by Leah Mercer
‘Right, I’d better go adjust that speaker,’ Frank said now, jumping to his feet, ‘before it blows. Up for another drink tonight after the show?’
Jude bit her lip. The band had invited her out for a meal at the fish and chip shop down the one village road. She’d hoped they had asked Frank, too, but apparently not. ‘Um, I can’t tonight.’
‘Right.’ He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. ‘Maybe tomorrow. Catch you later.’
‘Later.’ Jude watched him go, guilt swirling inside. He was the very reason she was here – if he hadn’t got Mike to come to the pub that night, she’d never have been invited on tour. She’d make an effort to hang out with him more, she decided. He was going to be her brother-in-law, after all.
‘Jude, good work tonight.’ Mike sat down beside her and she smiled over at him. She’d been so nervous around him at first, scared to say the wrong thing to someone who had so many connections in the industry. His professionalism and interest in her music had put her at ease, though, and she was eager to take every opportunity to learn as much as she could.
‘I’m really impressed with you,’ Mike continued, and Jude felt her cheeks flush. ‘If you keep improving like this, I think you could go far.’
Jude couldn’t help a huge smile growing on her face. ‘Thank you. That’s so good to hear.’
‘So, look. The band has been invited to play at a festival in Budapest this August, and we’d all like it if you could open for them there, too,’ Mike said. ‘It’ll be a huge step up for you, but I think you’re ready.’
‘A festival? In Budapest?’ Jude couldn’t stop the words from tumbling out. ‘That sounds amazing!’ Only one thought held her back: August? The same month as her wedding? ‘Um, do you know when in August?’ She felt silly asking – Mike was probably wondering why she hadn’t screamed out ‘yes!’. ‘It’s just . . .’ Her voice trailed off as she remembered the reason she’d been on this tour in first place was because Mike had originally booked a singer with a husband who didn’t want her away for weeks at a time. Bertie wouldn’t be like that, but she didn’t want to give Mike any reason to doubt her commitment.
‘They’re playing the evening of the thirteenth. Friday, I think.’ Mike laughed. ‘Unlucky day, if you believe in all of that.’
Jude managed a grin, despite the knot in her stomach. Friday the thirteenth – the day before her wedding. Unlucky, indeed. How could she be in Budapest the night before and make it back to marry Bertie the very next day? Who took off to play in a music festival on the eve of their wedding, when they should be trying on veils and dreaming of bridal bouquets?
Was it possible to delay the wedding, maybe? They may have booked the church, but apart from that not much else had been done. It wasn’t like she’d sent out invitations or anything. What harm would it do to change the date? She bit her lip, picturing Bertie’s crestfallen expression. He’d been so looking forward to it – they both had.
‘So you’re in?’ Mike met her eyes. ‘If this goes well, it’ll open up lots of doors for you, I can guarantee it. I might even be able to get you some gigs of your own.’
Jude gaped at him. Mike might take her on; promote her? How could she turn this down?
‘I’m in,’ Jude said, her stomach churning with a strange concoction of excitement and guilt. It wasn’t like the wedding wouldn’t happen, she told herself. It was just that it wouldn’t happen on the original date. She’d find a way to explain it to Bertie.
Somehow.
CHAPTER THIRTY
ELLA
When the sun filtered through the blinds on my window and Dolby started her usual meowing and morning calisthenics, I opened my eyes. Later this afternoon, the newspaper article would appear up and down the country. Someone who knew my mother might see it. Today, my mother might see it. That sounded so surreal, and the now-familiar anger leaped up again. God, I couldn’t wait to tell her what I really thought of her. I knew now that the past would stay within me; that I couldn’t hide from it. My mother had left me, and I’d ached for ages. Rejecting her wouldn’t change that, but it would feel bloody amazing.
