One Last Shot

by Archer, Julie

  One Last Shot

  Julie Archer

  Copyright © 2018 by Julie Archer of Jewel & Black Publications

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Cover Designer: Qamber Designs & Media

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Preview of Cocktails, Rock Tales & Betrayals

  Preview of Rivers of Ink

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Also by Julie Archer

  “Baby if you could would you go back to the start?

  Take any fresh steps or watch it all fall apart again?”

  ‘Biblical’, Biffy Clyro

  Written by Simon Neil

  Published by Good Soldier Songs

  Reproduced with permission

  Chapter One

  Richey Mason was convinced that Parker Roberts was taking the piss.

  He sat opposite the Artist Development Manager from Numb Records and listened.

  NightDrive, the current covers band he played in, had just finished a gig in Oak Ridge. The moment their set concluded, a man approached the side of the stage that Richey played on.

  “Hey, mate, good gig,” he said. “You rushing off or got time for a chat?”

  Richey looked him up and down, checking out the smart suit and wondered what he could possibly want. “Not sure what you mean, mate, I’m not interested. Got a girlfriend.”

  The man laughed. “If I were that way inclined, heavily tattooed, dark-haired men wouldn’t be my type anyway. Let me start again.” He held out his hand. “Hi, I’m Parker Roberts. I work for Numb Records, and I’m looking for a bassist to join a band. You look like you might fit the bill. Got time for a chat?” He pressed a business card into Richey’s hand.

  It looked genuine enough to Richey, and the name vaguely rang a bell in the depths of his mind. He doubted that there would be anything in it, but Richey was flattered to think that someone was interested in his abilities with a bass guitar.

  He shrugged. “Give a few minutes to clean up. And mine’s a pint.”

  After getting the drinks in, Parker explained that he had really enjoyed watching the band play. He had been impressed by Richey’s performance; how he moved around the stage; how he picked up the vocals on occasion; and how he generally came over as more professional than his bandmates. Richey listened politely and waited for Parker to get to the point. Parker went on to fire a million questions at him: How long had he played with the band? Was it a permanent thing? What where their aspirations? Did they have any representation? Did he like the group? Had he heard of Blood Stone Riot?

  “Yeah, course I have,” said Richey. “I thought they’d split up?”

  Parker sipped his drink. “They’re on a break. Alik Thorne’s been doing some solo gigs with Nate McKenna and a session band. They always planned to get back together once they found a suitable bass player. I’ve been checking out options for them, and I think you might work with them really well. Would you be interested in talking to the rest of the band?”

  Richey drained the rest of his beer. He slammed the empty glass down on the table. Parker went over to the bar to order another round.

  Richey had spent the past year or so dicking about in the South West; gigging around Devon and Cornwall, and generally trying to stay away from temptations. Well, there had been temptations of blondes, brunettes, and redheads—all of which he willingly indulged in—but nothing else. Nothing that had got him into the sort of trouble that he had previously been in. The sort of trouble that had ruined his first chance at success. And now, here was some guy offering him the opportunity of a lifetime.

  Parker came back with two more pints. He placed them on the table and sat down opposite Richey.

  Richey took a slug of his beer. “Say I was interested in this opportunity, what would be the next step?”

  “I’d need to talk to Alik, Nate, and Dev McLaughlin first. My guess would be that they’d want to do some sort of audition; make sure you’re the right fit. Then gigs. The EP’s been on ice since Alik took the decision to do the solo stuff. If there’s a new bassist in place, that can be released. Then there would be all the publicity around that.” Parker paused. “Got any skeletons in the closet you want to tell me about now?”

  Richey thought for a moment. If he told Parker all of his deep, dark secrets now, he knew he’d put himself out of the running straight away. He shook his head. “Nothing I can think of.”

  Parker checked his watch and stood up. “Look, I need to head off; last train and all that. Think about it and give me a call tomorrow. Are you staying here tonight?”

  Richey nodded. “Yep, too late to head back down south this evening.” He drained the last of his drink and shook Parker’s hand. “Thanks for the chat. It’s been interesting.” Richey watched Parker exit the bar.

  He was deep in thought when a couple of giggling girls came up to his table.

  “You’re cute,” one of them said, slurring.

  “And you’re drunk,” he said.

  The last thing he needed was some random shag. He had things to think about. He stood up, put his empty glass on the bar, and headed out of the pub.

