‘Maybe I’ll swing by,’ I said, both of us knowing I wouldn’t. I said goodbye and put down the phone, then stroked Dolby again as I stared out the window. The blue of the sea stretched out to meet the azure sky, forming an endless space. I let it blur before me, ordering my brain to echo its emptiness.
The advert flashed into my mind again, and I shook my head. Seeing those words had reminded me how much my mum had hurt me; of how she’d betrayed my absolute trust. She wasn’t with me. She was dead – we weren’t celebrating her life, blowing out candles like my colleagues had with Siobhan. I didn’t want to commemorate my mother, either. She’d forfeited any right to that by choosing to die.
I padded to the bathroom and hopped into the shower. I turned up the hot water, concentrating on the stinging sensation of my skin as it turned an angry red. I waited for the warmth to filter into me and my body to relax, but somewhere deep inside – a place I tried to identify but couldn’t – something was twisting and turning, its sharp edges niggling like a tiny splinter I could feel yet couldn’t see.
A good night’s sleep, I thought. That’s all I needed. Come tomorrow, everything would be fine once again.
CHAPTER FIVE
JUDE
August 1980
‘I’ll be back right after the break.’ Jude did a low bow and forced a bright smile at the ten or so people not watching her perform in the pub. Hell, she could probably do a striptease and they’d still stick their noses in their drinks, preferring swilling beer to watching a real, live performer – even one who was taking off their clothes, not that she’d ever resort to that.
She sighed as she ordered her usual water from the bar and sat down in the corner, telling herself once again that every chance she got to perform was practice for London, where there’d be a million and one girls like her clamouring to perform. Still, singing jazz on a Monday night to punters who looked like they wouldn’t know good music if it hit them upside the head was a tough go.
One more set, she told herself, and then she’d be out of here. Carolyn would be waiting up for her, like she did every night, even though Jude was twenty now. Sometimes, although her sister was only eight years older, she acted like she was closer to fifty than to thirty. Jude had hoped Carolyn would loosen up once she’d met her now-husband Rob, but he was just as bad as her. The two of them never went out, saving every single penny for the old dump they planned to move into and do up. Jude planned to be in London before that ever happened.
She was about to put down her drink and head back to the ‘stage’ (the area furthest from the telly, so people could also watch the match – thankfully, there was no competing game on today) when two men came into the bar. Her eyes widened and a thrill went through her. One was the man who’d watched her on the promenade for ages last week, the one where she’d felt that strange little spark of electricity whenever her eyes met his. He was with a younger bloke who looked more like her usual kind: floppy long hair, dark jeans, and a T-shirt showing off his muscles. She couldn’t help smiling when she noticed that the man from the promenade hadn’t exactly dressed for the pub – it was like he hadn’t brought the right wardrobe for a holiday. Despite his stiff white-collared shirt and trousers, she felt that same zing of attraction when she looked at him. Had he felt that, too, or had it all been in her mind?
The manager of the pub gestured her to the stage, and she sighed. Hopefully, the man would stay long enough for her to find out this time. She went to her little corner and picked up the mic, straining to make out where he was with the blinding lights the manager had so helpfully switched on for her. She launched straight into ‘Summertime’, the song from the promenade when she’d first noticed him. He’d seemed to like that then, so maybe he’d stick around now, too.
She couldn’t see anything but she sang every song – every note – for him, hoping he was just as entranced as he’d been a few days ago . . . hoping her music had managed to capture him once more. After thirty minutes, she smiled, said thank you, and ducked out of the spotlight, sweeping her eyes around the bar as her heart pounded. Please may he still be here.
She let out a little snort to quell the butterflies inside. He was just another man, she told herself, and for all she knew, he could have the world’s worst BO or breath that would kill you. There was no need to get so worked up.
‘Hey.’ A male voice at her side made her turn, and she was smiling before she made out who it was. It had to be him. But her heart dropped when she saw it was his friend, the bloke in the tight T-shirt. Up close, he wasn’t quite as good-looking as she’d thought: his swarthy skin was pitted with acne scars and his eyes were a little close together. But even if he’d been an Italian film star, she didn’t care. He wasn’t the one she wanted to talk to. Where had the other bloke gone?
‘Hi.’ She craned her neck, trying to spot him.
‘You’re a really good singer,’ he said, leaning even closer. ‘And I should know. I’ve worked in the industry.’
Jude’s pulse picked up pace, and she felt her cheeks redden as happiness swirled inside. He worked in the industry and he thought she was good? She thought she was okay, but no one who knew anything had ever complimented her on her singing.
She opened her mouth to say thank you, but before any words could emerge, he put a hand on her arm. ‘Can I buy you a drink? Let me buy you a drink.’ Without even waiting for her to answer, he’d signalled to the bartender and ordered her a beer.
She raised her eyebrows, grudgingly admiring his confidence. It took a lot of guts not only to assume she’d say yes, but to make an executive decision on what she’d drink. She didn’t really like beer, but she didn’t want to offend him. He thought she was good! She held the thought in her mind, repeating it over and over as a little thrill ran through her. An industry professional thought she was good. What exactly did he do in the industry? she wondered. Did he know anyone in London?
The man lifted his arm, interrupting her thoughts. ‘Hubert! Over here!’ He smiled down at Jude. ‘I’m Frank. And this is my brother, Hubert.’
Jude’s heart lifted as she took in the man from the pier. Finally, here he was. Thank God she hadn’t lost him.
‘Hi.’ Hubert smiled, and she loved how his whole face changed from sombre to sunny. ‘I saw you on the promenade the other day. I love how you sing, and that song . . . the one about summer . . . it was brilliant.’
‘Clever choice, too. Ella Fitzgerald is always a crowd pleaser,’ Frank said, and Jude felt a pang of delight that he’d complimented her not only on her singing, but also on her savvy selections. ‘Most people recognise her songs, even if they don’t know her name, and once the music starts, you can’t help but sing along.’ He hummed a few bars of ‘Summertime’, and Jude nodded enthusiastically.
‘Exactly!’ she said, thrilled to have someone who understood how hard it was choosing the right music to keep people engaged. ‘And she’s such a musical icon. I can only hope that, one day, I’ll be half as good as she was.’
‘Keep singing like you did tonight and I’d say you’re on the way.’ Frank raised his beer and excitement leaped inside her. If an industry insider thought that, maybe she did have a solid chance of making it, after all.