Trust Me (Beggar's Choice #2)
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Authors: Lily Morton
Trust
Me
A Beggar’s Choice Novel
Lily Morton
Books by
Lily Morton
Beggar’s Choice Series
Promise Me
Trust Me
Text Copyright© Lily Morton 2015
Cover Image: PeopleImages at iStock by Getty Images
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places
and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, or are used
fictitiously.
References to real people, events, organisations,
establishments or locations are intended to provide a sense of authenticity and
are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locations,
organisations, or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced,
scanned or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission,
except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. Please purchase only
authorized
editions
The author acknowledges the copyrighted or trademarked
status and trademark owners of the following products mentioned in this work of
fiction: Nike, Adidas, iPod, Vans, Converse, Audi, Kindle, Ralph Lauren,
Burberry, The Sun, Element, Marks and Spencers, Harvey Nichols, American
Express, People Magazine, Waldorf Astoria, Beverley Hills Wilshire, Starbucks,
Shutters on the Beach
Lyrics used – Elbow’s ‘One Day Like This’ written by Guy
Garvey, Elbow and produced by Craig Potter. All songs, song titles and lyrics
mentioned in the novel are the property of the respective songwriters and
copyright holders.
For my three boys –
love you always
Contents
And
all the roads we have to walk are winding
And
all the lights that lead us there are blinding
There
are many things that I would
Like
to say to you
But
I don’t know how
Because
maybe
You’re
gonna be the one that saves me
Oasis
‘Wonderwall’
“Wake up Nelly. It’s time.” My
brother’s words that had woken me up from a deep sleep this morning echo in my head
as I race into the trendy hotel in Camden, out of breath and horribly, horribly
late. Spotting the reception desk I skid to a stop attracting the immediate
attention of a very beautiful receptionist who has long, dark hair and a dewy
complexion, which unlike mine, has definitely not been caused by breaking the
one minute mile in biker boots and a short dress. She exchanges a speaking look
with the other blonde receptionist and promptly curls up her nose as if I
smell. Actually, taking into account the distance that I’ve just run flat out
due to the bus being late, she might have good reason to do this. “Can I help
you Miss?” she asks in a beautifully modulated, if cool voice. I take another
breath into my air starved lungs and attempt to inject a note of control into
my voice.
“Yes please, I do hope so. I’m
here for the backing singer auditions. Could you please point me to where I
need to go?”
The woman’s face creases in a
superior way. “You’re very late Miss. I think the auditions are over now.” She
leans over in a condescending way. “These sort of professional people do demand
a modicum of organisation and respect you know. You might try and remember that
for the next time.”
Letting out a breath I
deliberately reach for control. I really can’t afford to lose out on this
audition. “Wow that’s very good advice,” I counter coolly. “Thank you so much
for that moment of life coaching – I feel like we’ve really bonded. Now, do you
think you could possibly ring the people concerned and find out from
them
whether I’m really too late?”
She looks at me for a second and
when I maintain my level, don’t fuck with me stare she exchanges a long
suffering sigh with the other girl and raises her eyebrows. “I’ll find out
Miss. Please wait here.” She gets to her feet and straightens her tight, black
pencil skirt. The blonde girl stirs.
“Freda, you don’t have to go over
to the room. They’ve got a phone in there – the extension’s 1128.”
“No Lucy,” my exquisite torturer
drawls. “I’ll go over, it’s easier.”
I smirk and roll my eyes. I bet
it’s easier, more like easy on the eye. The boys from the band Beggar’s Choice
are notoriously hot so I bet she’s been over there every chance she’s had. Not
that I’m interested. They’re from a world I deliberately withdrew from three
years ago and it’s with extreme reluctance that I’m skirting its boundaries
again, but I remind myself that this time I haven’t got a choice. I have to get
this job. When she disappears from sight I take a second to check my appearance
in the mirrored pillar near the desk under the disapproving eye of the blonde
girl. Under my black pea coat I’m wearing a short, black and pink flowered,
chiffon dress over black opaque tights with my trusty battered, lace up biker
boots. My hair still takes me by surprise as it’s now a bright, fire engine red
rather than the long brunette locks that I spent years seeing in my reflection.
It’s growing out from a crop and is now in a chin length wavy bob which looked
sleek when I left home, but now just looks windswept and messy. My face is
still too thin making my cheekbones look too sharp and my lips overlarge, but
at least my cheeks have some welcome colour in them and I bite my lips to
redden them so they’re not so pale.
A tapping of heels interrupts my
inspection and announces Freda’s return. She’s looking very flushed so someone
from the band is obviously still there. I don’t think she’d raise a blush for a
roadie. Turning to me with a mock sorrowful look she sighs. “I’m so sorry but
you
are
far too late Miss. The last person to audition left over an hour
ago.”
