bitch just doesn’t know when to quit, and as normal whenever her name pops up on my phone I feel the usual mix of concentrated anxiety and affection that I’ve always had for her, and don’t want to feel anymore.

  Nell’s defiance and smart attitude had distracted me instantly, but it was when she started singing that all the angst drained out of me and I was transfixed instantly. When I looked up and actually saw her I was hypnotised. She was utterly beautiful, with a small, compelling face on which every feeling was telegraphed. Her expressions and the way she moved that slight body made her someone that you couldn’t draw your attention away from. She’d had a gamine quality to her and a sense of innocence that drew me as much as it repelled me. I’d instantly resolved to stay well away from her because the last time I felt like this was when I met Leah, and I couldn’t do that again. It might kill me this time. Still I sigh, because she’s fucking perfect for us.

  “Her voice would mesh perfectly with Charlie’s,” I say, thinking of my brother’s gravelly voice which would underscore the purity of hers.

  “I know,” Bram replies. “I think she’s it don’t you?”

  “You know she is. Not sure why you peddled that bullshit about consulting the others. You know they’ll take what we say.”

  He stares at me for a second. “I thought you might have objections.”

  “Why?” I ask defensively.

  He holds up his hands. “No reason mate. Just the fact that you got a major hard on when she sang today, and it might make it a bit embarrassing for you in the future when you’re on stage with her, and you’re amongst real men that have actually learnt to control themselves.”

  “Fuck off,” I return pleasantly and he laughs out loud.

  Nell

  Two hours later I’m still riding on the feelings from the audition as I bang my way into our fourteenth floor flat, gulping in air and smelling the strong smell of menthol which over the last three years has become the scent of what passes for home to me. On that thought I shout out. “I’m home.” The reply seems to take forever but eventually I hear my mum’s voice from the kitchen as I take off my coat.

  “We’re in here Eleanor.” I wince – this is the reason that I don’t like to be called Eleanor.

  Bursting into the dim kitchen I smile exuberantly at the two women seated at the table. The smile fades slightly when neither deign to return it, but I rally and brandish the carrier bag. “Look what I’ve got,” I sing out, tipping the contents out onto the table.

  Tapping her finger on the plastic wrapped bundle of fillet steak, my mum finally looks at me which is a rare occurrence nowadays. “Why are you wasting our money on this Eleanor?” she finally says and all of my energy finally dies out of me at her harsh voice and I sink into a chair. For a brief shining moment I’d felt young again but I can hardly remember it now because at this precise moment I feel eighty years old. Resisting the desire to enquire how any of the money I’d spent had actually come from her, I swallow the tight feeling down and smile ingratiatingly at her.

  “I thought I’d spoil us mum,” I say brightly. “Phil rang me on the way home and he’s offered me another jingle so the rent will be paid for another month at least.”

  There’s silence for a minute and then she stares at me with no expression at all, and the other woman at the table stirs languidly. “Where have you been Eleanor?” my mum finally enquires, and I squirm because this tone never bodes well.

  “Why?”

  “Oh, just because Mrs McDonald rang a few hours ago with a complaint. It seems that young William was sat waiting for his violin lesson this afternoon only to find out that his teacher couldn’t be bothered to turn up. I managed to calm her down and promised her a free lesson, but it’s left me wondering where you’ve been all day and where this money came from.”

  Her voice is rising slightly now and I wonder whether I’ve got this right and she’s actually implying that I’ve turned to prostitution, or whether I’m imagining it. She stops and glares at me breathing heavily and I sigh. I’m caught out and I’m too tired to find an excuse.

  “I went to an audition,” I finally say slowly.

  “For what?” snaps the reply after a pregnant pause.

  “Backing singer for a band going on tour.” I brace myself for the explosion which right on cue arrives a second later.

  “Backing singer,” she screeches. “Have you lost your mind Eleanor Slater? Have you forgotten what happened three years ago or do you need reminding?” Shaking my head sharply I go to answer her but as normal she talks over me. “Eleanor you never fail to appal me. Are you so wrapped up in the idea of fame that you’ll sacrifice what we’ve got left? Was what we lost not enough to teach you a lesson last time?”

  Rising to my feet I feel blood rush into my face and my temper is sparking. “I know you’re upset mum but there’s no need for you to level that at me. Haven’t I suffered enough or do you need another pound of flesh?”

  “How dare you,” she shouts, her face reddening alarmingly.

  “I dare,” I say levelly, trying hard to maintain calm. It isn’t worth losing my temper because she doesn’t listen to me at all. There’s only one person she listens to and as if on cue Molly stirs again and raises a limp, white hand with perfectly manicured nails.

  “Judy,” she says soothingly. “It isn’t worth you getting so worked up. Think of your health.”

