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

  “I think they’re very much in love,” I say hotly and perhaps she remembers that I’m working with the boys and if this gets back to Charlie he’ll sack her without question. Nobody criticizes Mabe and gets away with it. Whatever the reason the subject is changed as I hoped for, but I can’t get her words out of my mind and as I get changed into outfit after outfit I dwell on them like pressing on a sore tooth. I know she’s a bitch but her words have too much of a ring of truth about them and I force myself to remember his words of a few weeks ago and his actions. Time after time his phone has chimed and he’ll always drop whatever he’s doing and he’s usually got a fond expression on his face. I don’t know why it never occurred to me that he might have a girlfriend but this is the final straw with me. We seem to have a push and pull thing developing between us where we get close but then he will dance away and distance himself and I wonder to myself how long it’ll be before I learn my lesson and realise that the intense attraction that I’m starting to feel for him is not and cannot be reciprocated.

  Four

  After this the days start to go faster and faster and before I know it, it’s December and the day before our first gig. We’re playing in an old theatre in Camden. It’s full of history, with loads of the greats like The Rolling Stones and Jimi Hendrix having played there in the 1960’s and 1970’s. Since then it had fallen on hard times, becoming a nightclub and then a bingo hall, before it closed and fell into disrepair. Matt, a close friend of Sid’s from school, bought it and restored it five years ago with the aim of making it into a sought after venue again. It’s in a great location, central with parking nearby, and I know the boys picked it to kick off the tour to do him a favour. It should well and truly put him on the map in that case because the buzz surrounding the tour which they’ve titled ‘The Back to Basics Tour’, is huge. The boys have been doing masses of publicity and the idea of such a big band going back to their roots has really caught the imagination.

  The tickets have been very restricted. They’re not going to be available through the normal avenues because the boys wanted to keep the ticket touts out of it, so instead they announced that they’d go on sale as a lightning sale for only a few hours at a mysterious location that would be revealed on the morning by local radio stations. The tickets for this gig went on sale at a local HMV and the queues went round the block several times over. I’d wandered over to have a look with Mick, one of the boys’ best friends, and we’d seen loads of teenagers waiting huddled up in masses of layers, their breaths a startling white on the cold air. A palpable air of excitement hung in the air and it took me back to being a teenager again, queuing to see my favourite bands, full of hopes and dreams about making it big myself.

  “Good to see kids doing this again,” Mick said echoing my thoughts.

  “What? Playing hooky because those girls probably aren’t even sixteen?”

  “Still won’t stop them chucking their knickers at Sid,” he laughed.

  I’d smiled because I like Mick. He’s a very funny man with a big beer belly and a heart as large as the ocean. He loves the boys like his own family, and from what I’ve gathered about them they’ve all had circumstances in their childhoods that have made them opt to choose their own family the second time around. Beggar’s Choice isn’t just a band, it’s more the representation of this family ethic and it warms me to be close to them. However, it’s the warmth of standing near a fire with the backs of your legs feeling the encroaching cold air behind you, because I know that in a few short months I’ll be out of their lives. I’ve grown close to them all over the weeks, but surprisingly the one I feel closest to is Sid, which has definitely happened since I started teaching him how to play the violin.

  At first he stuck rigidly to the one hour that he’d stipulated in the morning and he maintained his distance. However, gradually the lessons started getting longer and he dropped his distance and let me in a little bit. After a bit we started to just sit together, sometimes not even looking at the violin, but just talking and laughing about anything and everything, and we found that we share similar tastes in music and films and books and seem to laugh at all the same things. Often I’ve had tears running down my face as he’s told me stories about their early days. I would say that he is well on the way to becoming a close friend, but underneath everything like a dark thread runs an attraction to each other. Sometimes his eyes will catch on my lips while I’m talking. Other times I will have to make an effort to breathe steadily when I’m bent over him altering the placement of his hands and I’ve noticed that his own breathing will pick up. I’m not going to delude myself though. Attraction is a basic need which nobody can control and at the back of my mind there is always the mysterious Leah. He too seems prepared to fight it, because as soon as anything happens he shuts down and moves away. I’m therefore resigned to just being friend zoned, if I can even be called that.

