by Clare Revell
House parties. The first step on a slippery slope that had changed everything and send her life hurtling in a direction she’d never have chosen in a million years, but one that, despite everything, she wouldn’t change parts of for anything.
Eleanor sighed and pushed her hands though her hair. If only I could turn back time, and change what happened, but I can’t. What I need is a way to change the present. Put right the wrong I have done, the wrong we’ve all done. I can’t do that either. There is no way out of this mess. Fallen beyond hope of redemption into a hole and I’m digging myself deeper every moment. My life is just one lie after another and I hate it. I wish…I wish I could find salvation, but even that is prohibited.
God had turned His back on her, and she deserved it.
2
Patrick waited at the door to the nightclub and looked at the text on the phone in his hand. Stood up at the last minute by his brother, Liam, who’d decided to stay in and watch football instead, he now had two choices. He could either call Shay, or sit in the club alone like the lonely bachelor he was and hope his cover wasn’t blown.
Not that Liam knew he was going to be the cover story for being here tonight. If he had, he’d never have agreed to come in the first place. His brother had made it perfectly clear he was a teacher, not a spook and had no intentions of pretending to be one again. No matter what the reason.
What was this singer’s name? Lisa something. Lisa Bellamy, that was it. According to Liam, who kept raving on about her, she was the best soul singer around.
He sighed. Normally when he frequented clubs and bars he was undercover and usually with Shay by his side. Tonight she had some social engagement, so he’d “planned” a guy’s night out with his little brother, a rare occurrence since Liam had fallen in love with Jacqui, but as she’d given him his brother back, he’d forgiven her. Liam really wanted to hear this singer in person. And now he’d shied off at the last moment.
What should he do? Ring Shay and ask her to come, assuming she could just duck out of this other engagement? Or was he really that afraid of being alone and ‘on the shelf’ as Niamh put it, that he’d forgotten how to have fun by himself. He chuckled to himself at the thought. Time was he preferred to work alone and had fought tooth and nail about having Shay assigned to him. Now he preferred her being at his side, and not just on these assignments. Of course, there was a safety net there, too. Shay was a very happily married woman. And he was… alone.
Loud music poured from the open door, the thud of the bass vibrating in the still night air. A large purple and green neon sign proclaimed the name of the club, which was incidentally the same as its address: HC1. The letters reflected off the rain spattered windscreens of the cars and puddles on the ground.
Sliding the phone into his jacket pocket, he made a decision. He was here and wired and it would be a waste of resources otherwise. He moved over to the door and showed the bouncer his “driving license.” Not that he looked under twenty-one, but rules were rules. He put it away, making sure it went in the opposite pocket to his actual ID. The last thing he wanted was to whip out the wrong one and break his cover.
Patrick winced as he entered the club. The noise level increased in volume threefold. He hadn’t thought that possible. They weren’t going to get anything over the background noise here. Guess it was old fashioned surveillance time. He crossed the heaving dance floor and reached the bar.
“What can I get you?” The bartender raised his voice above the level of the music.
“I’ll have coke with ice and a slice, please.” Even off duty, he refused to drink. Not that being a Christian would prevent it. But he’d seen firsthand how alcohol had nearly destroyed his brother and had no intentions of going down that path. Patrick pulled money out of his pocket and exchanged it for the drink. “Thanks.”
He turned his attention to the people gyrating on the dance floor. They were all so young, either that or he was showing his age. Enough of the old. You already had this conversation with yourself once today. He sipped his drink, the music reverberating within him. Glancing around, he spied a table to one side. Grabbing a handful of peanuts, he crossed over to it and sat down. Hopefully this Lisa would start singing soon, before the bass did serious damage to his ears.
He caught a glimpse of a woman making her way to the small stage. Her long white dress, split to mid-thigh, glowed in the blue lighting, her features and very feminine curves enhanced by it. Her brown hair hung almost to her waist. She looked older than the teens bopping to the latest dance hits on the floor. If he had to guess, he’d say around his age. What is this fascination with age? Sooner I am out of here the better.