  My mum stutters and something twists inside what’s left of my heart as I watch her face transform into affectionate love as she takes Molly’s hand and lowers herself to her chair. “You’re right Molly love,” she says softly. “I’ve got to look after myself after all because if I’m not here who’s going to look after you?”

  I swallow hard. What about me? I want to scream. Who looks after me and who acknowledges that the person who takes care of both of you is just me, all alone as ever? Instead I speak in a very calm voice. “I don’t want the fame mum. I’ve learnt my lesson about that, but we do need the money. Your redundancy pay is almost gone.” She has the grace to look ashamed at this because we all know that the money went on a car for Molly, who is apparently too weak to use public transport. “The rent needs to be paid and the next gas and electricity bill is the winter one so it’s the big one. The music lessons and the session singing are fine but we need more money. Backing singers on tour can earn up to £500 a night depending on how big the band are. Just think what we coul
d do with that money.”

  Finally my mum stirs and not looking at me she says in a low voice. “How did it go?”

  I sigh. “I don’t know,” I say finally. “I’m not sure it went too well.”

  “Why not?” she asks sharply. Apparently her objections have been overruled by the mention of the cash, and we’re back to where we usually are, in that I’m in the wrong.

  “Never mind,” I say firmly. “It probably won’t pan out but if I put the word out I can probably get another job like this quite quickly if I’m prepared to travel and stay away.”

  Molly looks at me with the first sign of animation I’ve seen in her in years. “Who was the band?” she asks in her husky voice.

  I stare at her for a second, looking at her well cut hair and the new clothes that my mum had paid for out of my money, and for a second I remember the desperate junkie that we’d welcomed into the family years ago. Now, she looks like a model and I reflect bitterly that all my hard work gets for me is home cut hair and second hand clothes while it gets her everything, but I’ve learnt that this sort of thinking gets me nothing but an imminent ulcer.

  “Beggar’s Choice,” I say finally and she smiles flat out, her cheeks reddening.

  “Wow, they’re really hot Nell, you’re a lucky girl.”

  I smile at her slightly thinking once a groupie always a groupie. “Not really,” I finally say. The audition has faded so far from my mind it’s like an event that happened twenty years ago. I know I felt alive for the first time in years, but it’s like an old person looking back on their youth. “I don’t think anything will happen from this. I don’t think Sid Hudson was impressed.”

  Her smile holds the faintest hint of the malice that it always does. “That’s a shame Nell,” she says happily. “Nothing happens in that band unless they all agree, and Sid and his brother are very much the driving forces. I’ve heard that the new music is very much under Sid’s direction. Apparently it’s brilliant but he’s changed since the overdose, and now people are saying how focused he is and how he expects the same from everyone. If he’s that demanding then he’s only going to want the best, so I wouldn’t feel too bad babe that it’s not you.”

  I flatten my lips against the retort that needs to come out. If we get into an argument I know from bitter experience whose side my mum will come down on. Instead I smile but it’s a pathetic attempt and she knows it. She’s opening her mouth again, probably to drown me in Sid Hudson facts gleaned from Heat magazine, when as if on cue my phone rings and the screen lights up with an unknown number. Swallowing hard I punch the button and mutter a hello only to hear the unmistakable deep tones of Sid Hudson, the man himself.

  “Good afternoon Nelly,” he drawls. “If you’re still interested we’d like to offer you the backing singer job. That’s if you haven’t had a much better offer since we saw you last.” Sarcastic twat.

  For a few seconds silence reigns as I look at my mum and Molly. One wears a disapproving sour face, the other a mask of disinterest. I know that if I take the job I’ll be away from them for months on end, unable to come home to see them at all. I probably won’t get to speak to them much on the phone either because of the time differences and touring schedule, and I won’t be able to sort out their problems from so far away. I’ll also be travelling in close confines with complete strangers, one of whom interests me in a very dangerous way.

  “I’d love to take the job,” I say defiantly.

  Two

  Two days later I stand outside a massive house in Hampstead. I’m shivering which is from a combination of a chilly wind gusting around my shoulders, and a bad case of nerves. I’m here according to Bill the manager of Beggar’s Choice, because I’m going to meet the two missing members of the band so that they can get a feel for me. Once that’s done I can sign the contracts that he’s prepared for me, and then I’ll be an official member of the Beggar’s Choice touring circus. Shivering again I take a look at the sky above me which is an iron grey colour. It’s been a bad summer but the weather has taken a really cold turn over the last couple of days and it finally feels like we’re heading into autumn.

