by Leah Mercer
‘Look, I can’t begin to understand what you went through,’ Angus said. ‘But you must have some questions. You must have things you want to say, stored up all through these years. God knows there’s plenty I’d say to – and ask – Steph even now, if she’d talk to me. If your mother is alive, well . . . maybe this is your chance to do that. Maybe this is your chance to finally put everything to rest.’
‘I’ve already put everything to rest, Angus,’ I said, and I meant it. Seeing the advert might have stirred something within me and propelled me forward on this unexpected journey, but I was done now. Finished, and that was that. Whatever Bertie chose to do now, it wasn’t any of my business.
‘Please tell Bertie that I wish him the best of luck in the future, okay?’ My voice was hoarse. ‘It was lovely meeting you both.’ My heart squeezed at the thought of not seeing Angus again, but I couldn’t. He was caught up with all of this, and I was desperate to put it behind me.
‘Ella, wait. I—’
I hung up. There was nothing more to say, anyway.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
JUDE
November 1981
Jude swiped her cloth over the bar for the millionth time since she’d opened the pub earlier that day. It was almost four in the afternoon, and in one more hour – thank God – she’d escape this dive and walk the short distance home, where Bertie would be starting dinner and humming along to one of the jazz tapes she’d brought by the armload when she’d moved in.
She sighed and surveyed the half-filled room. She’d taken this job at the city-centre pub in the hope of getting on the roster for their weekend music nights, but after three months all she’d managed to develop was an impressive array of skills to deflect men’s wandering hands and an ability to jog their memories when it came to paying for their pints. She’d spoken to the manager every week and handed him no fewer than three of her precious demo tapes – even stooping to singing every Scottish classic under the sun – and each time he said that while her voice was ‘fantastic, baby’, their schedule was full up until next month. Then the next month, he’d say the same thing.
At least it was something to do besides hanging around the house all day, not that anyone here was providing scintillating conversation . . . unless you counted jokes about Dolly Parton’s bra size as scintillating. Jude should be using the time to think of her wedding – of setting a date, at the very least. Already it had been over six months since Bertie had proposed, and although they both agreed there was no hurry (they’d need to save every penny, anyway), Bertie was keen to have a confirmed date they could start to plan around. Jude knew that Carolyn would help financially, even if she and Rob were throwing everything they had into doing up their house. But Carolyn still didn’t know Jude and Bertie were even engaged. Jude was clutching that piece of information closely to herself, as if by telling her sister she’d let reality intrude on her neat little bubble.
But she had to admit, reality was starting to intrude, no matter how much she tried to keep it at bay. After basking in the post-engagement glow for a few weeks, drifting around the house in a happy daze, picturing herself in wedding dresses and buying almost every wedding magazine available to womankind, the urge to get out and sing had filtered in again – to feel alive in a way she never did any time else . . . not even with Bertie, if she was being honest. He was loving, attentive and kind, and she was excited to marry him. But that didn’t fill up the longing inside whenever she thought of herself onstage, singing into the darkness.
I’ll get there, she told herself, unable to think of any other alternative. She just had to keep putting herself out there, trying to be in the right place at the right time – even if that place was a dingy pub in a city she’d never dreamed of living in before. Everyone had to start somewhere. And once she got her foot in the door of the pub circuit here, she’d be singing every night, she was sure. It would happen . . . she just didn’t know when. She’d keep plugging away, and maybe . . . maybe she would sit down with Bertie tonight and they could choose a date for the wedding. At least organising it would fill the hours while waiting for a gig.
She bit her lip, her mind spinning. They’d need more time to scrape some money together, and Bertie still had to save up for a ring, so maybe . . . next summer? A summer wedding in Scotland when everything was green and all the flowers were in bloom would be perfect, just magical. Because of course they would get married here, where they lived. The thought of Hastings and the cold wind whipping in from the sea made her shiver. She was sure Bertie would agree.
The last hour of her shift flew by, her mind full of images of what dress she would buy, where they could hold the ceremony, what sort of cake they would have . . .
‘Oh!’ Jude jumped as someone put a hand on her shoulder.
