The Song, The Heart

by Jade Winters

  Chanel looked at her questioningly. ‘They?’

  ‘Yes.’ Morgan stopped short. Skye wasn’t there. Had something happened to her?

  ‘Hi Morgan. I hope you don’t mind me dropping by.’

  ‘Isn’t Skye with you?’ Morgan enquired, attempting to keep her tone neutral.

  ‘Um no. She left this afternoon—’

  ‘Left?’ Morgan interrupted as her brain attempted to comprehend what Izzy was saying. How could she leave without telling her?

  ‘Uh huh,’ Izzy continued, oblivious to Morgan’s confusion. ‘Trouble at home. Family problems.’

  ‘With her aunt?’

  ‘Her aunt?’ Izzy looked at Morgan with a puzzled expression.

  ‘I presume so. She said her aunt’s the only relative still in the UK.’

  ‘She did?’

  Morgan couldn’t fathom the smile Izzy gave her, so she pushed on for answers she desperately needed.

  ‘Is she coming back?’ Morgan hated the plaintive edge to her voice and cleared her throat, making sure to avoid Chanel’s eye.

  ‘I doubt it. Her aunt’s quite sickly. He, I mean, she needs a lot of care.’

  It was not the answer Morgan was expecting. ‘Oh, Skye didn’t mention it.’

  ‘Well, she wouldn’t. She carries the world on her shoulders that girl and keeps it all to herself. Anyway, the reason—’

  ‘Did she ask you to come and see me?’ Morgan cut in. Everything made sense now: Skye’s reluctance to accept the job offer, and her caring, non-judgmental ways. She was a protector—someone who put others ahead of her own needs.

  ‘Actually, yes, she did.’ Izzy shifted from foot to foot. ‘She asked if you could possibly see about giving me a job.’

  Morgan raised her eyebrows. ‘A job? Doing—’

  ‘Not singing, if that’s what you’re thinking. No, bar work would be ideal.’

  ‘I don’t really—’ Morgan stopped abruptly as sadness descended over Izzy’s face.

  Oh, what the hell? It won’t kill you to give the woman a chance. ‘Do you have any bar experience?’

  Izzy perked up, and she beamed a big, friendly, open smile. ‘Yes, loads, and I have great managerial skills.’

  Morgan held up her hands and chuckled. ‘Whoa, slow down there. I’ve got a bar manager. I suppose I could give you a few shifts to start with and see how it goes.’

  ‘You could?’ Izzy’s exuberant grin broadened.

  Morgan couldn’t help but feel warmed by such enthusiasm for what was essentially a hard job with long hours. ‘Sure, but what’re you going to do about accommodation?’

  ‘Oh, that’s sorted. My new friend said I could stay with him until I get on my feet. Once you see how good I am with people, you’ll wonder how you ever did without me.’

  Morgan was again rewarded with a big grin. She glanced at Chanel for the first time. A look of horror was plastered on her face, and Morgan suppressed a laugh that was dying to burst out.

  ‘Chanel’—she gestured to her new employee—‘meet Izzy, your new apprentice.’

  ‘Oh, goodie. Lucky me.’ Chanel gingerly took the hand offered by an ecstatic Izzy, only to find it being pumped up and down.

  ‘Thank you. You won’t regret this,’ Izzy said.

  Morgan heard Chanel make a guttural growl in the back of her throat. This should be interesting.

  A staff member called out from the doorway: ‘Morgan, a call for you in your office.’

  ‘Do they have a name?’

  ‘Nope. Just said it’s important.’

  ‘Okay. Thanks, Luke.’ She smiled her thanks at the dark-haired man and turned to Chanel. ‘May I leave Izzy in your capable hands?’

  Chanel rolled her eyes and shot back, ‘Do I have a choice?’

  ‘No, you don’t, so be nice.’ Morgan strode towards the door, stopping briefly to speak to Izzy. ‘Don’t worry. Her bark is worse than her bite—mostly.’

  Izzy smiled, but she looked unconvinced.