  Shaking off my thoughts I look around. I’m sitting on the edge of the stage looking out at the theatre and swinging my legs idly over the side. It’s very cold in here and I’m glad that I put on my skinny jeans and oversize cream sweater this morning. I’ve teamed them with an old, navy, military jacket and my boots and wrapped a long navy and white scarf around my neck, but I’m still freezing. We’ve just done our sound check and as normal Sid is tinkering with the sound, his face hard and concentrated. He’s an absolute perfectionist to the extent that the others have now wandered off to have a cigarette, take a phone call or get a drink, or in Bram’s case all three. He catches my eye as I look at him and ambles over, lowering his long, hard frame to sit beside me and stretching his long legs out in front of him. Catching my gaze he stares at Sid for a second and then laughs. “Poor Rob,” he says, pointing his finger at the beleaguered roadie who is holding up some wires with a questioning look on his face while Sid points and talks low. “Don’t think he knows what to do with Sid this time round.”

  I look at him questioningly and he shrugs while a sad expression crosses his face. “Rob’s toured with us for a few years but he never knew Sid before the drugs. On the last tour Sid didn’t even bother to turn up for sound checks. He was so wasted most of the time it was a waste of time trying to talk to him, and when he did talk he was so unpredictable it was like putting a collar on a tornado.”

  I smile sadly because Sam was just like that, and Bram’s gaze sharpens because he must read all over my face that I understand what he’s saying. I lower my eyes instantly breaking the conversation, and he pauses for a second obviously wanting to question me, but then he gives up and looks back at Sid again.

  “He looks okay now though Bram?”

  “Yeah I’m just fucking praying that he keeps this way,” he says grimly. “This tour will be a big test.” I nod because being on the road is a dangerous place for an addict – the erratic hours and being on the road constantly with no familiarity or routine to cling to because no day is the same, make it hard to keep order. “Still he’s totally different now,” Bram adds, shaking off his dark mood. I’ve noticed that he finds it difficult to stay dark. He’s a people pleaser and a real charmer. “It’s almost like getting to know a completely different person now.”

  “In what way?” I’m interested in a bittersweet way because I never got this chance with Sam.

  “Well the last time he was clean we were at college. Everyone changes when they grow up anyway so Sid just took a detour for a while that’s all. It’s like meeting him again after not seeing him for a few years, because make no mistake the Sid I’ve known for the last few years was a stranger to me. Now I’m seeing him again as an adult and I have to say I like it. He’s still a good laugh but I can talk to him again now, you know?” I nod because the two of them are really close. They always roomed together in the past when on tour, and they’re forever chatting together or arguing in that way that only real friends do. Charlie and Seth are a couple of years older and they tend to gravitate towards each other, but mostly they’re all together. Bram carrie
s on swigging from his water, his strong throat working. “I like the way he is with the music again as well. We’ve got him back and we’re not losing him again,” he adds firmly, and his voice is suddenly harsh and his expression forbidding.

  I smile at him and stroke his tanned forearm which has gone tight at some thought. Suddenly feeling a gaze on me I look up to find Sid staring at me while Rob talks to him and gesticulates. Instead of focusing like before, his eyes are now on Bram and I and they seem to darken as he takes in our sitting so closely together with my hand on his arm. He stares for a second and I know Bram is still talking but it’s become background noise as Sid and I lock eyes. I breathe in sharply and it breaks the spell and I turn back to Bram, aware that Sid has broken away from Rob who is still talking, with a pat on his back, and is now making his way to us. He comes to a stop and I raise my eyes up his long, long legs clad in old faded jeans to his lean torso clad in a grey shirt with the sleeves rolled up showing off his tanned forearms, and then up to catch in his blue eyes which look darker now with what looks like anger as he stares down at us.