  It had been a long time since he’d been in Oak Ridge. The town was still familiar to him. Very little had changed; a few new shops perhaps, but the pubs, clubs, and bars were the same. Roaming around the streets late at night brought back a raft of unwanted memories. Mostly fractured, hazy, flashbacks of the bad stuff. It wasn’t lost on him that the break Parker Roberts was presenting him with was happening in the very place where it had all fallen apart the last time.

  It was just before 1am when Richey got back to the B&B that he and the rest of the band were staying in. He crept into the room he shared with the lead singer, who snored away in the single bed nearest the window.

  Richey settled onto the other bed and quietly flipped open his laptop. As usual, the first thing he did was check his email. And, as usual, there were several new messages from someone he didn’t want to deal with. He deleted them without opening them. He reached into his wallet and pulled out Parker’s crumpled business
card. He twisted it in his hands as he replayed their conversation. He typed Parker’s name into a search engine and was met with a plethora of results: The bands he’d worked with and brought into the public eye, the Blood Stone Riot story, his personal life and fallout from his relationship with the current darling of the UK acting scene, it was all there. Richey clicked on one of the Blood Stone Riot links, scanning a story that detailed the band’s success, right up until the point of Billy Walker’s accident. Just reading some of the things they had done, such as playing the Wilde Park Festival, filled Richey with excitement. Sure, he enjoyed messing around with NightDrive and doing a few gigs here and there, but this was a real shot at something more.

  He had just been asked if he wanted to be a part of Blood Stone Riot and bring the band back to life. This was the chance to change his life, instead of gigging in backwater pubs to four men and a dog. His bandmate snorted loudly and farted in his sleep, which was enough to give Richey his decision.

  He was going to grab this opportunity with both hands, whatever the consequences.

  Chapter Two

  Poppy McKenna was bored.

  Well, as bored as you could be with an eighteen-month-old daughter who constantly demanded love and attention. Perhaps it was more loneliness than boredom. Her husband, Nate, was still on tour. Each time they thought he’d be coming home, another date was added and his homecoming delayed. Although she and Nate generally talked on the phone every day, it wasn’t the same as having him around, sharing parental responsibilities and being a couple. But at least it meant that there was money coming in.

  She missed the days when she would join him on those tours, or go to the larger festivals the band played, making a mini holiday of it. She missed being part of the larger, slightly dysfunctional, family that the band had become, despite all the dramas. Life had seemed a whole lot simpler then.

  She also missed her best friend, Caro Flynn, who was splitting her time between the two bars she owned in North Ridge and Mallorca. Despite the fact they Skyped or FaceTimed, it wasn’t the same as being able to pop down to The Indigo Lounge to grab a glass of wine and gossip. The yummy mummies that she had met through postnatal classes were okay, but their partners mostly worked in banking or insurance. It was hard for her to have a conversation with them when she didn’t really understand that world. And they certainly didn’t understand why Nate wasn’t at home all the time like their own husbands.

  Yes, it was lack of adult conversation that was the problem. She made a mental note to arrange a trip to London to catch up with Chrissy and Lara, just as soon as Nate got back. He could be the responsible one for a while.

  Poppy watched as India played, or rather just pushed the building blocks about. Poppy’s heart contracted as she looked at the little girl, the late afternoon sun shining on her daughter’s strawberry blonde hair, all thoughts of wishing for a simpler life disappearing from her head. India made it worthwhile.

  She flicked on the TV, hoping to find something to catch her attention, but even that was difficult. Quiz show, antiques programme, soap opera. India’s head jerked up as Poppy changed the channel and the Peppa Pig music came from the TV. Immediately, the child abandoned the blocks and crawled across to the screen.

  Poppy smiled and picked up her iPad, half watching India point and chat at the characters. She checked out some of her favourite shopping websites for any sales. The plethora of choices at her fingertips soothed her. God, Nate would kill her if she bought any more stuff for India. He hadn’t yet seen the amount of shopping bags wedged in the wardrobes in the spare rooms.

  The doorbell made her jump. She wasn’t expecting a grocery delivery, so it wasn’t Waitrose. It would be just her luck that it was another delivery driver who couldn’t actually be bothered to wait and see whether or not the recipient was in and would simply stuff the “Sorry we missed you” card straight through the letterbox. Nate was in Newport or Cardiff or somewhere else in Wales, so it couldn’t be him. Unless he had come home to surprise her. She leaped up from the sofa and rushed to the front door.

  She certainly wasn’t expecting the sight that greeted her as she opened it.

  “Jesus Christ!” she said, totally forgetting herself. She hoped that India hadn’t heard her. “What the hell are you doing here?”

  The dark-haired woman on the doorstep flung open her arms. “Surprise!”