The dance music stopped. As the woman sat on the stool near the center of the stage and picked up the guitar, Patrick’s heart stopped. Lisa Bellamy was none other than Eleanor Harrison, his former girlfriend and the dowdy librarian from earlier. Was she really as good as Liam said she was?
In which case, why was she a librarian? Something didn’t add up.
Wow, but she looks cute in that outfit. So much better than the librarian getup… Then he quickly caught himself. He was working and until proved otherwise, he had to assume that no one was above suspicion of wrong doing.
This was the center of the operation.
It was this bar that the drugs were coming in and out of, as well as the money. On the surface, things looked fine. The place turned a tidy profit, and nothing had come to light during the routine police and health and safety checks. All the employee checks as far as he knew were fine.
But the intel he’d received from Scotland pointed to something far deeper. And if Elle worked here, she could be involved. Should he get someone else assigned? Ring Shay, ask her to come and take over? Catch Elle before he left, find out what she was doing here?
He slumped in his chair trying to make a decision, but as the lights came up he realized it was too late. He was caught in the edge of the spotlight and it would be blatantly obvious if he went anywhere. He nursed his drink, wishing fervently he could sneak out and leave, and glanced at her as she strummed the guitar and began singing.
Wow. The same word resonated in his mind as he sat up straight.
She was good. No, more than good, she was fantastic. For the next twenty minutes, Patrick sat entranced as Elle sang. Blood pounded in his ears in time to the music, his fingers tapped on his glass and his feet moved in perfect rhythm. He wanted to catch her attention as she glanced around the audience, but she didn’t look his way. Did she know he was there and was avoiding eye contact?
The set finished and he applauded and whistled. His heart leapt as she finally looked straight at him.
He beckoned to her, and his pulse pounded in his neck as Elle finally acknowledged him and came over. Before she could say anything, he stood and clasped her hand. Warmth shot down his arm, straight to his belly. No woman had affected him like that in years. Not since she left him. “That was incredible. Can I buy you a drink?”
“Just a water, please. I have another set to do in a bit.”
“Be right back.” Patrick pulled out a chair for her and helped her sit. He hurried to the bar, afraid she’d be gone by the time he got back. Silent prayers ascended heavenward. Even if it were only a few minutes, simply to talk with her again would be wonderful. Pleased she was still there, he slid back into his seat.
Cool fingers touched his as she took the glass. Her eyes sparkled in the lighting, but there was something else there that he didn’t remember and recognized only too well. Sadness, something almost haunted. What had happened to cause the joy to go out of her? And how could she sing so well without it?
Patrick cradled his drink and sipped it, looking at Elle. Up close that dress was well—too revealing. Lord, please, a little assistance here. I need to focus on my job right now, not on my past.
“So what’s a beautiful girl like you doing in a place like this, Elle?” He cringed as the cliché was out before he’d realized.
&nb
sp; Elle took a long drink. “It’s Eleanor, not Elle—”
“You’ll always only be Elle to me,” he said. “Although I should probably call you Lisa tonight if you’re working.”
She nodded slightly. “Lisa would be better here. And I’m not that beautiful, although you always did know how to flatter a woman.” She managed a faint smile. “The lighting and the amount of make-up I’m wearing make me look years younger. What are you doing here?” The words tumbled from her and she glanced nervously over her shoulder. “Are you following me?”
“No, I’m just checking the place out. My brother’s been raving about this soul singer I should hear. I never dreamed it would be you.” He automatically followed her gaze. A tall, blue suited man stood just off stage, his eyes firmly fixed on the two of them. Patrick’s senses went on full alert. “I thought you worked in the library. I assume you’re not moonlighting?”
She shook her head. “No. I hold down two jobs. Neither seems to interfere with the other right now.”
