Hubert shifted beside them and Jude turned in surprise. She’d almost forgotten he was there for a second. ‘I’m sorry I couldn’t leave you anything that day on the promenade,’ he said. His cheeks flushed, and he looked down at the counter. ‘I didn’t have any change, or I would have stayed even longer. But let me get you a drink now, to make up for it?’ His cheeks flushed even more, but he managed to raise his head to meet her eyes, and Jude felt that same zing go through her. It felt like he was really looking at her, as if he really saw her . . . not like countless other men, who only saw her chest.
‘I’ve already got her one,’ Frank said, gesturing to the beer in front of Jude. Hubert’s face dropped and Jude squeezed his arm, thinking that, for brothers, they couldn’t seem more different. And while, normally, she’d be more drawn to Frank’s brash confidence and their musical connection, Hubert’s quiet, calm demeanour was so soothing. Already, after only one minute in his presence, she could feel herself relaxing, her insides unwinding.
‘You know, I am quite thirsty after all that singing,’ she said. ‘I’d love a gin and tonic, too.’ Actually, she’d never had a gin and tonic, but she liked the way it sounded.
Hubert met her eyes, his smile returning. ‘Coming right up.’
Hubert ordered her drink and Frank pushed back from the bar, telling her he needed the loo. Jude watched him go, both glad and anxious that he’d left them alone – she was itching to find out more about his ties with the music industry, but she was also desperate to talk to Hubert. Frank would be back again, she told herself, and she’d have plenty of time to chat to him about the music industry. Right now, she wanted to get to know this man in front of her.
She sipped her gin, enjoying the cool, woodsy taste in her mouth and wondering what to say. Usually, she could talk for hours about anything, not caring what she came out with. Men only listened to her with half their brain, anyway. But there was something about Hubert which made her want to weigh up her words, to not throw them at him like he wasn’t important.
‘Do you ever go by Hugh?’ She cringed. She’d been thinking for a minute about what to say, and that was what she came out with? But Hubert just shook his head.
‘No. But Frank calls me Bertie sometimes,’ he said. ‘Says Hubert sounds like an eighty-year-old at a church picnic.’ He laughed. ‘You can always trust my younger brother to tell it like it is.’
Excitement leaped up in Jude again. If that was true, then Frank really must think she was good.
‘Can I call you Bertie, too? Hubert just seems so . . . formal.’ She bit her lip, hoping he wouldn’t take offence, but Frank was right. Hubert was better suited to an eighty-year-old at a church picnic.
He smiled, an endearing lopsided grin. ‘I’d like that.’ He stuck out a hand. ‘Bertie McAllister. Nice to meet you.’
Jude placed her hand in his, loving how his fingers closed firmly around hers. ‘Jude. Jude Morgan. Lovely to meet you, too.’
The bell rang for last orders, and Frank grabbed Bertie by the arm. Jude bit her lip, hoping they weren’t about to leave. ‘I don’t know about you two, but I’m famished. Let’s grab something from the chippie and eat it down on the beach. Come on.’ He charged off towards the door, and Bertie shook his head.
‘Sorry about him,’ he said, smiling and rolling his eyes in the same exasperated way Jude was sure Carolyn did about her sometimes. ‘He comes across a little strong at times. I’m the typical older brother, always trying to rein him in.’ Bertie paused, uncertainty flashing across his face. ‘Do you want to come and get a bite to eat with us?’
Jude nodded. She could never eat before a show – if you could call this a ‘show’ – as singing on a full stomach was torturous. She was ravenous now, and even though she usually spurned the greasy chippies at all costs, she could murder some hot, steaming, crunchy battered fish.
But that wasn’t the real reason, she knew. The real reason was that she wanted to spend more time with Bertie. And, afterwards, have a chat with Frank and pump him for information. It wasn’t often – okay, it wasn’t ever – that she ran into someone who knew anything more about music beyond the dire pop songs the local radio station played.
‘Let’s go, then.’ Bertie held out his hand, and she followed him into the dark night. Usually, she hurried home as fast as she could along the promenade to Carolyn’s, rejecting Carolyn’s plea to call a taxi but never feeling one hundred per cent safe, either. Now, with Bertie clutching her arm, she let herself relax and breathe in the summer air. The city was quiet on a Monday night, except for the laughs of punters leaving the pub behind them. She stood on the promenade and stared out at the sea, marvelling at the vastness in front of her. She shivered, leaning back against Bertie.
‘Here we are.’ Frank appeared, clutching huge paper bags already soaked through with grease. ‘Come on, let’s sit down by the water.’
They picked their way through the rocks and over to the sandy stretch, plunking down on the soft sand. The tang of the salty air made the fish and chips taste miles better than she ever remembered, and she devoured her meal.
‘So, is this your first time in Hastings?’ she asked Bertie, who was trying to eat his fish and chips without making a mess. She couldn’t help smiling at his futile attempts.
Bertie nodded. ‘Yes. I came to visit Frank.’ He gestured to his brother, who was now paddling in the sea. ‘He moved down here to help build . . . something or other.’
Jude’s heart sank. Frank was a builder? Had he been lying to soften her up?
‘He mentioned to me that he worked in the music industry?’ She couldn’t keep the hope from her voice. Perhaps she’d been an idiot, but she’d wanted to believe that someone who knew something thought she was good.
‘He’s done some work setting up for bands on tour and in pubs, that kind of thing,’ Bertie responded. ‘It’s a hard industry to get regular work in so he does other odd jobs when he needs to, but his heart is really in the music scene. He says it’s where he wants to be, so he takes whatever comes his way.’
Jude nodded. She could certainly understand that. And while Frank may not be an industry bigwig with loads of contacts, it sounded like he did have a little experience. He’d been around professional musicians; he knew what it took. If he thought she was good, it carried some weight.
Enough about Frank. Jude forced her thoughts from the future and smiled at Bertie. ‘What about you? What do you do?’
‘I live in Edinburgh,’ Bertie said, and Jude’s heart dropped. Edinburgh? That was miles away! But it didn’t matter, she told herself. It wasn’t like she was about to dive into a relationship with this man. She barely knew him. Anyway, she had other things she wanted to do.
Things like moving to London and getting started on her dream.
‘And I work as an accountant,’ he said, making a face. ‘Not the most exciting job, I know, but I like it. There’s something about working with numbers that just makes me feel . . . like everything is okay. Like the world is a sane, solid place, instead of all this craziness.’ He laughed and shook his head. ‘I know that sounds strange.’