Trust Me (Beggar's Choice #2)

by Lily Morton

  “Just remember Nell, you said that you’d look out for me when we were on stage. It works both ways but it’s just a bigger stage for us honey.”

  Five

  A week later I remember his words. It’s Christmas Day and I’m standing in the kitchen with mum hovering behind me, guiltily shifting from foot to foot. This situation is unusual in itself because she never admits guilt nowadays, but I suppose these are exceptional circumstances. “So let me get this straight,” I say with gritted teeth. “You took the money that I earned and gave you in order to pay the gas and electricity bill, and you bought Christmas presents for Molly instead?”

  Mum wrings her hands slightly but that’s the only real sign of agitation. “Don’t be hard faced Eleanor. It’s Christmas. You’re making good money at the moment so it’s not exactly a problem. I just thought we could treat each other.”

  “Except it’s not treating each other is it Mum?” I ask wearily and with a fair amount of bitterness. “It’s actually just treating Molly, or am I wrong and I missed the present that you bought for me?”

  Guilt crosses her face but it’s gone almost as soon as it arrives. “Don’t be childish Eleanor. You’re an able bodied, fit, strong, young woman. You can buy yourself things whenever you want. Molly can’t do that.”

  “Except I can’t either,” I say passionately. “When’s the last time that I bought myself something Mum? The only thing I bought lately was your Christmas present.” Which you put to one side almost immediately in favour of Molly’s present I add on silently.

  “And whose fault is that Eleanor? Whose fault is it that Molly can’t go out to work?” Just as normal, mum’s instinct is to attack when she’s cornered. I should have remembered this because God help me she pulls no punches, and for some reason I have a softer side than usual and it hurts. Perhaps that’s why I open my mouth.

  “I actually think it is Molly’s fault mum because it’s her fault that she ended up like this. Nobody forced her to take those drugs. Anyway, there’s nothing that wrong with her now. She could find something easily. She doesn’t have to go in the army, just get an office job for God’s sake.”

  “Do not take the lord’s name in vain Eleanor, and where is your charity? Molly has a weak heart.”

  I don’t actually think Molly has a heart but I stop myself from saying it because if it comes down to a choice between Molly or I, I’m under no illusion which one she’ll pick. However, a burning sense of unfairness makes me open my mouth again when normally I’d be silent. “No mum, Molly’s heart isn’t weak, it just isn’t that invested into going to work. Why would it be when you and I are keeping her? Her actual heart is as hard as yours is nowadays.” Almost immediately I want to take it back but I don’t get a chance. Molly descends into the kitchen fluttering around her.

  “Come on Judy, let’s go and have a sit down. The Queen’s Speech is on. Leave Eleanor alone now.” She shoots me one hard look and wraps her arms around my mum, and then they’re gone and I’m left clutching a bottle of Baileys so tightly that I fear I’m going to break it, and staring out of the window. It’s then that my thoughts turn to Sid and I reach into my pocket and finger the piece of paper with his address in it. It’s worn thin from constant handling and I brush my fingertips across it hoping for strength.

  I don’t know what happens then but almost before my brain can catch up, my body is moving out of the kitchen and towards the front door. I’m almost running now in fear that someone will come and stop me, but the dim voice of the Queen drones on, and before I know it I’m outside looking at the closed front door and then my feet are taking me down the steps.

  He lives in Primrose Hill and as I left the house without my purse and have zero intention of going back inside to get it, I’ll have to walk and that’s going to take me about an hour. It’s also only when I get outside on the street and I’m walking through the streets that I register the sidelong looks which are being directed at me, perhaps because I’m walking along in sub- zero temperatures in just a short, black lace dress, opaque tights and silly little ankle boots. I left my coat behind but I’d rather freeze than go back, and besides which after an hour of walking I’m so warm that it doesn’t matter.

  I find his house fairly easily. It’s on the corner of a leafy side street in Primrose Hill, set back behind a low wall and just down from the parade of shops. I stare up at it with my mouth open because it’s an absolutely beautiful building, being a five storey end of terrace Victorian house. It’s white with massive windows and looks a bit like a wedding cake sitting placidly looking out over the park.