“But they’re still there aren’t
they?” I ask, too desperate now to have any pride. “Surely they can spare a few
minutes?”
She leans towards me smirking
slightly. “I don’t think they will. Sid Hudson, the guitarist you know?” She
pauses questioningly and I sigh loudly and gesture to her to continue because
obviously I know who he is. I don’t think there’s a spare vagina in England
that doesn’t know him. “Well he said that perhaps you should invest in a watch
or an alarm clock,” she relays with a little giggle.
I don’t know whether she
genuinely takes pleasure in another woman’s misfortune, or whether working in
this trendy abode has worn her down, but she is definitely way too happy for
someone who is in customer service about telling me this. A few years ago I
would have eviscerated her with my words but that girl died three years ago. I
don’t have the time or energy nowadays. However, I do still need this job
desperately and as if summoned my chance arrives. Out of the corner of my eye I
see a middle aged couple approaching. They have a huge mound of luggage and she
has a very demanding upper class voice so instantly the two girls’ attention
shifts to them and I seize my opportunity. Edging past them I skirt the
outskirts of the room and move towards the room that Freda emerged from. A
porter eyes me suspiciously but I move purposefully and he turns away as I
reach the door and opening it edge inside.
It’s darker in here so I stand
still for a second blinking to allow my eyes to get used to it. It’s a large
room with a huge, wooden dance floor on which are a load of instruments which a
portly man in jeans and a Beggar’s Choice t-shirt is slowly packing away. I
move towards him only to hear an amused voice with an Irish lilt come from the
side of me.
“Help you love?”
I turn to see a wooden
table on which is leaning the unmistakably fine figure of Bram O’Connell the
bass guitarist of Beggar’s Choice. His backside is resting on the table and his
fingers are beating time on the wood to some tune in his head. He unleashes the
power of his famous smile on me, all dimples and white teeth in his tanned face
and I blink slightly.
“I’m here for the auditions,” I
say slowly.
“Ah now love that might be a
problem,” he says and I hear a snort come from the other side of him. Moving
sideways a step I can now see that there’s someone else sitting at the table.
Another step and I see the unmistakable form of Sid Hudson. He’s kicking back
on his chair with his long legs propped up on the table. He’s looking at
something on his phone, and he obviously doesn’t pay attention to smoking laws
because he has a cigarette hanging out of his mouth and a stream of smoke
coming out of his nose. I cough slightly and wave my hand in front of my face
and without looking at me he smirks and blows out another stream of smoke, his
lips almost pouting. Prick! Remembering Bram I take off my cross expression and
paste an ingratiating smile back onto my face.
“I know I’m a bit late.” I begin,
taking off my coat so they can’t immediately throw me out.
“A bit?” comes Sid’s deep, rough
voice. “Auditions finished an hour ago sweetheart. If you can’t make
these on time how the hell are you going to be on stage on time?”
Ignoring him steadfastly I turn
back to the more approachable figure of his bandmate. “I’m so sorry,” I
continue as if his friend hadn’t spoken, and Bram smirks. “The bus was late and
I’ve run for a mile to get here.”
“Should have moved a bit quicker
then,” comes the muttered voice again.
“I’m sorry,” I say curtly. “I
can’t hear what you’re saying through that cigarette.” Picking up my dropped
smile I paste it back on again and turn back to Bram who is starting to look
very entertained. “As I was saying I’m sorry I’m late but I’m here now. Could I
possibly sing for you very quickly?”
“Instruments have been packed
away now,” Sid offers happily and still he hasn’t looked at me, focusing
instead on his bloody phone and tapping away with one long finger. The man is
seriously starting to fuck me off.
“I don’t need instruments. I’ll
just sing if that’s okay?” I offer to Bram.
“Can’t hurt,” he says, turning to
his bandmate. “What do you think Sid?”
“Whatever,” comes the careless
reply and I feel my face flush with rage. A few years ago people were paying to
hear me sing and now I can’t give it away.
“Fine,” I say snappily, throwing
my coat over a chair and rolling my sleeves up. I tap my foot to get my beat
and then point a finger at Sid. “This one’s especially for you Mr Hudson,” I
say and launch into the opening verse of Lily Allen’s ‘It’s Not Fair’. By the
time I get to the chorus and I’m singing about him being no good in bed Bram is
openly laughing and looking at Sid who has at least put his phone down and
there’s a slight smile playing on his mouth. Then I throw myself into the song
and really let go, and suddenly the atmosphere changes and both men focus. Bram
straightens up and Sid slowly lowers his feet to the ground and sits forward,
his attention now solely on me. I look at him clear of smoke for the first time
and blink because he’s even more beautiful in person than his photos let on.