‘Hello, stranger.’
She turned to spot Bertie’s brother, Frank, smiling at her from across the bar. What was he doing here? Bertie hadn’t mentioned he’d be coming home, but then . . . Jude bit her lip, remembering when Frank had rung last month for yet another ‘emergency transfer’ because none of the banks in Spain were working. Jude had managed to bite her tongue the first and second times it had happened . . . but not the third. It was the only time she and Bertie had had a real argument.
‘He’s taking advantage of you,’ Jude had said, wanting to protect her kind, generous fiancé. ‘We could be using that money for our wedding.’ Jude hadn’t been in any rush, but she’d known that would resonate with Bertie. Besides, it was true.
But Bertie’s eyes had flashed in a way Jude had never seen before. ‘You don’t know what it’s like to have to take care of someone,’ he’d said, and Jude’s mouth had dropped open. Take care of someone?
‘Frank’s not a child, for God’s sake,’ Jude snapped back, her body going tense. ‘He doesn’t need taking care of – and he shouldn’t need your money.’
As quickly as Bertie’s anger had come, it seemed to fade away, and his long, lean frame sagged on the sofa. ‘I’m sorry,’ he’d said, squeezing Jude’s hand and sighing. ‘It’s just . . . well, when it comes to Frank, I feel responsible.’
‘But why?’ Jude asked, holding his steady gaze.
‘It goes back to when we were kids.’ Bertie sighed again. ‘Frank was always getting into trouble, even in primary school. Our father was very strict, and, well . . . let’s just say that he had no problem punishing us, with his hands, a belt . . . whatever he could find. Frank got the worst of it, growing up – he was always in and out of the headteacher’s office.’
‘That’s awful,’ Jude murmured, tucking herself up against Bertie. She couldn’t imagine growing up with a father like that. Her own dad had been full of cuddles and laughter.
‘Anyway, when I moved out to go to university, I decided it would be best if Frank came with me. He was about to be excluded from school and I thought a fresh start away from our father would do him good.’
Jude nodded slowly. What a weight for an eighteen-year-old to take on. Her mind had flashed to Carolyn, and for the first time it hit her that her own sister had shouldered a tremendous responsibility at a very young age as well.
‘I worked part-time while studying to support us, and I got Frank into the local secondary school,’ Bertie continued. ‘But things didn’t get better. They got worse.’ His face twisted. ‘I just couldn’t hold it together: Frank, my school, my job . . .’ He shook his head. ‘Frank dropped out. I managed to scrape through my degree. And my father . . . well, he hasn’t spoken to either of us since. I know he blames me for ruining the family – for ruining Frank. And he’s right.’ Bertie cleared his throat. ‘If I’d done a better job with him, or maybe if I hadn’t taken him away from our father, then perhaps Frank would have finished school. Perhaps he might have a life, rather than going here, there and everywhere, doing whatever work he can find.’
‘Or perhaps things could have ended up exactly the same . . . or even worse.’ Jude had nestled closer to Bertie. ‘Lo
ok, Carolyn did everything she could to keep me on the straight and narrow, too,’ she’d said. ‘But ultimately, I made my own choices. Frank did, too. And if he wants to change his life, I’m sure he will. He’s lucky to have an older brother like you.’ Did Carolyn beat herself up the same way Bertie did? Jude had wondered. It struck her suddenly how much her older sister was like the man she was about to marry: not only were they the same age, they were both also solid, caring and responsible. Those weren’t bad things, but the realisation made her a little uncomfortable. She’d balked at those with Carolyn. Would the same be true with Bertie?
Of course not, she’d told herself, pushing away the notion. Bertie was . . . Bertie. He might be like her sister in some ways, but they were miles apart in others – in the ways that really counted. Bertie believed in her dream, and he wouldn’t try to change her. And she loved him. She wanted to marry him. She would marry him. Now that she understood his allegiance to Frank, that would eliminate the one thing that caused tension between them. Everything else was smooth sailing. What more could she ask for?