  A sudden shudder alerts me to the fact that I might get hypothermia for Christmas if I’m not careful, and I laugh out loud at that because that’s a gift no one would have to buy me and even my mum wouldn’t begrudge me. This attracts a glare from a beautifully dressed old lady walking a miniature poodle on a sparkly lead. I smile widely at her which makes her wrap her coat around her and scuttle off dragging the dog behind her, and then I wander up the steps, but at the top I hesitate. I reach up to the doorbell on the shiny, navy door and then pull my hand back down slowly. I can’t do it I realise in despair. These people aren’t my friends really, no matter how nice they are. In a few months I’ll never see them again and my pride absolutely hates the idea of them remembering me in the future just for being that mad, lonely backing singer that turned up unannounced for Christmas dinner one year. This was a stupid idea and my shoulders drooping, I turn round. I’ll have to walk home and take the consequences. I can just go to my room to get away from them, and then I’ve only got a few more days to get through and we’ll be away on tour.

  I think it’s only at this point that I really register how cold it is because before I had this burning desire to get to Sid. Now it’s gone I start to shudder with cold. Stupid woman I say to myself. Get a life and stop being such a pathetic twat. It’s at this point that the door swings open and there he is. He’s dressed in black skinny jeans, a black v-neck jumper with a grey shirt underneath, and rather incongruously for a rock star he’s also wearing a Santa hat. “Nell,” he says in absolute stupefaction. “I thought it was you. I just happened to look out of the window and there you were.” Catching my shudder he exclaims violently and leaps into action. “Where’s your fucking coat you silly girl?” he says crossly and hauls me over the front step and into the house. A wave of heat hits me and I shiver in reaction. He rubs my shoulders and mutters imprecations about stupid women and then goes to take my hands but it’s at this point that I realise I’m still clutching the bottle of Baileys. Sudden shaming tears fill my eyes and he sees them. “Hey, hey love,” he says softly. “It’s okay. You’re here now - I’ve got you,” and he unpins my stranglehold on the bottle which he takes off me. He reaches out and puts it on a side table and then cautiously, as though he thinks I’m going to run away screaming, he encloses me in a tight hug. The warmth coming off him is extreme and he smells wonderfully of citrus and spice which I now know to be from his Clive Christian 1872 aftershave, and I sort of collapse into him feeling comforted like I never have before. We stay like that for a second until a throat clears and somewhat reluctantly we break apart to see Mick staring at us in confusion. His face is bright red and he’s wearing a Santa hat with reindeer horns and an apron with the slogan ‘Please Fuck the Cook’ on it. He’s also clutching a wooden spoon.

  “What’s up?” he asks.

  Sid puts me slightly to the side of him so that I can hide my expression for a second. “Nell’s come for dinner,” he says in a happy voice. “Isn’t that great, and look Mick she’s bought us, erm …” and here he turns the bottle towards him. “Baileys Mint Chocolate. Apparently it’s chocolate, mint and alcohol – what more could we want?”

  I know I’m standing there with my mouth open. Mick stares at him in absolute astonishment for a second and then at me, and then obviously giving up, he smiles. “Brilliant mate. I like that stuff. It’s better than the fucking hazelnut shit. Anywa
y dinner’s ready,” and he turns and wanders back towards what I presume is the kitchen. There’s a silence for a second and then we look at each other and almost as if synchronized we break into laughter.

  “Chocolate, mint and alcohol,” I gasp.

  “Shut the fuck up. I couldn’t think of anything else to say and you know me, I tend to open my mouth and say any old shit when I’m under pressure.”

  “I know. Who could forget my mortician’s uniform?”

  “Oh God! Please, please can you forget that?”

  “I guess I can seeing as you’re feeding me,” I tease and then my smile fades. “I’m so sorry for turning up like this. It’s just ….,” and here I fall silent because how can I explain my life to him? He waits for a second and then sighs in what looks like disappointment.