  “What the fuck are you two doing?” he asks quite rudely I think, and I wait for Bram to retaliate but he just looks at Sid consideringly before leaning back and almost challengingly throwing his arm around my shoulders, dragging me to him. Sid’s jaw tenses and fascinated, I notice a tic beginning to throb there.

  “We’re just relaxing together,” Bram says smoothly.

  “Well don’t,” comes the terse retort. “Rob needs a hand with that lead. Something’s cutting out.”

  “Am I an electrician now?”

  “No, but as it’s for your bass perhaps you should bother to take a fucking look.”

  Bram stares at him for a second and his arm tightens around me and then suddenly he lets go so quickly I almost fall back, and it’s only Sid stooping and catching my arm that stops me tumbling backwards as Bram bounds to his feet. “Careful,” Sid says crossly but Bram just smirks and ruffles my hair before making his way over to the patient Rob who is grinning at this piece of byplay.

  “Come on then Rob,” Bram announces in a voice intended to carry. “Let the men sort the problem out and leave the boys alone.” I smile but it fades as I look up and catch Sid’s glower. He’s still stooped over me holding my arm but he lets it go when I pull on it.

  “What?” I ask defensively.

  “Be careful of Bram,” he mutters. “You’ll get hurt if you take him at all seriously.”

  “For Christ’s sake.” I’m irritated now. “What is it with you people? If one isn’t warning me off you, you’re warning me off another.”

  “What? Who warned you off me?” He grips my arm in agitation but when I wince he instantly lets go and muttering an apology he begins a gentle rubbing of the sore part. Raising his eyebrows at me he lowers himself into a gentle crouch next to me. “Who warned you off me?” he asks again and his voice is deeper now. I know this because suddenly all I can feel is his hand rubbing my arm and the sparks that seem to fly from that point of contact to between my legs. His eyelids lower and his touch becomes more caressing as he reaches my hand and twines our fingers together. I gasp slightly and he instantly lets me go, but with the vague air of a man coming out of a dream. For a second there’s silence and then like a bloodhound he’s straight back on course. “Well?” he asks raising his eyebrows.

  “Vanessa,” I say slowly, giving in because he isn’t going to.

  “What the fuck?” he hisses, pushing his hand through the silky strands of his hair and gifting me a scent of sweet shampoo.

  “She just wanted me not to get hurt.” I hope she isn’t in trouble now but really she couldn’t give two shits about me, and his wry glance tells me that he knows this. Settling down beside me with one of his lightning changes of mood he stretches out his legs meditatively and then playfully knocks one of his feet against my leg.

  “How did it go with Cruella the Stylist anyway?” he asks, referencing another shopping trip that she and I had been on and I burst out laughing. Sometimes his humour catches me by surprise.

  “It was okay I guess. Thank you for the clothes by the way. They’re beautiful. I think they’ll look good on the stage.”

  “You could wear a sack and still look good.” The matter of fact way that he says this touches me.

  “Not sure about cutting my hair though,” I muse and he jerks.

  “Cutting your hair? What fuckwit suggested that?” he asks angrily.

  “Well Vanessa thought a crop might suit the style better.”

  “Then let Vanessa crop her own fucking hair and while she’s at it she can crop her fucking mouth. Cutting your fucking hair! I’ve never heard such a stupid idea.”

  “Okay,” I say peaceably. “It doesn’t matter. I won’t do it.”

  “No, don’t.” His voice is firm, and almost unwillingly he raises his hand and tangles it in the curls over my right ear. “It’s beautiful,” he mutters. He runs his hand through the strands letting them fall like fire over his fingers, and there’s something so sensual about his sheer enjoyment of this sensory stimulus that I’m wet instantly, and almost as if he knows it he looks up and our eyes tangle. He parts his mouth to let an uneven breath escape, but then we hear a shout from Seth and the spell is broken just like that. He lets his hand fall and blows out a long breath before jumping to his feet and extending his arm to pull me up. “Back to work,” he says briskly, and pulling away from me he walks away to the side of the stage where Seth waits. It’s only a few feet away but it might as well be in Siberia, the distance between us again is so vast.