His hair is collar length, shiny and a dark conker brown, and it frames a face
with high, flat cheekbones and full lips. He’s rocking rough stubble which is
almost a beard, his skin is a lovely olive colour and he stares back at me his
gaze considering. I come to the end singing the final line about all he does is
take and the room falls into silence, broken only by the sound of clapping from
the roadie behind me. I turn round and curtsy, mockingly holding out the skirt
of my dress and the man laughs. “Bravo!” he shouts, kissing his fingers to his
mouth. I smile feeling that old familiar rush that comes when you please people
with your voice. In the old days it would have been thousands of people
cheering, but now I’ll settle for one portly roadie. I turn back to the two men
and find Bram smiling widely.
He claps his hands together.
“That was fucking brilliant. You can certainly sing love. What do you think
Sid?” and he turns to his friend who is staring at me unblinkingly.
“I know you from somewhere,” he
says slowly, his eyes a deep piercing blue which remind me of the colour of the
Cerulean Blue crayon from my Crayola box when I was a kid. My heart sinks. I
don’t need this now.
“I don’t think so,” I say
quickly. “We’ve never been introduced. I’m sure you’d have remembered me.”
Bram laughs but Sid still stares
at me and I fidget uncomfortably. “Phil Walker sent me,” I offer. “I’ve done
some radio jingles for him and I’ve been a session singer for a few years.”
Bram snaps his fingers in
recognition. “The marmalade girl. I knew I recognised your voice. I fucking
love that advert.” I smile and nod in acknowledgement because the tune and
lyrics that I wrote for the advert are seriously catchy, not to mention they
paid our rent for a few months. However, Sid is still staring at me as if the
diversion hasn’t worked for him.
“What’s your name?” he asks
suspiciously.
I stare at him challengingly.
“Nell Slater.”
He smiles slightly and I blink.
“Your mum a fan of history and orange sellers?” I look at him quizzically and
he shifts slightly as if it’s embarrassing for a rock star to know his history.
“Nell Gwynn,” he offers in a low voice and I take pity on him.
“Alas no. She was more a fan of
the Beatles. My full name’s Eleanor after the lonely dead woman in the Lennon
and McCartney song. But it’s usually Nell, not Eleanor and never, ever Nelly.”
He smiles full out at that and my
unruly heart skips a beat at the beauty of his face.
Stop
it
I
tell the organ crossly. I turn back to Bram who is looking at Sid carefully, a
smile playing on his lips. “Well?” I ask, grabbing my coat and pulling it back
on.
He looks at Sid again. “We’ll let
you know love. We’ve got to talk to Charlie and Seth first,” he says, naming
the other boys in the band. He offers me a piece of paper and a pen. “Write
down your details and I’ll call.” I lean forward over the table and he whistles
under his breath. I look up to find him blatantly looking down my top. Caught,
he offers me an unrepentant smile. “I’ll definitely call,” he says smoothly and
I roll my eyes, but his attention has already been distracted by Sid who shifts
suddenly in his chair and catches my hand when I offer the pen back.
He looks up at me intently. “You
haven’t asked about why we need a singer.”
“I was getting to that,” I say
crossly, endeavouring to pull my hand free of his vice like grip and trying to
ignore the tingles from where our palms meet. He holds it for a second longer
and then lets go slowly. I resist the impulse to rub my hand down my leg. I
look at him but at that moment his phone beeps and just like that all his
attention is gone from me, and it’s such a concentrated thing that it’s almost
as if the sun has gone in. Cursing myself I decide that this job might be a bad
thing after all. I turn back to Bram. “So tell me about it?” I offer and smile.
He sits back on the table and
shoves some papers aside. “We’ve got a new album out and instead of playing the
big arenas we’ve decided to go back to the beginning and play smaller venues.”
“Why?” I gasp. This is a band
that sold out a fourteen night residency at the O2 Arena in under 15 minutes,
two years ago. “You’ll be losing shitloads of money.”
He smiles, looking slightly
embarrassed. “Love, we already have more money than we’ll ever spend. What we
want now we can’t buy, and that’s the chance to play small again. It’s an
amazing feeling being that close to the audience, makes it all seem real and
just more, somehow.”
“I know,” I say smiling slightly
and forgetting myself. Sid suddenly looks up, focusing on me, and I realise
that he’s been paying attention even while being on the phone. Wow a man that
can actually multitask and it’s my misfortune to meet him.
“You know?” he asks sharply, and
I shift uncomfortably.
“Yes,” I say simply and before he
can ask me any questions I turn back to Bram. “So you’re going small again.
That’ll be interesting. You don’t normally have backing singers though do you?”
