by Leah Mercer
Frank understood, probably because he had some experience. He knew how things worked and he’d been incredibly supportive, telling pub punters of her Thursday night sessions and coming back to Bertie’s with her from their city-centre pubs, giving her a chance to try out any new music she’d written that day. Bertie was usually already upstairs in bed by the time they got there, and although they tried to be quiet, inevitably the volume would grow as the hours passed. No matter how dire she believed her music was, Frank would always praise it. He’d tell her over and over again how talented she was; how people would want to listen to something new by an unknown singer, because her songs were just that good. Bertie was encouraging, too, but he had nothing to compare her to. Frank knew the industry; knew other singers. She could believe him when he said it.
They’d laugh and joke for a while after she finished singing, trading stories about their day at work. Being with Frank was a release after the silence at home and the cacophony of the pub. She was grateful to Frank for his help, but sometimes she wished that she could spend this time with Bertie . . . that Bertie could give her this.
She cringed, remembering the time Bertie had interrupted one of her late-night sessions with Frank. They’d been guffawing about some poor bloke whose trousers had caught on a bar stool and been yanked down when he tried to get off. Frank had been re-enacting the scenario, and Jude had been almost hysterical with laughter when Bertie’s voice drifted from the staircase above them.
‘Would you mind keeping it down?’ Bertie had stood there, rubbing his eyes with a cross expression on his face. ‘I’ve got an early start tomorrow.’
‘Oh, sorry, honey,’ Jude had said, clamping a hand over her mouth. ‘Go back to bed. We’ll be quiet.’
She and Frank were silent for a minute before Frank shook his head. ‘God, no wonder you’re in no rush to get married,’ he said. ‘He acts like he’s about ninety, hey? Better get ready for a quiet life. I don’t know how you haven’t self-combusted with boredom already.’
Jude had just rolled her eyes, pushing aside the reality that she had been near self-combustion. There was no need to even think of that now – now that she was singing again; that she had a reason to write. People actually wanted to listen to the music she floated out into the air, and whenever someone approached her after the show, humming the tune and asking if they could get a copy of it, her heart soared.
The bedroom door had slammed shut then, and Jude raised her eyebrows as her heart sank. Had Bertie overheard his brother? Did he think the reason she hadn’t set the date was because of any doubts about him? It had nothing to do with him. It was just that everything was back in colour again. She felt alive in a way she hadn’t since moving here. Guilt swept over her that she was more excited about singing in a pub than marrying the man she loved.
Bertie had been quiet the next day – quieter than usual, anyway, and fear had swept through Jude. Singing was important to her, but so was he. She didn’t want to give him any reason to doubt her. So, she’d decided to set the wedding date: 14 August. She’d never seen Bertie so happy. He’d been straight on the phone to book that week off work, and he’d stopped by the travel agents to pick up some brochures to look at honeymoon destinations. He’d given her a huge wedding-planning journal so she could get started. After all, he’d said smiling, August was only a few months away and the summer months booked up fast. They’d need to secure a church quickly. His enthusiasm had been infectious, and she’d found herself looking forward to their big day, too.
But now, once again, something else had eclipsed her excitement. Last night, Frank had told her he’d heard that a big-name music promoter was scouting around pubs in Edinburgh these days, and word had it he might come to theirs next Thursday. Frank was going to do his best to make sure the guy came round. Jude had leaped up and thrown her arms around him in excitement. She’d let him buy her a drink as they talked about her song list and what she might sing. Frank knew her repertoire as well as she did now.
She’d raced home, eager to tell Bertie, but of course he’d already been tucked up in bed sound asleep. And the next morning, he’d been out the door to work before she even stirred, since she’d been way too excited to sleep until late. How could she even think of sleeping when this might be her big break?
‘I’ll be up in a second,’ she told Bertie now. She did love him. There was absolutely no doubt in her mind about that, but there was plenty of time for wedding planning . . . It was only February, right? Bertie might think summer was just around the corner, but August was ages away yet. This was her chance to begin her music career in earnest, and she’d stay up as late as she needed to in order to knock this song into shape.
