Trust Me (Beggar's Choice #2) (5 page)

I stop him. “That would be
lovely,” I say simply. “If you don’t mind, it would give me great peace of mind
if I knew you were looking after it.”

He smiles at me almost shyly.
“Really? You’d trust me with something that precious?”

I smile softly. “Absolutely, I
would trust you with anything.” I realise that this is the truth. There is
something very steady about him despite his rackety past, and it inspires
trust.

He stills for a second and then
nods almost clumsily. “You don’t know what that means to me, someone trusting
me without demanding proof all the time that I’m okay,” he mutters in a voice
so low I’m not sure that I’ve heard correctly. I open my mouth to say God knows
what but then he shakes off his mood and claps his hands. “Right I’ll get the
others and then we can have a chat and see what we can do with you.” I nod and
watch his world class arse disappear out of the room. Sometimes my job is too
good to be true.

Later on that evening Sid calls
the rehearsal to a close and I sigh in relief easing my way onto a stool in the
kitchenette and accepting gratefully the bottle of water that Bram passes to
me. I’m knackered and hot and sweaty but my body is zinging. Playing the violin
with people that aren’t seven and crotchety is a wonder to me. Playing it with
musicians who know what they’re doing elevates it to a miracle. Bram runs his
hand through his hair carelessly and leans on the counter exchanging nods with
Sid who grabs his own water and then leans against the fridge rotating his
shoulders and looking weary. It’s been a tough session this afternoon and a lot
of work and my voice is a bit hoarse from all the singing. As if he’s read my
mind Sid points his bottle at me. “Make sure you have some hot lemon and honey
tonight,” he orders and I grin.

“Whatever you say boss,” I say
and he smiles tiredly.

“Boss – that’ll be the day,” he
returns dryly and Bram laughs.

A comfortable silence falls
broken only by the sound of Charlie laughing in the other room and then Bram
stirs. I smile slightly because I’ve noticed that he’s congenitally incapable
of sitting in silence. Looking up I catch Sid’s eye and we smirk. “I’ve said it
before but you’ve got a fantastic voice Nell,” Bram says. “It sounds effortless
and it’s so clear and warm.”

“Thank you,” I smile.

“Though I’ve got to say I can’t
see why you’re stuck at the back of the stage when you should be front and
centre. You’re too good for that love,” he muses, unaware of my sudden tension
but Sid is I think because he breaks in.

“You don’t know much about
backing singers do you?” Bram frowns in indignation. These boys would rather
die than admit ignorance about anything. “Some of the top singers in the world
started out as backing singers.” At Bram’s quizzical face he starts ticking
them off on his fingers. “Luther Vandross, Sheryl Crow, Whitney Houston, Dido.”
I stare at him amazed because he’s obviously done his homework but Bram smirks.

“You’ve just proved my point
though mate. None of those people stayed at the
back
. They moved to the
front if they were good.” He smirks at Sid and I hide a grin. Over the last few
weeks I’ve noticed that he and Sid can argue about anything right down to what
day it is. They never seem to tire of heated discussions but also never take
umbrage with each other.

“Actually,” I break in and both
men turn their heads to me. “All backing singers have to be talented. 
It’s quite an art form and harder work than you think. We have to know chords
and put forward ideas. We have to listen for the melody and be able to sing it
without being distracted. We
enhance
the lead singer by making ourselves
under sing
.” The men nod consideringly and I carry on. “Not all backing
singers want front of stage. They’re happy singing at the back. They don’t want
the attention, they just want to sing. I definitely don’t want to be a star,” I
finish and it’s firm because it’s true. The weight of being a star was too
heavy for me before. It nearly broke me and it cost me everything. I’m loving
singing again and I love being on the stage, but I don’t think I can go back to
the way I was before because it’s just not right for me anymore.

Sid interrupts my musing.
“Whatever makes you happy honey,” he says simply and misses Bram’s sharp look
at him. “I’ve got your violin. Are you sure you’re okay with this?”

“Oh yes,” I say thankfully.
“Thanks for taking it.”

“Why are you taking Nell’s
violin?” Bram asks. “Are you considering a second career?”

“Yes, and then I’m going to
become a proctologist just so I can examine you.”

“Ouch, burn. Nell get me an ice
pack,” howls Bram, clutching his side and I laugh.