  Entering her office, Morgan kicked the door shut, strode to her desk and picked up the phone. It was probably Adrian, as he was the only one who called her on the club’s landline. Her brother didn’t use mobile phones. He believed the conspiracy theories that they could give you brain tumours.

  Picking up the phone, she said, ‘To what do I owe the pleasure?’

  ‘I thought you were gonna phone me?’

  Morgan froze at the sound of his voice. The caller didn’t have to identify himself. She knew exactly who he was. Her legs became unsteady, and she perched on the edge of her desk, pressing the phone so hard against her ear that it hurt.

  ‘Why are you calling me on this number?’ she asked in a hushed voice.

  ‘How else am I meant to get in touch with you?’

  She stood and took the body of the phone with her to the window, resting her forehead against the cold pane as paranoia overcame her.

  Is he out there, watching me? The thought sent a chill up Morgan’s spine. Using her free hand, she pulled the jacket tighter around her body and moved away from the window.

  ‘I told you I’d be in touch when the time was right,’ she said, trying to sound in control.

  ‘I thought that time was now.’

  His words gripped her throat like a noose.

  ‘How did you—’

  ‘I heard it through the grapevine. News travels fast in my circle of acquaintances.’ He gave a low, mirthless chuckle.

  ‘I’m not ready yet.’ She swallowed hard. ‘I need more time.’

  A knock on her door startled her. She watched wide-eyed as the handle started to turn, fear gripping her stomach tight.

  ‘I’ve got to go,’ she whispered. ‘Someone’s at my door.’

  ‘You’re running out of time, lady. People like him disappear every day, and once he’s gone, you’ll not get the chance again.’

  The door was thrust open, and Morgan’s jaw dropped. An enormous man filled the doorframe, blocking her only escape route. The phone slid from her hand and dropped to the floor with a thud. Standing only feet away was Thomas Kidding. The world seemed to stop spinning as they stared at each other, each weighing the other like boxers in the ring.

  Morgan was the first to find her voice, and when she spoke, four years of rage rang through every word. ‘What the fuck are you doing in my club?’

  Thomas raised his hands mid-air and walked tentatively towards her. She instinctively backed away from him, staggering.

  ‘Listen, Morgan, I came here to talk. Nothing else.’

  She bent down, picked up the phone and held it out in front of her like a weapon. ‘Stop right there. Don’t take another step towards me, you piece of shit. I’m giving you ten seconds to get out of here, or I swear to God, you’ll fucking regret it.’

  Her anger stopped him in his tracks.

  ‘I need—’ he floundered under her venomous glare.

  ‘Ten, nine …’ Morgan was panting as she counted. She would kill him with her bare hands if he came close enough. The look in his eyes showed he knew it too.

  ‘Please, you don’t understand—’

  ‘Eight … seven … six …’

  ‘Okay, okay, I’m going.’ Thomas took a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket, and using the pen on the desk, he scribbled something and dropped the note in front of her. ‘This is my number.’

  Without looking at the paper, Morgan hissed, ‘Get the fuck out of here. And I mean NOW.’

  Thomas slinked away, not turning his back on her until he reached the door. ‘Please call me.’

  He turned and disappeared from view.

  Morgan put her hands on her desk, feeling as if she might pass out. Oh God. The caller.

  With a shaking hand, she put the phone to her ear and was relieved to hear a dead line. How much had he heard before he’d hung up? More importantly, had he realised Thomas Kidding had been in her office.

  Pacing the office like a caged animal, Morgan couldn’t help but wonder wh
at had possessed Thomas to show up like that. Had he lost control of his senses? Or had she, considering what she was planning? Could she really go through with it? Have a living, breathing man murdered? Her conscience said no, but the rage burning inside was gunning for a resolution, one that would put an end to the man she hated.

  Morgan raked her fingers through her hair, more confused than ever. The man she’d been speaking with on the phone was not a patient one. She didn’t think he’d take kindly to her indecisiveness, and the time to make a decision had come.

  She sat at her desk, her legs weak now her adrenaline rush was fading. Feeling overwhelmed, Morgan searched for hotels on her computer, not knowing where she was going, but before she made the most important decision of her life, she needed some space to think—a different environment where she could see things more clearly. She had to be sure she wasn’t making a mistake she would regret for the rest of her life.