Bertie would be asleep again in seconds, anyway.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
ELLA
I dragged myself through the following days, awakening each morning feeling more exhausted than when I’d gone to bed. I’d been tired before, but this was different. This echoed deep inside of me, reaching right down to my very core – a fatigue which sprung from maintaining a defensive position 24/7. I couldn’t let myself feel angry again. I couldn’t let myself feel, full stop. Asleep or awake, I was constantly monitoring my internal landscape, fearful something might slip through. Carolyn kept calling and Lou kept texting, but I didn’t respond. How could I deal with the outside world when I was only just managing to keep a grip on myself?
One morning when I opened my eyes, they felt like sandpaper, my head was pounding, and every muscle in my body ached . . . and I was glad. Glad for a reason to curl up in bed all day. Glad to shut myself away, even from my beloved job. Glad that I didn’t have to force my muscles to move just to make it through the day, trying to reach the end.
Was this how my mother had felt? I wondered. I shook my head so hard that fireworks exploded behind my eyes. No. I didn’t need to wonder. I didn’t need to know anything about her or how she’d felt. My body might have surrendered, but my soul hadn’t.
I was dozing on the bed, off work for the second day in a row, when the mobile phone jolted me awake. My arm reached out and answered, acting on autopilot before I could stop it.
‘Ella.’ Bertie’s voice echoed down the line, and my heart started beating so fast I felt light-headed. Had they found her? Nausea swept through me, and I bit back a groan. I didn’t want to deal with this. I wouldn’t deal with this. I didn’t want to be rude to Bertie, but—
‘I wanted to give you some time before I called,’ Bertie continued, before I could say anything. ‘I hope you don’t mind, but Angus told me about your last conversation and that you don’t want to try to find your mother.’
‘That’s right,’ I said, my voice emerging scratchy and hoarse. I sat up, mustering the energy to tell Bertie, in a way he couldn’t fail to grasp, that I was done. ‘I don’t want to see her. I don’t need to know why she left. All that matters to me is that she did.’ Anger spurted through me, and I put a hand to my fevered cheeks, taking in deep breaths to calm down. I was fine. I didn’t know what I was saying. It didn’t matter to me that she left.
‘I understand.’ Bertie’s kind voice made my eyes ache with the pressure of tears, and I rubbed them furiously. I wouldn’t cry. I hadn’t cried for years, and I wasn’t going to start now. God, what was wrong with me? The anger leaped up again, growing in strength.
‘But, Ella, the past is behind us,’ Bertie continued. ‘I don’t have a lot of time left in the life that I know. I don’t have time to hang on to anger, or pain, or upset. I don’t want to make time for that. If I have a chance to see Jude again before I fade, then I’m going to do everything I can to make that happen.’
A loud knock at the door interrupted his words, and I jerked in surprise. Who the hell was that? Had my neighbour resorted to non-technological tactics, or had Carolyn finally got fed up with my lack of response?
‘Are you okay in there?’ Lou’s voice filtered through the door, and I put the phone on mute, not wanting Ber
tie to hear. ‘Haven’t heard you for a while. Everything all right?’
‘I don’t know if we’ll find her, and I don’t know what will happen if we do,’ Bertie was saying. ‘Maybe she wasn’t reaching out. Maybe she won’t want to see me. It’s a risk, like anything in life. But what’s the other option? To shut down and eke out the rest of life in my shell? That’s not living, either.’
Another hard knock shook the flimsy door. ‘Ella? You okay?’ Bang, bang.
‘Ella?’ Bertie’s voice buzzed from the handset. ‘Ella, are you still there?’
‘Ella?’ Bang, bang bang.
