Cocktails, Rock Tales & Betrayals

by Archer, Julie

  ‘The Girl From The Blue’ kicked in and it was all Caro could do to stop the tears falling unheeded down her face.

  After everything that had happened, everything that Edie had confessed to that afternoon, he was here.

  Singing that song.

  She glanced over at Mariella, who had a knowing smile on her face and gently pushed her towards the stage. As she made her way through the audience, Alik didn't take his eyes off her and continued singing.

  Singing the song that had brought them together in the first place, and was inexorably drawing them together again.

  There was a tumultuous round of applause as the song ended and the crowd there realised something was going on. Alik held out a hand and pulled her onto the stage.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, meet Caro Flynn, the inspiration behind that song. I met her here all that time ago, fell in love with her and pretty much changed all the lyrics so they were about her.”

  The crowd clapped even harder and Caro felt herself dissolving into tears. She ducked her head in embarrassment and jumped down off the raised platform, making her way outside. Alik passed his guitar to someone behind the bar and followed her outside, down to the beach.

  They stood at the edge of the shore, the water lapping around their feet.

  “Edie came to see me,” Caro said. “She told me everything.”

  “I know,” said Alik.

  Caro nodded. A tear fell down her cheek as she thought about a future that didn't have Alik in it.

  Alik turned her towards him and reached forward to brush it away, his thumb gently caressing her lips. “It's always been you, Caro,” he said, softly. “Ever since that first night at Juju's, it's always been about you.”

  Chapter Sixty-Four

  Six weeks later

  The Indigo Lounge was closed for a private function, but this time in happier circumstances; Caro’s homecoming party.

  Caro and Alik were back from Mallorca, although Caro was toying with the idea of splitting her time between The Indigo Lounge and The Roca Bar. Having spent a little time working at the bar again, she realised she missed it more than she had initially thought. She had briefly spoken to the new owners about the possibility of buying it back. But first she needed to have a long discussion with Nic about what the future held.

  Alik had been in negotiations with Nate and Dev, as well as Parker. They had come to the conclusion that Blood Stone Riot should continue and they were going to start looking for a new bassist. Alik had also agreed to record some of his solo material as the band took a short hiatus, to keep momentum and interest.

  Edie had lots of bridges to build, some of them easier than others. The Magpie had really taken off thanks, in part, to the introduction of a very successful maternity range and an expansion into childcare products. She had dropped out of public life for a while, choosing instead to decamp to Gramercy Lodge for a quieter pace of life. She occasionally kept in touch with Alik. She was having a baby boy and had already decided to call him Billy Junior.

  Poppy and Nate were talking to Nic and Olivia about their plans for an extended honeymoon. They were looking forward to travelling around the world, with an extended stop in Australia to see Poppy’s family.

  Even Dev was there, with his Latvian girlfriend, Yulia. Everyone had been surprised when they realised she actually existed. It seemed the two of them were very much into each other. Dev was planning to take some time out in Latvia until they got the band back on track.

  Caro headed towards the group with Poppy in it, eyeing her friend’s glass suspiciously. “That doesn’t look like champagne to me,” she said.

  Poppy grinned. “Nope, it’s grapefruit juice. If I’ve been reading the books and magazines correctly, the advice is not to drink while you’re pregnant…”

  She threw her arms around Poppy. “That’s amazing news! But should you really be travelling either?”

  Poppy made a face. “I don’t really fancy the idea of a long haul flight with morning sickness. But as I didn’t see my mum on my wedding day, I think she’d probably kill me if I told her I was pregnant over the phone.”

  “I guess I’m organising the baby shower?”

  “Too right!”

  “I think this calls for a few words.” Caro tapped the side of her glass and turned to the assembled group. “Ladies and gentlemen,” she said. “Thank you for coming along this evening. We’ve been through a lot together.” She glanced towards Poppy and Olivia. “But now it’s time to look to the future and everything that brings.” Her eyes fell on Alik and she held up her flute of champagne. “It’s time for new beginnings. Cheers!”

  Preview of One Last Shot

  Second changes mean you shouldn’t make the same mistakes again, right?

  Richey Mason missed out on the big time once before. Can Blood Stone Riot offer him the success he craves or will his past demons return to haunt him?

  Eva Darcey has just escaped a controlling relationship. When she lands on the doorstep of an old friend whose life has suddenly gone haywire, she finds herself drawn into the band’s world…and falling for their troubled new bass player.

  When an old flame reappears, the consequences couldn’t be more devastating. Will the band play an encore?

  Read the first chapter here…

  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.

  Preview of Rivers of Ink

  Mixing business with pleasure shouldn’t ever work.

  The second Alicia Dylan walks into the office at The Unbound Soul for an interview, Callan Rivers knows he shouldn’t offer her the job. Except he already has, two nights ago: himself.