“Twat,” says Sid affectionately
and then turns back to me. “I’ll bring it tomorrow with my stuff.”

“Okay.” I feel almost reluctant
to let him go when we’ve had a real connection today. “I’ll see you tomorrow
then.”

“Oh,” he says in recollection.
“I’ve just remembered that we won’t need you tomorrow.”

“Why?” I ask faintly.

“We’re doing an interview in the
afternoon and Vanessa’s coming tomorrow. The wardrobe manager?” I nod although
no one has said anything about it. “Anyway she’s in the middle of shopping for
stuff for us for the tour and she wants you to go with her tomorrow to get your
stage gear. She wants you with her so she can get a feel for what you like.”

“Really?” I ask in stupefaction.
“I thought I’d just be wearing my own clothes.”

“No, not those.” He gives a
dismissive laugh. “You
really
need some new clothes.”

Bram freezes with the look of a
man who’d rather be anywhere than here as I visibly tense. Just when we’re
getting on he has to open his mouth. I’d almost managed to push away his
comment about not wanting to fuck me but maybe this is why. “Is what I wear not
good enough for you all?” I ask flatly, feeling horrible. I know I’m poor but
despite them being millionaires I’ve never felt it with these people up until
now.

“No, no,” he says immediately, a
horrified look on his face. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

Bram groans. “Well done Henry
Higgins,” he snorts and turns to me. “You dress lovely babe,” he says with a
practised look at my body that most definitely screams player as it’s so slow
and thorough. Out of the corner of my eye I see Sid stiffen and glare at him,
and then he interjects desperately.

“It’s like a uniform Nell. If you
worked at Marks and Spencers or I don’t know, if you were a mortician, you’d
have a uniform then wouldn’t you?”

I mouth the word ‘
mortician’
and Bram stares at him in bemused hilarity. “God, make it stop - it’s like
watching a train wreck in slow motion.”

“Shut the fuck up.” Sid makes
shooing gestures at him. “Fuck off. I need to talk to Nell on my own.”

He shuts the door in Bram’s face
and we listen to him laughing. “I think you should just stop talking, for the
love of Christ. I’m going to get Charlie so he can stage an intervention,” he
shouts through the door.

Bracing himself against the door
Sid looks at me imploringly. “Please don’t think that,” he says in a low voice.
“You dress beautifully.”

I laugh harshly. “Of course I do.
Sid, everything I wear is from charity shops and has probably had more than one
owner. I know it looks shit but it’s the best that I can do.” I break off with
a gasp when he pulls me sharply to him and I feel for the first time the whip cord
strength of his body and the incredible warmth that he’s giving off.

“Shut up,” he says in a low
voice. “I just wanted you to have some new clothes for
you
. New clothes
make most people feel happy and I wanted you to feel that and feel special when
you go on stage. It’s got nothing to do with you dressing in second hand stuff
because the first time I saw you, you took my breath away. You’re stunning
Nell, and even more stunning because you don’t follow the herd. You dress and
look like no one else and it’s an amazing look on you. Sometimes I can’t stop
looking at you because you’re quirky and beautiful and more real than anyone
that I’ve ever met.”

I gasp and he stops his
impassioned tirade with a somewhat stupefied look. I get the sense that he’s
said far more than he was going to and this is confirmed when he puts me to one
side gently as if he doesn’t quite know what to do with me. “Well …” he says
sheepishly running his hand down his hair and fidgeting.

“You know a few minutes ago I’d
have said that you’d dug a hole so deep there was no getting out of it, but
that was nicely pulled back.”

He smiles faintly. “Are we okay
now?”

“Yes.” I mean it because he’s so
patently horrified by what he said. Silence falls between us until taking pity
on him I shrug on my coat. “Time for me to go,” I say and he agrees with
alacrity.

“Come on I’ll walk you out to the
car,” he mutters and I smile. When he first found out that I was catching the
bus he’d been as horrified as if I was intending to travel by penny farthing in
rush hour. Since then he’d made an open ended booking with a local taxi company
to take me to and from work.

“I really hope you’re noticing my
quirky coat with its quirky holes,” I tease him as he shoulders my violin and
his guitar and takes my bag off me too.

“Oh fuck off,” he groans and I
laugh out loud.