‘Leave me alone!’ The shout burst from me before the words had even formed in my mind. I got to my feet, shocked at my outburst. I never raised my voice, let alone yelled. Where had that come from? Lou’s footsteps faded as she retreated, and I put a hand to my throat, my heart pounding. Emotion was boiling up inside of me, swirling faster and faster. I took a few steps, uncertain where I was going but unable to resist the urge to move. The room swung around me and I struggled to stay upright, feeling like everything both inside and out was quicksand, shifting and sucking at me.
My hand reached out, yanking open the blinds. I squinted at the light glinting off the sea as the realisation rushed into me. I’d been wrong, and Bertie was wrong, too. The past wasn’t behind us, and it could never be laid to rest. The past was within us. We could barricade ourselves from the outside world as much as we liked, but it would still be there, lying dormant, just waiting for a chance to break into our lives again.
Until I’d seen that advert, I’d been perfectly fine living in a shell, like Bertie had said. And for the past few days, I’d done everything I could not to disturb the emotions I believed I’d put to rest, even turning down a huge step forward at work. But it didn’t matter. It would never be enough, because I could never outrun myself . . . and what my mother had done to me. And all it had taken was one advert, with those ten little words.
Those ten bloody words.
Fury exploded inside, a volcano of rage so powerful my muscles shook. I breathed in and out in time with the waves of the sea, anger pouring from me like hot lava. If my mother wanted to be found, I’d find her. I’d find her and tell her exactly what I thought of her reaching out. I’d say that she should have stayed dead, that I preferred her that way. She’d chosen to leave me, and now it was my turn to choose to leave her.
I unmuted the phone.
‘I’m still here,’ I said to Bertie, my voice strong now. ‘I’m here, but I have to let you go.’ Bertie and I might both want to find my mother, but we were on completely different tracks. I didn’t want to hear about love, about last chances. I wanted to vent, to blast this blackness inside of me.
‘All right.’ His voice was soft. ‘Goodbye, Ella. I’ll keep in touch.’ And before I could ask him not to, he clicked off.
I stared out to sea again, feeling more alive than I had for years. My walls were down. My heart was open – at last. But unlike Bertie, I wasn’t full of love. I was full of fury, and I was ready to attack.
God, it felt good.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
JUDE
March 1982
‘He’s here!’ Frank poked his head into the small back room where Jude was getting ready for her gig. She turned from the mirror, where she was piling on yet more mascara. Under the pub’s drab lighting, she looked half-dead unless she trowelled on the make-up.
‘Who’s here?’ she asked, her mind spinning through her playlist. ‘Bertie?’ She’d been trying to convince him to come out tonight and relax after a particularly busy day at work, but he’d been exhausted and begged off. Again.
‘Mike Fanning! The music promoter!’ Frank rolled his eyes as if she was an idiot.
But Jude didn’t even have time to respond to his tone with a quick quip, like she usually would, because her mouth was open in shock. The promoter had finally showed up? After Frank had mentioned him a few weeks ago, Jude had spent every minute preparing, and every second of her sets scanning the audience for someone who looked vaguely like they belonged to the music industry, whatever that was. The wedding-planning journal lay empty, buried now under piles of sheet music topped with empty coffee mugs. But as the days went on and no one appeared, Jude started to wonder if the promoter was ever going to turn up.
‘Oh my God.’ Her heart beat fast at the thought of the promoter waiting out front to see her. This was it. This was her chance to meet someone who could help get her started . . . someone with connections. A steely determination filled her, and she ordered herself to relax. She wouldn’t blow it. She’d grasp on to this for all it was worth.
And one hour later, she knew she’d done everything she could. She’d chosen the best songs to show off her voice, which had glided from her like it was pouring from her soul. She’d barely even noticed the time passing as she slid from one number to the other, the audience shimmering before her like a mirage. And when she finished and stepped back from the mic, applause swelling like a wave, she had that glow inside that came from knowing she’d sung exactly as she’d wanted, unsullied by the technicalities of her throat or other physical constraints. No matter what happened now, at least she’d given it her all.
But oh, how she wanted it. Wanted whatever the musical promoter could offer. Wanted something to help her start reaching for her dream.