  That wild night is imprinted in Alicia’s memory, and seeing Callan again brings back all the intense feelings from the few hours they spent together. How could she even consider working for him?

  From the moment they met, their chemistry is off-the-scale and all consuming. Although when pasts collide with the present, the future doesn’t look so pretty.

  Read the first chapter here…

  Callan Rivers wondered whether it was possible for him to hide out in the Trackside Social for the next twenty-four hours.

  He needed an escape, needed to be invisible for a while. The bar was pleasantly busy with transient punters stopping for a few drinks after work before heading off to catch the train or going to another bar. It was perfect for him to be able to sit, undisturbed, at one end of the bar while lost in his own thoughts, drinking shot after shot to numb any sort of feeling.

  Just like he had been pretty much every night since his brother Xander’s accident.

  “Hey, Cal, how’s it going?” Vinny, one of the barmen he was vaguely acquainted with, immediately placed a double Jack in front of him.

  “Been better.”

  Vinny nodded solemnly. “Yeah, sorry to hear about your brother. Awful accident, mate, you must be…” His words trailed off as someone else caught his attention. “That one’s on the house, okay?” He darted off towards the other end of the bar, leaving Callan alone.

  He perched on a stool and rested his elbows on the bar, cradling his chin in his hands. He cast a look around, seeing people enjoying themselves: having fun with friends, lovers, family. All the things he couldn’t—or rather didn’t want—to join in. The numbness that had been his constant companion for the last couple of weeks took hold, and he reached for the shot glass.

  “Callan, sorry I’m late. I got chatting to the last guy who came in. He says his girlfriend wants to get a tattoo, but she’s scared. I said you’d be gentle with her.” Aidy Brown, Callan’s best friend, dropped his bag to the floor and settled onto the stool beside him. He waved at Vinny for a beer and gestured to Callan’s already empty glass for a replacement.

  They worked together in Callan’s tattoo and barber shop, The Unbound Soul. Built from the ground up, it had been up and running for a little over nine months and provided intense competition for Cutting Ink across the other side of town. With stellar growth in their initial months, the shop now had three tattoo artists, including Callan; three barbers, including Aidy; and two gaping holes. One was because of the untimely departure of the studio’s receptionist; and the other, the head barber role, had been filled by Xander.

  “I also posted the ad for the receptionist role on the Jobs in Oakridge page,” Aidy said, when their drinks arrived. “We really need someone to start soon, otherwise Pearl is going to go ballistic.”

  “Thanks, I appreciate that.”

  Being able to have a more organised business was something they definitely needed, although the thought of replacing Xander made Callan sick to his stomach.

  “I can only have one. Wren’s arranged a menu tasting at The Stratfield Barn and I’m already late.” Aidy slugged his beer and checked his watch. “She’ll be here in, shit, less than five minutes.”

  “How are things going with the wedding planning?”

  “Pretty full on, but I think we’ve got most things sorted. Wren’s less Bridezilla than others I’ve heard about.”

  The smile Callan gave felt wooden. Not that he wasn’t happy for Aidy and Wren, they really did make the perfect couple. His own love life was pretty non-existent right now. If he had more support, perhaps he could get through Xander’s funeral without totally losing it. It wasn’t looking good right now.

  The door swung open again, and Aidy’s gaze immediately went to it. When he saw a redhead scanning the room, he jumped up, grabbed his bag, and gave Callan’s arm an affectionate punch. “Gotta go, buddy. I’ll see you tomorrow. Take it easy, yeah?”

  Aidy’s words echoed in his ears as Callan ordered yet another whisky. His phone
vibrated, and he pulled it out of his pocket. His father’s number flashed up on the screen. Callan stared at it. He knew he ought to answer it, what was he going to say?

  The conversations he and Drew Rivers had needed to have over the past week or so were more out of necessity than want, not the sort of father/son chats they should be having. No casual banter about girls and dating, no sports chat. Instead it was practicalities such as coffin choice, whether there ought to be flowers, or whether they should ask for donations to charity. It wasn’t normal.

  He placed his phone face down on the counter and took another drink.

  The whisky burned a path down his throat, and he winced. It felt like it was the pain he needed right now.

  The phone twitched, the evidence that Drew had left a message. Callan didn’t want to listen to it, didn’t want to deal with the reality of what was happening. He much preferred being in the bar, in a transient state, nowhere to be, nowhere to have been.

  As he finished the drink, he caught Vinny’s eye and ordered up another.

  Maybe obliteration was the answer.

  His eyes fell on an abandoned order pad and pencil that one of the staff had left on the bar. He pulled it towards him and found a clean page, ripping out a sheet so as not to mess with any existing orders. Callan began sketching, harsh lines forming a shape on the page. As he drew, everything around him ceased to exist: the other people in the bar, the message from his father, Xander’s death.

  The focus had him.

  He worked quickly, the shape turning into a rose, and from the petals, a few dark, dark, tears.