  Seeing Thomas in the flesh had banished the image she’d held of him as a brutal monster. He had aged. The pain in his eyes had been evident, and he had looked like a broken man. But had he suffered enough? Could he ever suffer enough to balance the pain he had put her and her family through? Was it better to let him live, enduring the torment she could so clearly see eating away at him?

  Hopefully, by taking a few days out, she could make a final decision by the end of the week. She sincerely hoped it would be the right one.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Skye opened her eyes. Sleep had eluded her. She had lain in her bed, wide-eyed all night, and now that it was midday, she didn’t see the point in trying to sleep. She had attempted to push all thoughts of Morgan and Maggie out of her mind. What did it matter if Morgan was in a relationship? It wasn’t as if Skye would see her again. So there’s no point in moping around like a wet weekend.

  Although she wasn’t booked to work today, she was sure they could do with an extra pair of hands for the early evening shift.

  Anywhere is better than here, she reasoned, her heart twisting in her chest. There was no way she was staying at home with ‘him’.

  Skye stared at the ceiling, going over the last twenty-four hours. What a fool she was. He had humiliated her—treated her like she was something to be toyed with. To have made a bet with his friend to see how fast she’d come running to his aid was despicable and demeaning.

  Who was this man? When had the man she’d called ‘Dad’ died and been replaced with the monster that had taken over his body? Tears of humiliation stung her eyes and she sat up, wiping them away angrily. He doesn’t deserve my tears.

  She yawned and rubbed her damp, tired eyes before sliding from under the covers. Grabbing her dressing gown from the back of the door, she slipped her arms into the tatty pink material. The garment was falling to pieces, but she had never considered buying herself a new one in case she needed money for him. And for what? To be treated like an obedient dog, that’s for what.

  Outside her window, the wind howled and the rain fell like a waterfall from the sky. The day was grim and grey, and it pleased Skye that the weather matched her sombre mood. She couldn’t help but wonder what the weather was like in London. Here, all it seemed to do was rain, and if rain wasn’t falling, then the heavens remained dirty looking, not giving the sun a chance to peek through.

  A grotty, grey day suitable for a grotty, grey life.

  Walking into the kitchen several minutes later, she was surprised to find Oliver sitting hunched over the table, brooding over a cup of coffee that looked as if it had been made hours ago and forgotten about, if the skim on the surface was anything to go by. She presumed he had been there all night. Once upon a time, she might have shown concern for him, but not today. She searched her heart and found no softness there for the man at the table. For far too long, she’d let her heart rule her life. It was high time she handed the reins over to her much harder and more capable mind. Her heart was not to be trusted.

  Hearing her enter, Oliver lifted his head. Red-eyed and looking contrite, he ran his hand through his hair.

  ‘About yesterday …’ he started.

  ‘Seriously, save it for someone who cares,’ she said, filling the kettle.

  ‘Make me a cuppa while you’re at it,’ he said.

  Anger rose within her. After what he’d done yesterday, did he think all was back to normal now that his slave was home? Not bloody likely.

  ‘What, you ain’t got legs all of a sudden?’ she said bluntly, taking one mug from the cupboard and heaping a spoonful of coffee into it.

  ‘Don’t be sarky, Skye. Yesterday was a misunderstanding, a joke.’

  She turned to stare at him, pulling her robe tighter around her. ‘Did you see me laughing? Do I look like I enjoyed your little joke? Do I?’

  ‘Geez, lighten up. And you think I’ve got no sense of humour,’ he said sourly.

  ‘No, what I think is that you don’t give a damn about anyone but yourself.’ She heard the hurt in her voice, but it didn’t register with the man at the table.

  ‘Oh, here we go again. Moan, moan, moan,’ Oliver said, standing then scraping his chair back against the tiled floor.

  Skye stared at the rake-thin man who looked like he hadn’t showered in days. He probably hadn’t. He never made the effort to help himself. Her heart hardened. Why should he? He has me to do it all for him.

  ‘No, Dad, not again. This is the last time I say this.’