After returning from Rob’s last night, I’d debated whether or not to call Bertie and tell him about the article. I had mentioned him, after all, and Bertie would be thrilled. But as much as I wanted to talk to him and Angus, I couldn’t bear for them to think I was doing this because I’d forgiven my mother. I couldn’t be further from it.
I sat up in bed and looked at my watch: six o’clock. Still hours to kill until the article came out. I went through my usual morning routine, patted Dolby on the head, then stepped out into the cool morning. Fog swirled around me and I hurried along the promenade to the museum.
I was just about to eat my lunch when my phone rang. My brow furrowed when I noticed Rob’s mobile number. Like Carolyn, he treated mobiles with the suspicion most people reserved for lawyers.
‘Ella,’ he said, and his tone was grave. ‘I don’t want you to worry. Everything’s going to be okay. Carolyn had a scare, but—’
My breath caught. ‘What do you mean, a scare?’ I paused, taking in the background noise. He definitely wasn’t at home. ‘Where are you?’
‘We’re at the hospital,’ he said, and I froze.
‘The hospital?’ I jerked back from the desk. ‘What happened? Is she okay?’
‘You know she’s been having problems with her blood pressure,’ Rob said. ‘Well, she was on her way back from the conference this morning when she had a bit of trouble – some chest pain and trouble breathing.’
‘A heart attack?’ I could barely catch my breath.
‘Yes, according to the ECG,’ Rob said, and suddenly I felt weak, like the ground I’d been standing on had caved in. ‘They’re going to do an operation to insert a stent and let the blood flow better to her heart. She’s just about to head into surgery.’
‘I’m coming right now,’ I said, getting to my feet and shrugging on my coat. ‘I’ll be there in ten minutes.’
I hurried to Jane’s desk and told her why I was leaving, too worried to care who overheard me. What did it matter if my work colleagues knew my aunt was in hospital? Soon, they’d know everything about my history – if they didn’t already. I took a deep breath at the thought of the article coming out later today. In the face of Carolyn’s surgery, I couldn’t muster up the same anticipation . . . or the anger I’d felt earlier.
I grabbed a taxi to the hospital then followed the signs through the labyrinth of corridors to the cardiac unit. A nurse showed me to the waiting area, and I hurried inside. Rob was staring at his phone, looking so out of place in the wooden chair that couldn’t be further from his comfy perch at home.
‘Hi,’ I said in a quiet whisper. Rob gave me a tired smile and stood, and before I knew what I was doing, I put my arms around him. I could feel his surprise, but he hugged me back. His embrace was warm and comforting and, despite my shock, I let myself sink into it for just a second.
‘I’m glad you’re here,’ he said.
‘Me, too.’ I settled into a chair. ‘What exactly happened?’ I asked, thinking getting him talking would be a good way to distract him. ‘Did she just start having pains out of the blue? Did they call an ambulance straight away?’
Rob met my gaze, and I could see there was something he was debating telling me.
‘What is it?’ I asked.
‘Ella . . . why didn’t you tell us you were trying to find your mother?’ His voice was soft. ‘That you still believe she might be alive?’
My mouth dropped open. ‘How did you—’ My voice stopped as Rob handed me his phone and I took in the Facebook post titled ‘Help Me Find My Mother’, accompanied by my dour-looking work photo.
Oh, God.
I hadn’t even thought of the possibility that the article might appear on social media before the paper came out. Theresa’s mention of social media had barely made a dent, since Carolyn and Rob weren’t even on Facebook – well, until now, anyway.
So how the hell had they come across it?
I grabbed the phone and clicked the link. The article popped up on screen, complete with a huge photo of my mother, followed by the one of me. I scanned the text, running my eyes over the familiar detail of how my mum had disappeared when I was only five, how my search had started with the classified advert, how Bertie was looking for her, too, and then . . . My heart twisted as I read the questions I’d told Theresa last night: how I’d ask my mother why she couldn’t always be here like she’d promised, and if she’d ever wondered what her leaving might do to me. Printed so starkly in black and white, they seemed drained of their anger and so pathetically plaintive.
