Trust Me (Beggar's Choice #2)

by Lily Morton

  Viv laughs and Mabe sighs. “It was the opposite actually. Charlie was so adamant that I wasn’t signing one that I got John, Viv’s boss, to draw me one up.”

  Viv laughs again. “Tell her what happened.”

  “He was really angry. He set fire to it in the garden,” she relates, flushing slightly. “Then he got John to draw one up for me.”

  “And?” I ask, confused now.

  Mabe smiles. “It wasn’t exactly your standard prenup.”

  Viv laughs. “It fucking wasn’t. She was required to sign that she would have sex with him every two hours. It stipulated positions and then went on to state which underwear she had to wear each day, and that she had to do as she was told in the bedroom and call him daddy. I think John and he consumed a bottle of whisky while they were drawing it up. We could hear them laughing all over the office.”

  “What did you say to him?”

  Mabe laughs “I told him that it was ridiculous and he replied that the idea of us splitting up was ridiculous. I wasn’t getting rid of him that easily, and that if I lived with him for any length of time I’d deserve the fucking money. Sid said I’d actually deserve a medal but to just stick with the money.”

  I smile, feeling the softening inside me that I always feel when I hear his name, and the two women look at me knowingly. “I’m glad you brought up Sid,” Viv says, handing an armful of clothing to the waiting shop assistant and steering us into the changing rooms where some leather settees are positioned next to a tray of refreshments. “What’s going on there Nelly, because from where I’m standing that man has the look of a well satisfied guitarist?”

  I flush. “I’m saying nothing.”

  “You have to,” Viv says simply. “You’re one of us now, part of the family. It’s the law to overshare inappropriate information within our family.”

  “It is not,” Mabe says laughing. “Don’t listen to her Nell. You don’t have to tell us anything.”

  “I actually wouldn’t know what to tell you,” I say slowly. “I’m not sure myself what’s happening.”

  Viv hands me a coffee and pours Mabe an orange juice. “What do you mean?”

  I decide to trust them. “Well originally he just wanted us to sleep together, and he’s told me over and over again that nothing will come of it. He won’t fall in love with me and I shouldn’t do that with him.”

  Viv sighs. “These boys, they’re all idiots.” There’s something slightly bitter about the way that she says it and Mabe shoots her a cautious look.

  “I’m sorry about that,” she says sadly. “You’re worth a lot more than that Nell and so is he.”

  “I don’t know why he’s so faithful to skanks and lays the world at their feet, and then, when a good girl comes along, he’s making fuck friend arrangements with her.” Viv sounds angry and I flinch slightly.

  Mabe rubs her hand over my shoulder. “I think that might be how it started,” she says slowly. “But I don’t think that’s how it is now.” She shoots me a discerning, clear look and when I start to protest she shakes her head. “I’ve known Sid since I was six Nell and I love him very deeply. He’s one of the best men that I’ve ever met, and for years Charlie and I have prayed that he’d find someone that’s good enough for him. I’ve seen him with woman after woman in between episodes of Leah, and Viv’s right, most of them have been worthless, but with you it’s different. I’ve never seen him like this Nell and neither has Charlie.”

  “Like what?” I’m equally loving this conversation and hating it at the same time for the hope that it’s giving me.

  “Happy,” she says simply. “He’s finally relaxed enough to be happy. He doesn’t have that pinched frown on his face anymore. He’s just Sid - funny and loyal and loving. The man we’ve always known, because he’s always been like that with family. I’ve just never seen him be like that with a woman before and I’m so glad that it’s you Nell.”

  I’m touched by this and I squeeze her hand firmly but I’m cautious too. “It doesn’t mean anything Mabe. I think it’s maybe because he’s sober and enjoying life, and I’m so happy that he’s had the chance to be like that.”

  “You love him?” Mabe has an arrested look on her face and it feels good to finally acknowledge this with two people who won’t mock it or try to argue me out of it.

  “I do. I love him so much that it hurts, and although there’s no future to it I’m so pleased that I met him because he’s added something to my life that I’ll never regret.”