  Something in her voice had caught his attention. She’d never spoken to him like that. He eyed her carefully, warily, as if he had encountered a wild animal and was unsure how it might react.

  ‘You either go into rehab or I’m moving out.’ There, she had said it, the words that had been burning in her for years.

  He smirked. ‘If you say so.’

  He doesn’t even think I’m serious.

  ‘I mean it. I’m not giving you money anymore. You wanna beg, borrow, or steal, that’s on your head, but don’t expect me to come running. You’ve cried wolf for the last time.’ She spoke angrily and then added in the sad voice of a little girl who had realised that Santa is just a man in a red suit with no magic powers at all, ‘I’m done, Dad.’

  ‘You don’t mean that.’

  ‘I do, and if you want to put it to the test, go right ahead, but I won’t have your blood on my hands. It’ll be on your own. I’ve tried and tried to help you, but I can see it’s pointless. Yesterday showed me exactly how you see me, and I deserve to be treated better than that, even if you don’t think so.’

  Oliver remained silent, his focus fixed on the cup in front of him.

  ‘I love you, Dad, and I always will. But it stops here, and it stops now.’ She picked up her coffee mug and took a sip.

  Seeing the sadness in his eyes, her first impulse was to throw her arms around his neck and tell him she wouldn’t really abandon him, that she would never turn her back on him like her mother had.

  He had dragged her away from the first holiday she’d ever had to win a bet—as a joke. This man did not care for her the way she cared for him, and though it broke her heart, that was the reality of it.

  He had to learn his lesson one way or another, and if it was through the tough-love route, so be it. Thinking about how he had tricked her into returning home hardened her resolution. She reflected on her argument with Izzy. Though Izzy’s words had been cruel and unkind, she was right. She had to, though grudgingly, thank her friend for caring enough about her to have spoken up. The thought frightened her, but the time had come to admit the truth: she was her father’s enabler, and by enabling him, she was also encouraging him to continue in his reckless ways. If he died because of his addiction, it would be her fault, just as if she had bought him the drugs, which was basically what she did when she gave him money. The illusion she had harboured about helping him was well and truly shattered.

  He looked at her imploringly. ‘You can’t do this to me, Skye.’

  Courage coursed through her. ‘Yes, I can. For both
our sakes, I have to.’

  Skye had finally had an epiphany. If her dad were to change, he would have to want it for himself, not for her or anyone else. She wasn’t too optimistic about the outcome, but the matter was out of her hands and in the lap of her father, where it belonged.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Pull yourself together. You’ve got a week to make up your mind. No one has a gun to your head. Morgan’s thoughts were in turmoil. She felt confused, bitter, angry and more recently, sad. Her emotions ran so deep that they threatened to overwhelm her. How had her life come to this? She didn’t recognise herself anymore. She told herself that nothing could undo the past. She’d even gone down the Buddhist route to rid her heart of attachments, but all that had done was make her more aware of the injustices in the world. To forgive others surely meant giving them the green light to do it again. Justice was the only route to peace for her, but revenge wasn’t as clear-cut as she had allowed herself to believe.

  She flung her suitcase onto the bed and began packing, still unsure where she was going. The plan was to get in her car, drive and see where she ended up.

  As it had been these past couple of days when her mother’s ex-boyfriend didn’t fill her head, Skye came to mind. She was surprised how much the thought of not seeing her again upset her. Izzy had been adamant that she wouldn’t be returning anytime soon.

  For the first time that day, Morgan smiled—a real one that came from the heart. If Skye won’t come to me, I’ll go to her. Mohammad and the mountain.

  The idea of seeing Skye again filled her with a sense of purpose as she increased the speed of her packing. This time, she was more careful with her clothing selections.

  ‘Going somewhere?’ Adrian asked from the doorway.

  Morgan turned around, startled. ‘I thought you were staying at your friend’s for a few days.’

  ‘I was. I came back because I’m worried about you.’

  ‘Worried about me?’ She gave a short laugh. ‘Don’t be silly. I’m fine.’

  Morgan walked over to the wardrobe, took out a few matching outfits and slid the large glass door shut.