‘One of the teachers at Carolyn’s conference saw the post on Facebook, and she recognised you. Carolyn read the article, and she was a little . . . surprised.’
My heart beat fast as guilt flooded through me. Had she had the heart attack because of this? Because she’d seen the article? I’d thought she’d simply dismiss the notion that her sister could be living, but maybe she hadn’t. Finding out my mum might be alive would be a shock – a dangerous one, given her heart condition. Tears filled my eyes as I realised that, in my drive to find my mother, I may have risked losing the woman who’d acted more like a mother to me than my real one ever had.
The woman who’d wanted to give me her heart, if only I could have accepted it.
My chest tightened as I remembered the day Carolyn and Rob had sat me down . . . I must have been about twelve? I could tell by their expressions that this was something serious, and fear had rushed into me. Had something happened to my mum? Were they going to say she was never coming back, after all?
Carolyn had slid into the chair next to me – the same chair she’d sat in to tell me my mother was missing that morning, although I was sure she didn’t remember – and said that she and Rob would like very much to adopt me, if I would let them. Not to replace my mother, of course. She realised they could never do that. But to a be a family of our own now.
I’d stared into my aunt’s slate-grey eyes, the eyes that were exactly the same colour as my mother’s but surrounded by wrinkles my mum had never had. Carolyn squeezed my hand and I looked down, noticing her fingers were laced through mine. I hadn’t even realised she was holding my hand, and before I knew what I was doing, I yanked it away.
‘My mother’s coming back,’ I said, the words leaving my mouth in a voice I didn’t recognise. ‘Mum will be here for me again. I know she will.’
Carolyn darted a glance at Rob, who shook his head and shot her a warning look not to push things. Before either one could say any more, I lunged up the stairs. I don’t know why, but for some reason I paused at the top and looked down. Rob was cradling Carolyn in his arms, and I could tell by her heaving shoulders that she was sobbing. I flung myself on to the soft, fresh bed and pulled the duvet over me, wanting to stay hidden there for ever. It would have been so easy to say yes. It would have been so easy to fall into a ready-made dream family unlike anything I’d ever had: a mum, a dad, a perfect house.
But I couldn’t let go of Mum. And by the time I had, they’d never brought up adoption again. I’d walled myself off, and Carolyn had backed off, too.
That must have been so hard for my aunt, I realised now. She’d wanted nothing more than a child to raise, and she’d got it. But she hadn’t got the part she’d really wanted: my love. I wished I could have reached out to her and let her in. I wished I’d be able to.
I waited for the anger to flood through me again, but instead all I felt was sadness. Sadness, and a realisation that, even though I’d believed my makeshift defences had managed to block the past until I’d come across that advert, they hadn’t really. The past had shaped everything I’d done; every decision I’d made. From holding myself back from my family, to my job, to my lack of friends and relationships, the life I was living now was a result of my mother’s abandonment. Her leaving had become entwined with me as I’d grown. It had affected me from day one.
Was there anything she could say to explain why she’d left; how she could have done this? For the first time, I wanted to find her not just to get rid of my anger, but to talk to her. Her leaving was a part of me, and although I may not ever be able to forgive her, maybe I could give her a chance to speak so I could start to understand . . . start to understand myself, and how to move forward.
First, though, I needed to be there for my aunt.
‘I’m sorry,’ I said, meeting Rob’s gaze. ‘I should have—’
Rob held up a hand. ‘It doesn’t matter, Ella. The important thing is that you’re here. The important thing is that we’re together.’
I nodded, feeling for the first time that we really were.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
JUDE
May 1982
Jude couldn’t believe the tour was finally over – that she’d sung her final show tonight. The past six weeks had been magical, and this week had topped them all: just a couple of days ago, Bertie had come to York to see them perform their best show ever. She’d introduced him to the band (surprisingly, they’d all got on amazingly well), and he’d sat with Frank as she sang, sweeping her up in his arms with a huge hug when she finished her opening act.