  We spend the next few hours making sure that everything is running properly and to Sid’s satisfaction, and then another hour finalizing the set list. I think this had the potential to go on for longer because there’s a lot of good natured arguing as everyone wants to play their own favourites, and as we’ve been joined by Mick, Viv, Mabe and Lucy it gets very loud. The only thing they totally agree on is that for the encore we’ll do a cover in a very different way like they always do, and the song has to be something unexpected – ‘No X Factor shit’ as Charlie puts it.

  Finally, we’re finished and we gather together for a Chinese takeaway at the three big tables that Matt has dragged together in the bar area. Candles are dotted about amongst cartons and cartons of food. My stomach rumbles loudly and Seth who is standing next to me gives one of his deep laughs. “You can say that again honey,” he says and moves to sit down next to Viv. He’s forestalled by Lucy who slips neatly into the chair leaving him to sit on her other side next to Adam. He shoots her a look but refrains from saying anything. I don’t think he’s a pushover, but he’s kind and he won’t embarrass her in public. I look at Viv but she’s staring stalwartly ahead ignoring Lucy who now that she has her own way is resting her head prettily on Seth’s shoulder. The more I see of her the more I’m starting to dislike her. I can’t see why Seth is with her because he’d be so much happier with Viv. Their personalities seem to match so perfectly and sometimes when they talk together it’s like no one else exists, but those moments are few and far between and mostly there’s a weird distance between them. From what Mabe says this is a relatively new thing, and no one knows why because they used to be really good friends. Both she and Charlie have tried to find out what happened but neither of them have been forthcoming.

  We’re all famished so silence reigns for a bit while we all dig in. However, once we’ve settled our initial hunger, talk starts up again and inevitably piss taking starts. Tonight it’s Bram’s turn. He’s recently done an underwear shoot for a brand of designer underwear and the billboards have started to go up around London. The boys have taken to calling him Marky Mark to Mick’s palpable delight. “So I was on the bus,” he says loudly. “Just minding my own business when what should slide past but Bram’s gigantic package.” Charlie and Seth laugh out loud, Bram groans and buries his head in his hands, and Lucy exclaims and starts digging in her bag. She finally emer
ges, triumphantly clutching a copy of Marie Claire.

  “He’s in here,” she squeals leafing frantically through the pages until she finally brandishes it in triumph, and to Bram’s palpable discomfort. All the girls instantly gather around and silence falls for a second.

  “Wow,” I say faintly and Viv gives one of her massive cackles.

  “You can say that again,” she murmurs as we all stare at him lying moodily with his arms crossed over a tight, golden torso. Our gazes fall to the underwear and as one we sigh.

  “Is that photo shopped?” Mabe asks, bringing it closer to her eyes.

  “Oi women,” Charlie shouts from the bottom of the table. “I am hereby ordering you all, and in particular my wife, to move away from that magazine and stop objectifying Marky Mark. Stop looking at his crotch at once.”

  Sid laughs out loud, snorting beer down his nose which makes Lucy squeal in disgust. ”Yes he’s very sensitive. Stop treating him like a sexual object. He has got a brain you know.”

  “Yes,” I say, pointing to the photo. “But from the look of it Sid, that’s down his underwear too.”

  Everyone collapses at that and Bram covers his face groaning. When he emerges he’s got his cool back because his customary piss taking smile is back. “Nell love, any time you want to check out my brain all you’ve got to do is stick your hands down my pants and grab a hold of my mammoth …” His words are stopped by Sid throwing a massive piece of lemon chicken at him and everyone howls again.

  Finally, when we have our composure back Lucy turns meditatively to Sid who instantly looks slightly panicked. “Well if Bram looks like this Marky Mark person.” Sid opens his mouth to explain that he doesn’t actually look like him and it’s a joke, but then obviously gives up because Lucy is hard to shift when she’s set on something. Undaunted she carries on. “If he looks like him then you must know that you really, really look like that actor from the film ‘Lucky Number Slevin’.”