Patrick tilted his head a little. It wasn’t his place to interrogate her, not here and not now, but he couldn’t stop himself. “Two jobs?”
Elle nodded. “Times are hard and singing isn’t what my mother calls a “proper job”. She keeps on at me to quit, but with Dad gone, I need to bring in as much money as I can.”
His hand closed over hers. “I’m sorry. When did he die?”
“He was shot in a hunting accident three years ago. He died instantly. So it’s just me, Abbie and Mum now.”
“Abbie?”
She stiffened, catching her breath. A light flickered in her eyes for a brief moment before it was extinguished. “What is it with all the questions? Are you some kind of cop?”
“Sorry. I ask a lot of questions at work so it’s a force of habit.”
“Are you a cop?” she repeated. Again the nervous glance over her shoulder.
Mr. Blue Suit had moved closer. He looked familiar, but Patrick couldn’t place him. He looked back at Elle. “It’s not just cops that ask a lot of questions at work,” he hedged. “Psychiatrists do. Private investigators do. The bouncer on the door did as well. Besides, it’s been almost fourteen years since I’ve seen you. That’s a lot of catching up to do.”
“Yeah.”
He smiled and winked, going back to his previous question. “So who’s Abbie? Hamster, goldfish, tortoise, that dog you always said you wanted…” He hoped his teasing would put her at ease, but she stiffened even further.
“Abbie is my sister. She’s thirteen and very precocious with it.”
Patrick tilted his head, something clanging in the recesses of his mind. “That’s a big age gap.”
She jerked her head, something glistening in her eyes. “Yeah. You don’t expect a baby sister when you reach twenty-two. Mum said they missed—” A hand dropped on her shoulder and she froze. Glancing up, she acknowledged Mr. Blue Suit who had managed to come up right behind her, without Patrick noticing.
That was more than a tad disconcerting. Had he got so focused on Elle that his training went right out of the window? Especially when he’d already identified him as a possible threat.
“Zeke, this is Patrick, an old friend. Patrick, this is Zeke.”
Patrick offered the tall, thin chap a hand. “Pleased to meet you.” The hand that took his was firm, the handshake brief, and the glint in his eyes warned him off as surely as the hand on Elle’s shoulder did.
Dropping his hand, Zeke turned his attention to Elle. “Don’t be long, Lisa. We need lots of orders for the CD tonight.”
“OK.”
Patrick narrowed his eyes as Zeke ran his eyes over Elle. He was glad when the man nodded and walked away. “He seems a little possessive. Is he your boyfriend?”
She shot him a scathing look, causing his cheeks to burn. “No, not that it’s any concern of yours, but he’s my manager. He doesn’t like me resting.”
“He pays you to work, not fraternize?”
Elle studied her glass, running a finger around the rim. “Something like that.”
Patrick wanted to ask more, but her tone indicated it was a closed subject. There was a time to push things and a time to leave them, and right now was definitely the latter. His mind whirled, trying to assimilate all the information he’d gleaned. Not to mention work out where he’d seen Zeke before.
He nodded to her empty glass. “Want another one?”
She shook her head. “Thank you for the offer, but I won’t. I didn’t think clubs were your scene.”
“I was coming with my brother Liam, who claims to be your biggest fan this side of the equator. However, he stood me up in favor of the game instead. His fiancée, Jacqui, likes football as much as he does. Either that or she’s just humoring him. I wasn’t going to play gooseberry despite it being a cup match.”
“I prefer rugby.”
“Really?”
Elle nodded. “Thirty fit men in tight shirts and shorts running up and down a field. At least, according to the girls I work with.”
Patrick laughed. “Jacqui says the same thing.”
“But going back to rugby, what I like is the fact the players don’t fall down and act hurt like footballers do.” She smiled properly for the first time since joining him. “They fall down, and they get right up again and carry on, bleeding all over the place. Footballers lie there and go, ‘Ref, he tripped me up!’”