God, she’d missed him, and when she’d waved him off the next afternoon after they’d spent all morning in bed making love, she’d felt like someone had cut off a limb. Being with Bertie had reminded her how much she loved him and how much she belonged with him. Spending time together had been so wonderful that she hadn’t wanted to sully it by telling him they’d need to change the wedding date. What was the point, when she’d be home next week?
Better to have that conversation in a familiar environment, with no time constraints, she’d told herself, although she really knew she was putting it off. She couldn’t stand imagining Bertie’s hurt expression when she told him the reason they’d need to move it: that she was putting her musical career over their wedding. Because even though she wouldn’t phrase it that way, that was what it really boiled down to, didn’t it? It was selfish and it would hurt him, and yet she couldn’t say no. She needed to do this.
It was just this once, though. Just this once, and then they’d have all the time in the world to get married. She bit her lip. Wouldn’t they? What if they set the date again, and something even bigger came up – a gig, like Mike had said; another tour; another thing she couldn’t possibly say no to. What would happen then?
One step at a time, she told herself. God, she was really getting ahead of herself.
A knock on her hotel room interrupted her thoughts, and she ran a brush through her hair. The band had asked her out for a final meal at a posh restaurant downtown that was staying open late just for them. Her stomach rumbled, and she slid a hand down to her belly. God, she was starving.
‘Sorry, I just— Oh.’ Her voice stopped as she spotted Frank lounging in the doorway, holding a beer.
‘Brought you a drink,’ he said, holding out a beer towards Jude. He didn’t even wait for her to take it before barging into the room and collapsing on the bed. Inwardly, she groaned. The band was probably out front waiting and, to be honest, the last thing she wanted was a drink with Frank. Over the course of the past few weeks she’d tried her best to hang out with him when she could, but his stories that used to make her laugh bordered more now on nasty than funny. More than often, he was cracking ‘jokes’ at the band’s expense, and she didn’t want to laugh at her friends.
‘That’s really kind,’ she said, still standing at the door. ‘But I have to get going.’
‘Yeah?’ Frank said, slurping her beer. ‘Where?’
‘Um, just—’
Frank laughed, but he didn’t sound happy. ‘Don’t worry. I know you’re all off for a meal. Well, all but me. Doesn’t matter, I didn’t want to go anyway. Stuck-up bunch of tossers.’ His tone was so bitter it was almost unrecognisable. Frank’s comments might be caustic at times, but he’d never soun
ded like this before.
Jude smiled awkwardly.
‘You can stay for a quick drink with me, right?’
Jude sighed, reminding herself that he’d got her this tour. ‘I suppose so. Just a quick one, though.’ She sank down on the bed beside him, the only place in the small room to sit. The space was silent except for the buzz of the bar below them. The more Frank drank, the more bitter he became, spewing venom against the band, Mike, and anyone else who’d ever dared cross him. Jude shrank away from him, thinking if she’d known he would be like this – that he could be like this – she’d never have agreed to stay.
‘My brother’s a lucky guy,’ Frank said, and Jude tensed. She could take a lot from Frank, but she couldn’t take him slagging off Bertie. ‘Always has been. Got the good job, the house, the girl . . . I’ve got shit.’
‘You’ve got him,’ Jude said. ‘You know he’ll help you if you need it. And when this job is over, I’m sure you’ll find something.’ She looked at her watch, then out the window, where she could see the band gathered in the car park, waiting. ‘I’m really sorry, but I’ve got to get going.’ She debated inviting him along for a second, but in his current state, he’d be more likely to offend than endear himself.
‘Well, okay then,’ she said awkwardly, when Frank didn’t budge from the bed. ‘Hope you have a good night.’
Frank put a hand on her thigh, and Jude stared down at it in surprise. What the hell? He was drunk, but not that drunk. Was he?