  “Listen to me,” he says firmly, tapping his fingers on my chin to raise my eyes to his. “I invited you and I’m really fucking happy that you’re here.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes really. I wanted you to come or I wouldn’t have invited you. I don’t do things that I don’t want to do.”

  “Well okay then,” I say softly and he puts out his hand to me.

  “Come on let’s get you a drink.” Hand fast we wander down a corridor towards a room from which a lot of noise is coming from. It’s at this point that I realise that we’re walking on bare floorboards that have been stripped ready for varnishing. Looking around I see bare walls and loose electrical wires hanging from the ceiling.

  “How long have you lived here?” I ask curiously, and he pats the bare wall as we pass.

  “Only a few months. I sold my old place when I got out of rehab. I just couldn’t go back to it so I lived with Charlie and Mabe for a bit.”

  I nod because I remember reading that he’d overdosed at home. That must have been his old place. “I don’t blame you and this place will be gorgeous when it’s done. It’s got stunning bones hasn’t it?”

  He grins enthusiastically and I look at him in bemusement. I don’t think that I’ve seen him yet without that tiny frown of concentration, and here he is now without it and he’s stunning. His eyes are lit up and he starts to tell me about the history of the building before catching my stare. Misinterpreting it he flushes. “Sorry, sorry. I forget people aren’t as interested in the house as me. Charlie threatened to insert a paintbrush up my rectum if I showed him one more paint chart this morning.”

  I laugh. “Well I am interested,” I say firmly and I mean it because this is a glimpse of a different man, not to mention how much I love those house restoration programmes on television.

  “Really?” He looks slightly shy. “Would you like a look round later?”

  “Ooh yes please,” I say enthusiastically and he smiles before putting his hand on the door handle.

  “Ready?” he asks seriously.

  I take a deep breath. “Let’s do it.” He surprises me by running his hand affectionately down my hair ending up by cupping my cheek.

  “Brave girl,” he says almost as if to himself and then jerks and moves back. “Okay,” he says and flings the door open. “Look everyone,” he shouts over the noise. “Nell’s here.” I have to admire him and everyone else because they all do a fantastic job of ignoring the fact that I’ve turned up completely unannounced, and instead descend on me encasing me in cries of pleasure, warm hugs and kisses. I see Charlie and Mabe, Seth and Lucy, Viv, Bram, a blonde woman that I presume is his date and Mrs M, and after being passed from person to person for hugs they drift slowly back to the deep comfortable looking sectional sofa and chairs in brown suede by a huge open fire, and I take the opportunity to look round the room. It’s massive with floor to ceiling windows looking out onto a very wild looking garden. In the corner is a large Christmas tree gleaming with brightly coloured lights which sits over an absolute sea of presents. Turning I see Charlie laughing at Sid.

  “That’s what you were waiting for?” he crows, and Sid shifts uncomfortably.

  “Fuck off Charlie,” he mutters and Charlie laughs.

  “No, really. I was beginning to think you’d got piles with your inability to sit still and I couldn’t work out why you kept looking out of the window. Now I know, you special, special boy.”

  “Oh my God shut up,” Sid groans, and looks up at the ceiling for some sort of intervention which is granted by the portly figure of Mick.

  “Christmas dinner’s ready, you lazy fuckers,” he shouts, and everyone cheers and gets up to follow him leaving me trying to work out whether that was Charlie taking the piss, or whether him seeing me outside hadn’t been an accident but that he’d actually been waiting for me. I look round and he’s waiting for me patiently with a half-smile on his face. Crooking his elbow he bows slightly.

  “May I escort you into dinner madam?”

  I flutter an imaginary fan. “Why Sir, you do me a great honour.”

  “I know,” he says placidly. “It’s good you recognise that. Now get the fuck over here because I’m hungry.”

  I laugh. “Oh my God, you’d be no good in a Jane Austen series.”

  “Fuck that. The men’s trousers are way too baggy.” I laugh and he pulls me into another huge room out of which delicious smells are drifting. This must be the dining room and it’s tremendously light with high ceilings and massive windows, but again there’s no paint or paper on the walls and the floors echo. The table is massive, easily seating fourteen people, made of light oak and covered in a scarlet runner on which are beautiful flowers and candles which send light dancing on the glasses. Pulling out a chair for me Sid seats himself next to me and unsnaps my napkin over my lap. “Hungry?” he smiles.