The laughter died down. Patrick studied his glass for a moment. He had to know why she left all those years ago. “What happened that weekend of the house party, Elle? Where did you go? When I woke, you were gone. No one saw you after that. You just vanished off the face of the planet.”
Elle set the glass down on the table. “Stuff happened. I had to go home.”
Patrick pressed his hands together, his stomach twisting. “Was it…?” He took a deep breath. “Was it something I did or said? Did I hurt you or push you away?”
She shook her head, shoving a hand through her hair. “No, no, it wasn’t you.” But her voice wobbled and experience told him she wasn’t being entirely truthful. “I have to go.” As Patrick reached over to grasp her hand, she pulled away, rising quickly. “Please don’t. I have to go. Thanks for the drink.”
Patrick’s entire body chilled and numbed as she moved away from him. What had he done? One minute she was chatting and the next the portcullis came slamming down, the drawbridge went up and she was gone. Whether Elle was here or not, the guy he’d been watching for hadn’t made an appearance. He listened to half of the second set, and then walked out to where he parked his car.
He wasn’t at all happy with the fact she worked there. Was she involved? Or, if not, could he warn her and get her away before she did get caught up in it all? Why had she suddenly reappeared in his life now?
Lord, whatever is wrong with her, please, give me a chance to put it right.
****
Eleanor drove home, still unsettled. She had no idea how she made it through the second set. Patrick and his familiar presence had set her whole body on edge. How could he still cause a reaction like this after so long? What they had shared that year was magical. He made her feel wanted and loved.
But why had he left half way through the second half of her performance? He seemed to have enjoyed the first set. She’d perfected watching people unnoticed over the years. And he hadn’t been able to keep his eyes off her.
It’s not fair, Lord. Why bring him back into my life when I can’t have him? Haven’t I been punished enough?
She parked on the drive and let herself into the dark house. Blue light flickered from the open lounge door and she went in to find her mother sitting in front of the TV, waiting for her. Nothing changed, did it? “Hey, Mum. How’s Abbie? Did she complain about her stomach today?”
“No.”
“I really would like to take her to a doctor and have her checked out.”
“And have you take time off work to do so? She’s fine. When you were her age,
you always faked a stomach ache to get out of school, too. I’m wiser this time around.”
Maybe Mum was right. Maybe it was nothing.
“I should check in on her, just to make sure.”
“She’s sleeping. How was your act tonight?” Mum stood and folded the blanket she was sitting under. Somehow, she still managed to make the word “act” sound dirty.
“The performance was OK. We got several pre-sale orders on the CDs—not enough to make Zeke happy, but then nothing’s good enough for him these days. A man I was at university with, Patrick, was there.”
Her mother’s eyes darkened. “Patrick?”
“We were doing the same course. I haven’t seen him in years.”
“Is it him?” Mum’s face hardened as she spat out the venom laced words.
“I’m not going to dignify that with a response as half the students on my course were men, Mum.”
“Eleanor Jay, don’t you talk to me like that. I always said Jay should have been Jezebel.”
“I’m tired. I’m going to bed. Good night.” She headed quickly up the stairs, biting her tongue. Why did her mother hate her so much? She peeked into Abbie’s room.
Abbie lay curled up on the bed, her still figure illuminated by the shaft of light from the door. Her long fair hair spread out on the pillow behind her. Eleanor stood in the doorway, a lump in her throat. Years ago she’d tried all the options she could think of to get away, but they would never work out. She’d tried to take Abbie and move to the other side of the country, or even to Australia. But every single plan had failed. Now her mother was old, bitter, and ill-tempered.
One day it’ll be different. I’ll tell you the truth, and we’ll leave here together. Just you and me.
Closing the door, Eleanor went back to her own room. She dropped to her knees and reached under the bed. Her fingertips grasped the edge of the shoe box and pulled it towards her. She sat on the bed and placed the lid beside her. A pile of photos gazed up at her. Rummaging through them, Eleanor found the one she wanted.