  “It doesn’t have to end,” Mabe says hurriedly but Viv shushes her.

  “Whatever happens we’re your friends now. Don’t lose contact with us or we’ll hound you.”

  I laugh. “I hope not. I do consider you my friends, and I’d hate to lose you when the tour finishes.”

  “You won’t,” Mabe promises. “But Nell, maybe you should consider telling him how you feel.”

  “He’s never indicated that he’d want to hear that,” I say hurriedly.

  “He doesn’t have to,” Viv says simply. “His behaviour does that for him every day. He watches you all the time. When you come into a room his attention is instantly on you. He brings your name into most conversations to the extent that Bram made up a rude rhyme entitled ‘Nelly Said’ which earnt him a bloody nose.” We all smile and she carries on. “Whether he knows it or not Nell I think he feels the same way, but what you’ve got to realise is that he might not know it himself. He has zero experience of being in a normal, stable, supportive relationship because all he’s ever known is tears and screaming and addiction and need. You’re a revelation to him and maybe you’re simply going to have to be the big girl here and be the one to make the first move. I don’t think that you’ll regret it.”

  “Maybe. It’s the last date of the tour tomorrow night anyway so I suppose that we’ll have to have some sort of chat about our future, if we have one.” I shake my head at their protests but much as I don’t want them to, her words stay with me for the rest of the shopping trip, hovering in the back of my mind and making sentences tremble on my tongue. However, when I get back to our room they’re drowned out by astonishment at the state of the room. The television is smashed to pieces, a desk, the settee and one of the chairs have been overturned while a mirror has been shattered. Glass and feathers from some cushions are everywhere.

  “What on earth?” I turn to Sid who is sitting hunched over on a chair examining his knuckles which are torn and bleeding. “What have you done?” I exclaim, racing over to him and despite his resistance pulling his hand towards me.

  “Nothing,” he says sharply, pulling his hand away, rising to his feet and avoiding my eyes. “Bram and I just got into it. No harm done.”

  “No harm done. Your hand’s fucked up Sid. It might need stitches. Did you hit it on the mirror?” I’m following him as he stalks towards the bedroom and I jump as he rounds on me.

  “What the fuck Nell. Are you my mother now? I’ve told you that it’s fine, now just fucking stop going on about it and nagging me.”

  “Nagging?” I echo, hurt now and it must show on my face because he darts a look at me and flinches slightly before going over to the wardrobe and pulling his t-shirt and jeans off, leaving him in just his tight, white boxer briefs. I breathe in sharply at the sight of him which never fails to get to me, but I’m too worried to really look. He’s behaving very strangely.

  “Did anything happen while I was gone?” I try timidly, not wanting to be accused of nagging him again.

  “Why?” he asks sharply.

  “No reason.” I hold my hands up as he pulls a pair of dark jeans on, his abrupt movements hinting at his agitation. He adds a red plaid shirt wincing at the pain in his knuckles as he buttons it up, and then slides on a pair of battered old Vans. Moving to the sideboard he picks up his room key.

  “Where are you going?” I ask, suddenly panicked.

  “Out,” he replies shortly, heading out of the room in loping strides as I follow helplessl
y behind him. I don’t know what’s gotten into him and upset him, but he’s never been like this with me before so I try to ignore it. He’s a busy man with more responsibilities on his shoulders than most twenty eight year old men will ever have. Trying to be conciliatory I rush over to the table where I put my bag.

  “Before you go I bought you something,” I say quietly and then hesitate as he stops at the door with a sigh of barely concealed impatience. I gulp and almost think better of it but I hand him the bag and he reaches in and pulls out a green, plaid Element shirt. He’s silent, staring down at it and I’m forced into over bright, hurried words, trying to fill his silence. “I saw it and thought of you. It’s your colour and I know you like the label.” Slowly my words peter out as he raises his head and his burning eyes hit me.

  “Why did you buy this Nell?”

  “I thought you’d like it,” I say almost nervously, which pisses me off because this is just a nice gesture. It’s him that’s making it shitty.