‘Jude?’ Frank’s voice made her turn. ‘There’s someone here who’d like to meet you.’
‘Hello.’ A small, wiry man about her height held out his hand, and Jude tried to conceal her surprise. She didn’t know what she was expecting, but it wasn’t someone like him. He was probably in his mid-thirties, with hair like a steel brush and dressed all in black. God, no wonder she hadn’t been able to spot him in the audience. ‘Mike Fanning. Nice to meet you. I enjoyed your singing.’
‘Thank you.’ Jude tried her best to look calm, but her heart was hammering so much she was sure the man could see her chest heaving.
‘Frank here has been trying to get me to come by and see you for weeks now,’ Mike said. ‘And I have to say, I’m glad I did.’ He paused and Jude scrabbled for something to say, but all she could come up with was a nod.
‘Look, I’ll cut right to the chase,’ Mike said, and Jude could hardly breathe. ‘I have a band I’m taking on a tour of Scotland and the north of England next month. They’re the next break-out band, I’ll tell you that for nothing. Really fantastic. We had an opening act lined up, but she’s just bailed.’
Jude couldn’t make a sound. Her eyes were trained on him as if he was the only thing in the world.
‘I like your sound. I like your look, and I think you’d be perfect to come on tour with us.’
‘I’d love to!’ The words burst out of her almost before he’d finished his sentence, and Mike chuckled.
‘Well, that’s fantastic. But do you need to take some time to think about it? Any job you need to sort out before you commit? A boyfriend or husband or someone you need to clear it with?’ He let out an exasperated sigh. ‘I can’t be doing with a repeat of the last girl. She dropped out after her husband decided he didn’t like her being away for weeks at a time.’
Jude shook her head. ‘No, no husband.’ She caught Frankie’s sidelong look, and felt her defences rise. Well, it was true: she didn’t have a husband. Not yet, anyway, and Bertie wouldn’t dream of stopping her from doing this, she was sure. Besides, the wedding was still ages away, and they wouldn’t be leaving for the tour until next month. She’d get as much done as she could before heading off. How long did a wedding take to organise, anyway?
‘Well, it all sounds perfect, then.’ Mike smiled and held out a hand again. ‘Welcome on board. I’ll be in touch to nail down all the details and send you the contract. I look forward to working with you.’ He turned to Frank. ‘And to working with you again, too. Good night.’
‘Good night. And thank you!’ Jude called out. She watched him go in silence, barely able to be
lieve what had just happened.
‘I’m going on tour!’ She needed to say the words aloud to make it real, in case the whole thing disappeared. ‘Frank, I’m going on tour!’ He lifted her up and swung her around, then set her down on her feet.
‘What did Mike mean, working with you again, too?’ she asked when the room stopped spinning and she’d caught her breath.
Frank grinned. ‘You’re not the only one going on tour. I’m going to be hitting the road with you guys, too. I’ve worked with Mike in the past as a kind of roadie – setting up the gear, doing sound checks, a general dogsbody, really. And while, normally, I couldn’t be arsed doing all that shit again, I think Mike is right. This band is going places, and if I get in with them now, it’ll pay off.’
‘Oh, brilliant.’ Jude grinned. As excited as she was about going on tour, she was also a little nervous about pulling off a successful opening act – the only thing she’d ever opened for was a football match on telly. Having Frank around would be a great boost to her confidence. He believed in her. ‘But what about the pub?’
Frank shrugged. ‘They’ll find someone. Anyway, I’ve stayed here too long. I’m ready for a change.’ He shot her a look. ‘Aren’t you going to call Bertie now and tell him the big news?’ He glanced at the clock. ‘You’re back on in ten minutes.’
‘I’ll tell him when I’m home,’ Jude replied. She wanted to see his reaction to her big news in person. He’d miss her, of course, but she had no doubt he’d be happy for her . . . and pleased that Frank would be along to keep her safe and out of harm’s way. Bertie was happy that she was singing at Frank’s pub for that very reason.