‘Hi!’ Jude tore herself back to the present, focusing on Frank. The scent of his cologne filled the air, taking her back to that night they’d first met. God, it seemed ages ago. Back then, she’d been free as a bird and about to start her life in London, and now. . . For just a split second, regret needled her before she pushed it away. If she’d gone to London, she wouldn’t have Bertie.
‘When did you get back in town?’ she asked. ‘Would you like a drink?’
‘I should be buying you a drink.’ Frank leaned in, his dark eyes twinkling. ‘I hear congratulations are in order!’
Jude blushed. ‘Yes, thank you.’
‘I gotta say, though, I was a little surprised,’ Frank said. ‘Not at Bertie – he’s been ready to settle down and have kids since forever. I didn’t peg you as that type, though. Thought singing was your thing.’ He shrugged. ‘Anyway, congrats.’
Jude forced a smile, despite feeling like she’d been punched in the gut. Settle down and have kids? God, she’d barely got her head around being a wife. Was Bertie expecting her to get pregnant soon? They’d never talked about it, but then they’d never talked about marriage before he proposed, either. She was only twenty, she told herself. They had plenty of time. She had plenty of time to get things started before even thinking about children. Bertie would support her, she was sure.
‘How is the singing going, anyway?’ Frank asked, as if he’d tapped into her thoughts.
‘It’s not.’ Jude sighed. ‘I’ve been trying, but I haven’t been able to line up any gigs. It’s hard when you don’t know a soul in the city.’
‘Well, you know me.’ Frank flashed a smile. ‘Maybe I can help.’
Jude’s ears pricked up and hope flashed through her. Perhaps he could finally point her in the right direction. He was from here, he’d worked in the industry, and there must be some help he could give her. Right now, she’d take anything. ‘Really? That would be great.’
Frank nodded. ‘I’m back here for the next few months and I’m going to be working in a new pub that’s opening just around the corner. I know the manager, and I’m sure I can get him to book you in for a night, if you like? No need for a tape or an audition, of course. I’ve already heard you sing, and you definitely have what it takes.’
‘You think so?’ Jude couldn’t help asking. After months of trying to break into the music scene, she’d started to wonder if maybe it wasn’t just down to luck or being in the right place at the right time. Maybe she didn’t have the talent, after all.
‘Absolutely.’ Frank’s tone rang with certainty, and a smile grew on her face.
‘That would be amazing, if you could talk to the manager. Oh, thank you!’ She came from behind the bar and stuck out a hand. ‘Thank you so much.’
Frank brushed her hand aside. ‘What’s this? Come on, you’re going to be my sister. Give us a hug.’ He opened his arms and she came from behind the bar and stepped into them, her heart racing with excitement. This could be the break she needed. Once she was in, everything would go from there.
‘I’ll keep you posted,’ Frank said. ‘I know where to find you. Now, how about that drink?’
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
ELLA
I threw myself into my life with a fervour, religiously observing all the routines I’d created for myself – the neat boundaries I found so reassuring. I rose at the same time each day, ate the same packed lunch, hurried home along the promenade with my chin down, and ignored any outside intrusion . . . including my neighbour’s texts to go out and Carolyn’s increasingly incessant calls. I hunkered down inside myself, constantly on guard against any rogue thought or emotion that might slip through. I meant what I’d told Angus – I had put everything to rest – but I needed to be extra-vigilant now. I couldn’t let myself slip backwards, especially not with the possibility – no matter how slight – that my mother might be alive.
Not that it mattered, I reminded myself. Not that I wanted anything to do with her, anyway.
I had my headphones on and my eyes fixed on the screen when a cough right beside me made me look up. Jane was standing there with a friendly smile. I barely managed to repress a sigh, sliding off my headphones.
‘Hi, Jane,’ I said, trying to keep the irritation from my voice.
‘Sorry to disturb,’ she said. ‘But I have an exciting proposition for you. We’re putting together an exhibition to celebrate the new pier, and I’d like you to curate it. I think you’re the perfect person. You’ve been here for years and you know the archive like the back of your hand. “Sounds of the Pier”, we’re going to call it, and we’ll set up sound stations, complete with photos of the old pier and the new one.’