  “Really?” he replies in disbelief, and I feel anger rise in me which is an almost welcome alternative to bewildered despair.

  “Yes really. What the fuck is the matter with you?”

  “This,” he roars, brandishing the shirt. “Since when do we exchange gifts? Next we’ll be braiding each other’s hair and making mix tapes. Christ!” He turns away running his hand through his hair.

  “Fuck you!” I see his back stiffen, the muscles standing out in deep relief. “It was just a present, that’s all. Take it back, burn the fucker or throw it out of the window. I don’t care anymore. I didn’t know that we didn’t give each other things. I didn’t realise that it was a hanging offence.”

  He spins round. “Boyfriends and girlfriends do this shit Nell, not us. We’re not even lovers, we just fuck. That’s it and I told you this from the start. Don’t look at me like that because it’s not my fault that you don’t listen.” I can’t help it and I flinch like he’s cut me, which actually might hurt less than the words that he’s slinging at me. For a second I think that I see despair cross his face, but I must be mistaken because instead he sneers. “Don’t give me that fucking, hurt crap. I’ve been honest with you from the beginning. I don’t want a relationship. Just because we get on, don’t try and make it into something that it isn’t with shitty little gifts. You’ll be writing me poetry next.”

  I can’t believe that this is the same man that I’ve known all these weeks. The same man that Viv and Mabe were trying to convince me that he loved me. “Don’t worry,” I say defiantly while unwanted tears burn my eyes. “I’ll never make that mistake again.”

  He hesitates for a second and then tosses the shirt onto the table dismissively. I watch it fall in a cloud of green material because looking at it is preferable to looking at him. “Good,” he says in a low, hard voice. “I’m going out. Don’t wait up, I don’t know when I’ll be back.”

  I can’t help the next question because it bursts out of me unbidden. “Will you be back?”

  He shrugs. “Maybe.” The door slams shut and my knees give out and I slump onto the carpet. For a while I just sit there staring numbly around the room, until eventually the state of the room makes me roll to my feet. I don’t know what’s just gone on but I can’t sit here in this mess. I numbly right furniture and pick up the bigger pieces of glass and then give in and call Scott, not wanting to give the desk staff a gossip field day. He’ll know how to handle it. He arrives ten minutes later and looks around whistling under his breath.

  “What the hell’s got into him? Sid’s not normally like this.”

  I shrug, not even wanting to give him the Bram tale which is patently untrue.

  “I’m going to call it the Bill Effect,” he says, pulling out his phone as it beeps.

  “What?”

  “Well, I’ve just had to clear up Charlie’s suite, where he too appears to have been overcome with the homicidal urge to destroy his entertainment centre. He’s in a fucking foul mood as well, shouting at everyone.”

  “Why?” I gasp, and he shrugs smiling.

  “Fuck knows. That Bill bloke winds me up too but I’ve never smashed a room up. Thank God we don’t deal with him on a regular basis on tour, or we’d have to buy stock in Currys.”

  “Bill was here?” I ask dumbly, and he shoots me a questioning look.

  “Yeah, this morning while you were out. I’m only joking though. Perhaps they both just decided to simultaneously embrace their inner rock gods.”

  “Maybe.” My brain is working frantically and I’ve got a very bad feeling about this. Something obviously went down this morning, and I hope that I’m not becoming paranoid but I’ve got a feeling that it’s something to do with me. I become aware of Scott looking at me. “What will you say to the hotel staff?”

  “Nothing,” he says cheerily. “We don’t offer explanations because they get distorted and sold to the press. I just apologise and pay the charge. Not my money and not really their problem if they’ve got the money to sort it out. Believe me I’ve dealt with a lot worse than a smashed television and mirror.”

  I smile half-heartedly and help him clear up the worst of it. However, once he’s gone my mind is going a mile a minute until eventually I make a conscious effort to stop thinking. I won’t know unless I can get it out of Sid. I’m still reeling from the way that he spoke to me, and already a part of me is getting ready to finish it before he does it and guts me even more.