  “Oh my God yes!” I realise with a start of surprise that I really am. My appetite suffers when I’m tired or sad, and food lost its flavour for me when Sam died. I almost felt guilty to be enjoying food when he was dead, but today everything smells wonderful. Sid piles my plate high with delicious turkey and trimmings until I protest. “I’ll never eat all that,” I smile.

  “You need to,” he says seriously. “You need to eat properly. I’ve noticed that you never do and you’ll be ill.”

  “I’ll be fine,” I say gently, taking the plate away from him and only just managing to lift it onto the table because it’s so heavy. Charlie is across from us and he waggles a bottle of wine at us.

  “Red, white or rose?” he asks.

  “Rose please.” I smile my thanks at him but Sid hesitates.

  “Actually, no mate. I think I’ll have a glass of the Baileys that Nell bought.” And he flourishes the bottle that I didn’t see him bring in with him. Charlie stares at him with his mouth hanging open slightly for a second, until Mabe reaches up and gently closes it for him which brings him back to himself.

  “Well okay then.” He smiles and I realise, not for the first time, that these are kind men. “I think I’ll have one myself.”

  “What sort is it?” Mabe asks with a smirk.

  “Mint.” I’m trying very hard not to smile.

  “There are different kinds?” Charlie gulps. “Wow, I just thought there were one.” He and Sid look dubiously at their glasses, and then as if prompted they open their mouths and fling the drink down like they’re doing a shot. They instantly both shudder and hold their fists to their mouths.

  “Wow,” chokes Sid, trying valiantly not to look sick. “That’s really something.”

  “Um,” hums Charlie, wiping his fingers over his mouth repeatedly. “Lovely and so … sweet.”

  Mabe and I look at each other and instantly break into laughter. “You hate it don’t you?” I laugh at Sid and he grimaces.

  “I’m sorry but I really do babe. It’s absolutely disgusting.”

  “Well don’t have any more then. More for Mabe and I.”

  “Really?” he replies thankfully, holding out his glass to Charlie who fills it with red wine quickly. “Thank fuck for that.”

  We sit over dinner for ages talking until the sky da
rkens into a greyish red outside. Christmas music is playing in the background, and while Sid has stuck by my side like glue he’s now abandoned me to move around taking pictures with a camera that looks exorbitantly expensive while people protest half-heartedly. Mabe watches him with a fond smile playing on her lips. “Sid and that bloody camera,” she says and Mick laughs.

  “You can’t go for a piss nowadays without David Bailey pouncing on you.”

  “Has he always liked photography?” I ask, taking a sip of my wine.

  “No, he took it up after he came out of rehab,” she says. “He needed some new hobbies that were less destructive, and thankfully this and running seem to have caught on.”

  “He runs?” I trace my eyes over his body because he really does have a classic runner’s body, long and lean and roped with muscle, slim hips and long, long legs. Becoming aware that Mabe is watching me with a knowing smile on her face I pretend to wipe drool off my face, and she bursts into laughter. Charlie is deep in conversation with Seth, his arm slung over the back of Mabe’s chair, but at her laughter he turns around.

  “What?”

  “Nothing,” I say hurriedly. “Just on about running as a hobby.”

  “Do you run?” he asks, casting a quick look down my body which I’m sure in the old days would have had player written all over it, but now lacks any real appreciation at all.

  “I do. I love it but it’s just finding the time to do it.”

  “Well, both Sid and I run every day so you’ll have to come with us while we’re away.”

  “I’d like that,” I reply shyly and turn to Mabe. “Do you run?”

  Charlie laughs. “Not unless she’s on fire,” and then ducks as she elbows him.

  Mick sighs heavily and taps his fists on the table. “I’m fucking sick of you lot and your fitness obsessions. I bet if I’d been friends with The Rolling Stones there’d have been none of this eating salad and running until your bollocks fall off.”