  I huddle deeper into my coat which is starting to look quite threadbare. Actually who am I kidding, the bloody thing looked like one step beyond threadbare when I’d bought it in the first place, and it’s never lost its fusty, charity shop smell. However, it’s all we can afford at the moment – mum’s redundancy money has finally run out or been spent by Molly, and with the bills mounting up a new coat is definitely not on my horizon any time soon. This hadn’t stopped me from gazing enviously at some girls on the bus today who seemed to be all shiny hair, beautiful boots and lovely slouchy coats. They’d seemed carefree and dauntless in a way I don’t think I can ever remember being. Even before the events of three years ago I don’t think I ever felt that young. My dad had left us years ago when I was little, and for as long as I can remember I’d had to have jobs and bear responsibility for myself and my brother, but no, I stop that thought before the tidal wave of regret hits me, and square my shoulders. It is as it is I say to myself with my well-worn catch phrase. Just get on with it and smile and take the money. It’s this thought that makes me ring the doorbell because Bill the manager is promising £850 a night which is rarer than rocking horse shit as my dad used to say. Less and less bands take singers on tour with them now, preferring to rely instead on backing tracks which are cheaper and don’t require somewhere to sleep when on the road.

  My thoughts are interrupted by the door opening and then appearing to stick. “Fucking hell,” comes a muttered response. “Charlie, this bloody door has warped again.” A slender arm appears and then I blink as the slim figure of a beautiful redhead squeezes through the tight opening. Spying me looking at her she smiles a big, gap toothed grin and starts laughing. “Fucking thing,” she says and her laughter is so infectious that I can’t help laughing too. “I’ll push from this side and then one of those big, useless blokes in there can get off their arses and help too.”

  “I’ll help.” I push my sleeves up and setting my shoulder to the door, I start pushing.

  “Oh no you don’t have to do that,” she protests but just at that moment there’s a massive creak and the door swings open, setting me off balance so that I fall through and land in an undignified sprawl at someone’s big feet clad in battered, old Converse. I pan my gaze up what seems like acres of long legs in faded, blue denim over what looks like a set of tidy abs clad in a thin, navy sweater until I meet the entertained stare of the last person I want it to be.

  Sighing hard I mutter, “Good morning Mr Hudson,” as he puts out a tanned, muscled arm to pull me to my feet.

  “I’d like to make a joke about falling for me but I don’t wish to appear clichéd,” he smirks.

  “Perish the thought.”

  “You don’t have to call him Mr Hudson,” the redhead says, looking at us entertained. “Bloody hell the last time he was called that he was up in court. You’ll give him the jitters.” She leans into him resting a hand on his side in her hilarity, and I watch in awe as that slightly hard and distant expression of his melts into humour and what looks a lot like love. Letting me go he swings his arm around her shoulder and dips her until she shrieks.

  “Don’t mention the court case,” he says sotto voce, looking at me out of the corner of his eye. “I’ve told you we’ll get over the embarrassment of you soliciting. Just give it time honey.”

  “Fuck off,” she shrieks and he hugs her, burying his face in her shoulder. I shift slightly, feeling rather uncomfortable and I have to admit a little disappointed. Molly had virtually given me a 700 page essay on the band over the last couple of days and she never mentioned Sid having a girlfriend, but there’s an obvious connection between these two that speaks of love and history. This is a relief I tell myself firmly. That spark I felt between us at the audition is bad. I don’t need him or his attention being focused on me. My body shifting drags his attention back to me and
almost straightaway that hard, distant look slips back into position. I sigh but I’m immediately diverted when I hear the unmistakable gravelly voice of the lead singer of Beggar’s Choice.

  “Any reason you’re feeling my wife up in the hall?” the beautiful, blond man says as he comes up behind Sid and the redhead and pulls her away from Sid.

  “In the hall - is that a euphemism?” Sid enquires with a smirk and dodges a punch from the redhead, who I now recognise from various paparazzi shots and newspaper articles as Charlie’s new wife. She’d come in for a lot of attention last year for being the woman that tamed Charlie Hudson, although to my mind he doesn’t look so much tamed, as just happy. Shrugging away from both of them she comes towards me and draws me into a perfumed hug. I stiffen at first because I don’t remember the last time someone hugged me and I’d forgotten how nice it feels, but then I relax and hug her back. Looking up I catch Sid’s narrowed gaze on me and resist the impulse to pull a face at him, turning instead back to the girl.

  “You must be Nell,” she says. “I’m Mabel, Charlie’s wife. I’m so pleased to meet you. Sid and Bram have been raving about your voice for the last few days.”

  “Really?” I arch my brow at Sid who at least has the grace to look uncomfortable. “He didn’t display much enthusiasm at the time.”

  “Was he being a prick? I bet he was being a prick,” she says in immediate commiseration and I gape at her astounded for a second, before breaking into a laugh.

  “Oh my God you have no idea.” I gasp for breath while at the same time looking up at Sid’s arrested face. The smile dies from my face and almost immediately he shifts his attention to Mabel.

  “Charming,” he mutters. “You’re supposed to stick up for me at all times Mabes. Did you not read that bit in the marriage contract?”

  “I was too busy taking ‘obey’ out of the vows,” she smirks, ruffling her husband’s blonde mane of hair affectionately as he smooches her neck.