***

Next morning I’m at Charlie’s
house bright and early sitting in his kitchen with Mabe having a cup of tea.
We’re watching Mrs M bustle about making breakfast. She’s wearing a very tight
black and green striped dress with an extremely low cut top, and she’s dyed her
hair a very bright shade of pink. It’s an interesting outfit and one that only
she could carry off, although she does look a bit like an OAP clown. She puts
down her spatula. “Right, I’ve done three packs of bacon and four packs of
sausage and some black pudding. Do you think that’ll be enough?”

“Oh, I’d think so,” I say
faintly. It sounds enough to feed an army to me.

“Well I am feeding that Seth.
He’s a
very
large man,” she says in a horribly coy voice.

I catch Mabe’s eye and struggle
not to laugh. Mrs M starts to bring the food over to the table and I get up to
help her before stopping abruptly. “Are you alright honey?” I ask Mabe who has
turned an interesting shade of green.

“Not really. I actually feel
really crap,” she says faintly. “I think I must have picked up a bug because I
started throwing up last night and I could happily do it again after smelling
that food.”

“You should be in bed,” I say
firmly.

“Who should be in bed?” Charlie
asks, sauntering into the room, his hair wet and combed straight back. “Mabe,
if that’s you I have to say I agree with that command. Mrs M not so much I’m
afraid.”

“Cheeky,” says Mrs M happily.

Mabe makes a face and he stops
smiling. Coming towards her he runs a finger softly down her cheek. “Are you
still feeling shit babe?” At her nod he grimaces. “Get back into bed,” he says
firmly. “I’ll ring work for you.”

“Oh, no don’t do that.” She’s
clearly alarmed, but he makes a dismissive gesture.

“Mabe, it’s me. When have I ever
been rude to your boss?”

“
Really
?” she asks
disbelievingly. “Are we actually going to have this conversation?”

“Okay I’ll give you that. Maybe I
have expressed my opinion politely.” She makes a rude noise and he grins. “Okay
rudely, but in my defence he is a prick. Why don’t you just jack it in? It’s
not like you actually have to work.”

“
Charlie
,” she says
warningly and he throws up his hands in acquiescence.

“Okay, okay. I’ll leave it.”

“I’ll ring if you like,” I offer
and she smiles at me gratefully as does Charlie. He’s so in love with her that
if anyone is nice to her it earns his gratitude.

“Just say you’re me Nell.” She
gets to her feet and then sways slightly. Charlie exclaims and tries to make
her sit down again but she waves him off. “We’ve got quite similar voices and
otherwise he’ll keep you for ages asking for details about me and making it
clear that he doesn’t believe you. It’s easier just to say that you’re me.”
Picking up a pen she scribbles on a sheet of paper that Charlie hands her.
“Here’s the number. His name’s Mr Mason. Thank you so much for doing this
Nell.”

I wave off her gratitude and
picking up the phone and dialling the number I watch as Charlie ushers her out
of the kitchen. I feel a moment’s real envy, not because she has Charlie, but
because she has someone. Someone who cares for her and looks out for her. The
phone rings and then a curt voice answers, making me stutter slightly. “Hello
Mr Mason, it’s Mabel Hudson.”

“Hold please,” the voice says curtly
and nonplussed I find myself listening to a very tinny version of The Police’s
‘Every Breath You Take’. I hear the front door slam and footsteps and voices
coming from the hall, and then Sid, Seth and Bram come into the kitchen
laughing with a blonde haired woman who is slender to the point of extreme
thinness. Seeing that I’m on the phone they hush and settle down at the table.
I surreptitiously check out Sid while absently tapping my foot to the beat of
the ultimate stalker song. He looks windswept and healthy, dressed in a pair of
skinny jeans with a grey v-neck jumper under which I can see the collar of a
white shirt. He kicks his feet up on a chair while he speaks in a low voice to
Bram and I crane my neck to see that he’s wearing half laced, battered old
biker boots. I’ve noticed that he tends to favour a battered preppy look that
really suits him, and I run my eyes appreciatively over him until I suddenly
become aware that the blonde woman has noticed what I’m doing. Caught out I
offer her a humorous mock grimace, but she just gives me a poker face and turns
back to the men.  The way my luck is running I just know that she must be
Vanessa, and I’m going to be spending the day with someone who looks very much
like a snotty bitch.