  Another part of me however, is reminding me that he’s never been like that with me before, and he isn’t like it with anyone that I’ve ever seen. He gets cross but he’s never deliberately cruel. In fact the man that I know would rather cut off his own arm than deliberately hurt someone. Maybe I should try to get to the bottom of this because I’ve got the strong sense that something’s going on and it seems to be connected with Bill. I haven’t fought for anything for the last three years because nothing mattered. Now he does and I won’t go unless he makes me.

  Hours pass as I sit curled up in a chair looking down at the lights of Copenhagen, watching couples dressed up and sallying out for meals in cosily lit restaurants, and still he doesn’t come back. I try to empty my mind and try not to imagine what, or who he’s up to. I’ve come to trust him and he’ll have to prove otherwise first. Eventually, feeling heart sore I occupy myself with a bath in the deep tub in the bathroom. I lotion myself and blow dry my hair until it lies silkily against my skull, and then, after donning a little amber coloured, lace nightie, I slide between the sheets.

  I lie for a while but my brain won’t switch off, and after ten minutes I give up and switch the bedside lamp back on. Searching for something to occupy my mind my eye falls on Sid’s battered copy of the Anthony Kiedis autobiography, ‘Scar Tissue’. He’s been engrossed in it for the last few days and I suppose something about the man’s tale of excess must appeal to him. I pick it up but as I do a photograph flutters out from between the pages and falls to the floor. At first I think that it must be one of the book’s photo inserts but when I turn it to the light I’m absolutely flabbergasted to see a picture of myself.

  I recognise it as one of Sid’s photos instantly, but I’ve never seen this one before. I’m sitting in a beer garden, in Hamburg I think, and I even remember the night because we’d all met up and sat there for ages, warmed by a patio heater, talking and laughing. I’m perched on some steps bundled in my coat with a glass of wine in my hands. The wind has blown my hair into a wild mess of waves around my face, and someone must have said something funny because I’m laughing with my head thrown back slightly and my eyes bright with laughter.

  For a moment I just stare at the picture and marvel at how different I look from just a few months ago. In this picture I look carefree and happy and I wonder if that’s the way he sees me. If it is then he can pat himself on the back for it, because I haven’t been either of these things for a long time, if ever. Then I start to wonder why this is marking a page in his book, and I can’t help but feel
hope start to stir. The picture shows signs of wear and tear so it’s obviously been well handled. Could he possibly feel the same as me? Over the last few weeks I’ve felt something change within him. Could he be in love with me?

  Killing that thought before it can take root, I carefully place the photo back in the book and close it, and then switch the light off and lay back. I won’t let myself think that he’s in love with me but I feel better about the argument somehow. Everyone has rows and he has so much on his shoulders it has to stress him out. I’m still mad at him because he was a prick but maybe it isn’t insurmountable.

  I didn’t think that I’d sleep but I must have because I come awake as someone slides into the bed next to me. “What?” I say sleepily, reaching out to put the lamp on.

  “Don’t,” comes his muttered response and then his naked body falls against and over me. I automatically part my legs for him and his hips fall between mine, his hard cock prodding at my opening. I mean to question him, to take him to task for hurting me like that but his urgency communicates something to me, and all of a sudden I’m drenched, my heart hammering and so aroused that I could come. He senses it as he always does, so attuned to my responses now, and he groans and pushes inside me in one brutal thrust.

  I wrap my legs around his narrow waist and moan, arching my head back into the pillow for a second before, overcome by a sudden feeling of rage, I pull his hair sharply.

  “Fuck,” he groans, arching into my hand and forcing his cock far into me.

  “You’re a fucking bastard,” I hiss, and suddenly all this rage and hurt coalesces into a molten mess of lust and arousal and he groans as if in pain. Then, as if the feeling is alive in him too his thrusts become forceful, hammering into me as the headboard smacks into the wall. It’s like we’re live wires touching, all sparks and danger, and we fall into a heady rhythm of bodies slamming into each other, our percussion beat out by the heavy sound of his balls hitting me, the moist sound of my body taking him in and our moans and groans.