I shifted in my chair, excitement leaping inside. Curating an exhibition was a huge responsibility, and only Jane had spearheaded them before. Her offer was a sign that she trusted and respected my work, and a thrill of pride went through me.
‘As well as selecting all the sound files, you’ll also need to meet with Marketing and liaise with a photographer and the Hastings librarians. I’ve also arranged a meeting in London with some people at the British Museum, who’ve just done something similar. They’ll be able to talk you through their process and give you some ideas . . . Would you be up for that?’
The British Museum? I drew in a breath, my pulse quickening. After all these years, could I finally be getting the chance to go there again – not as an overawed student this time, but as a colleague? My mind spun as I imagined talking to the experts about my plans, learning from them, seeing behind the scenes—
But . . . my heart dropped as reality filtered in. London. That meant leaving my safety zone. That meant going to the city where there was a chance – no matter how big or how small – my mother now lived. Could I face walking down streets, trying to stop myself from scanning every profile, like I had on that trip to Europe so long ago? Could I stand being in the same city as her, yet not letting thoughts of her consume me every second? My mother was dead to me, and I wanted to keep it that way. I wanted to keep her tucked away, out of my life – out of my mind.
‘It’s a chance to get out from behind this cubicle; to meet some new people and really interact,’ Jane was saying. ‘You’ve been stuck down here for ages, and I don’t think we’ve made full use of your skills. I think you’re ready.’ She smiled encouragingly. ‘What do you say?’
I swallowed. Every inch of me was straining to say yes, and yet I couldn’t do it. I’d believed I’d been safe before, and all it had taken was one little advert to throw me off. After the upheaval of the past few weeks, I couldn’t take the risk; couldn’t deliberately put myself in harm’s way. I had to stay within my own four walls, both inside and out. I needed all my energy, all my resources, to keep my life on track.
I shook my head. ‘I can’t. I’m really sorry, but I can’t.’
‘All right.’ Jane’s eyes narrowed slightly, but her face
was neutral. ‘Well, I’ll let you get on with your work, then.’
She turned and walked away. I put my headphones back on, disappointment thudding through me. I’d done the right thing, I told myself. I had to protect myself. There would be other projects; other opportunities.
But it didn’t ease the sting. It didn’t calm the sudden anger flaring inside. If my mum was dead to me, then why was she affecting the decisions I made now? I gritted my teeth, forcing the question away – forcing the emotion away. I didn’t want to feel. I didn’t want to let anything to do with my mother touch me.
I turned the volume on the monitor as high as it would go, staring at the screen in front of me. Just stick to your world, I told myself. Just keep within yourself and soon, nothing from the past will be able to reach you.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
JUDE
February 1982
‘You coming up to bed?’ Bertie leaned over the spiral staircase, and Jude jerked towards him from her spot on the sofa. She’d been miles away, working on a new song to sing next Thursday at the pub where Frank worked. Ever since he’d got her booked in a couple of months ago, Thursday had been her night – and her audience had been growing steadily every week. She’d been so nervous the first time she’d sung there, but the crowd had been small and Bertie’s encouraging smile had given her confidence, reminding her of the night he’d found her again in the Hastings pub. Finally, months later, she was performing once more. She’d bitten her lip at the thought of all that wasted time . . . time she could have been using to reach for her dream.
But of course it wasn’t wasted, she told herself now, smiling up into her fiancé’s eyes. She had Bertie. She was engaged to be married . . . if she ever got around to setting the date. She’d been so busy lately, getting ready for her gig, then singing, then writing new songs, that any earlier thought of holding the wedding next summer had been pushed to the back of her mind. They’d stayed there, despite probing questions from Bertie about when they would tie the knot. It was obvious Bertie was more than ready – like Frank had joked, he’d probably been ready since he was born. And she wanted to get married, too. Of course she did. But couldn’t Bertie see that she had to pour everything into this opportunity; try to build her audience as much as she could? It’d been hard enough to get her foot in the door in the first place, and who knew how long this gig would last?