  Poppy noted the two big holdalls at the woman’s feet and guessed that this wasn’t just a fleeting visit. Picking up one of the bags, Poppy ushered her indoors. She watched as Eva Darcey shrugged off her leopard-print fur coat. She was skinnier than the last time Poppy had seen her. In fact, her whole appearance seemed fragile.

  “Would you like some tea?”

  Eva nodded. “Please. I’ve been travelling for ages and you know how crap buffet cars are on trains.”

  Poppy went into the kitchen to make the tea. Eva had been invited on Poppy’s hen night, but Caro had said she’d pulled out right at the last minute. She had also been on the guest list for the wedding. Again, she hadn’t turned up but hadn’t provided a reason or even let them know that she wasn’t coming. It must have been about two years since they’d seen each other in person. Except for a few exchanges over email, they hadn’t spoken, and even those messages had become less frequent over the last few months.

  Poppy walked back into the living room, tea in hand. Eva was playing with India, waving her dolls around and giving them funny voices as she pretended they were real. India grinned and laughed at the lady entertaining her.

  Poppy tried to get her head around the picture in front of her. She placed the mugs on the coffee table and settled herself down onto the large sofa next to Eva.

  “Back to my original question, Eva, what are you doing here?”

  Her friend dropped the toys on the floor and reached for her mug. As she did so, her top slipped from her shoulder, revealing a massive bruise on the very top of her arm. Before Poppy could say anything, Eva pulled the garment back into place.

  “I know it’s been a while, but I was in the area. I was going to see Chrissy and Lara, but you were closer.”

  The four of them had worked together in a fashion PR firm several years ago. Eva had left under a cloud after rumours of an affair with one of the senior sales directors. Only Poppy, Chrissy, and Lara knew it wasn’t a rumour. Eva had been asked to leave so as not to damage the reputation of the firm and the very married sales director. Poppy wondered what drama had made her come to North Ridge.

  “Looks like your life has changed,” said Eva. “Great house, by the way. Where’s Nate?”

  “On tour.”

  Eva nodded. “Yeah, I read about everything that happened with his band. Such an awful accident.”

  For a moment, Poppy wondered whether things would be different had Billy Walker not died in a car crash. Whether Blood Stone Riot would be successful. Whether Nate would have been on tour so much.

  “You must be alone a lot,” said Eva. “Just you and the little one. How old is India now?”

  “Coming up to eighteen months. You seemed to amuse her earlier when you were playing with her.”

  “Just making stuff up.”

  “You were always good at that.”

  Eva flinched, and Poppy immediately regretted her comment. There was an uneasy silence as they both sipped their tea.

  “Poppy, I know we haven’t seen each other for ages, but I really need a favour.”

  “I’ll help if I can.”

  “I need somewhere to stay for a while.”

  That explained the bags. “How long?”

  “I don’t know yet.”

  Poppy considered it. Less than an hour ago, she had been bored to tears on her own. She didn’t know how much longer Nate was going to be out on tour. Eva seemed to be good with India. Maybe it wouldn’t be a bad idea to have her stay, at least until Nate came home.

  “Sure, why not?” She watched as Eva visibly sagged. What could she be trying
to escape from? “Why don’t I show you around? You’ll have to excuse the state of the house. I wasn’t expecting visitors.”

  Poppy put India into her playpen and picked up one of Eva’s bags. It was light—not Eva’s usual packing style at all. They went upstairs, and Poppy showed Eva to the one guest bedroom that was actually made up. It was simple in style and inexpensively furnished, perfect for the occasional guest. Plus, it didn’t have all the spare clothes for India in the wardrobe.

  Eva placed her other bag on the bed. “Thanks, Poppy, you don’t know how much this means.” She threw her arms around her and hugged her tightly.

  This wasn’t Eva’s typical behaviour at all. She wasn’t a huggy person towards other women, and while they had been close once, they hadn’t been for a while. Poppy’s curiosity mounted.

  Chapter Three

  For the first time in an awfully long while, Eva got a decent night’s sleep, probably helped by the large quantities of wine she and Poppy had drunk the previous evening. Well, she had drunk. Poppy had been restrained, telling her that she needed to be in control in case anything happened to India. After all the time that had passed since she had last seen Poppy, she was grateful that her friend hadn’t immediately bombarded her with questions about why she was there and why she hadn’t come to her hen night or wedding. After that kind of snub, she was surprised Poppy hadn’t slammed the door in her face. Eva knew she needed to explain what had gone on, but it would be hard to drag up the bad memories.