Hidden Sin: When the past comes back to haunt you. Julie Shaw

Чтение книги онлайн.

       Chapter 1

      For as long as he could remember, Joey had always made music. Right from the start, it had always been a part of him. From the foggy memories of his early childhood, of wielding a wooden spoon and saucepan while his mam belted out songs off the radio, to being in the percussion corner – always – in primary school productions, right up to learning the recorder, then trying the trumpet (a short-lived excursion, that one) to the point where he was allowed to try the battered high-school drum kit, music, particularly rhythm, had been in his blood. He’d more than once wondered (his mam and step-dad always having been so tight-lipped about it) what kind of man had put the curl in his hair. A musician. It just had to be a musician.

      And here he was now. Making music. And getting paid for it, however little. Playing to an actual audience, who seemed to like him, as well. And in one case – he quickly downed the rest of the pint, in case the landlord clocked him – even being given drinks by complete strangers.

      He watched the man who’d just spoken to him – a giant of a man, too – weave his way back round the scattered tables to the bar. Was this what it was like, then? Being in a band? Being famous? Well, not so much famous – that would be pushing it. It was the band people had come for. It was Paula they really came for. And he got that completely. He’d come to watch her sing here a few times himself. First as an old mate he’d rediscovered – their mams had been really close once – and then because, well, because the band were pretty good. And Paula herself … Well, who wouldn’t want to watch her sing?

      He watched her laughing with some friends of hers at the side of the stage. And for too long, as well; she caught his eye and must have realised he’d been staring, because she flicked her hair at him in a way that made it clear she’d read his thoughts. She gave him a thumbs up before turning back to her friends, and he felt his cheeks flush. Was he imagining it, or did she like him as well?

      Joey lowered his gaze, flustered, and went back to his high hat, checking the nuts, touching the cymbals, pumping his foot on the pedals, and all the while still not quite believing – or feeling quite deserving of – his luck. It was his second gig with Parallel Lines now, and he’d been told that if things went well, there would be more. But he didn’t like to think too much about it, in case it was all taken away from him. He’d been brought up to understand that you didn’t count on anything. So counting on this might be tantamount to jinxing it.

      He knew the beer might have something to do with it, but for the first time since leaving school he felt a welling of proper pride, even so. Pride in having achieved his own ambition, the first rung on a ladder that was a world away, or at least could be, from the one he inhabited doing the rounds on his window-cleaning cart. Not that he wasn’t proud of that too. Of course he was. A gift from his dad, on the day he’d left school two years back, the window-cleaning round he’d inherited from him had always been a precious means to an end.

      His mum and dad might not have believed it, but his own belief had never wavered. If he worked hard and saved hard – and he’d been good at doing both – he’d known from the outset that it could provide him with his chosen future. The means to practise in the short term – once he’d paid his keep, every spare penny went on kit – but, longer term, to make him a more viable commodity. A drummer with his own drum kit was more desirable than one without; it was at least half the reason the band had given him a try-out when their regular drummer, whose wife had just had a kid, had decided to call it a day. The trick now was to prove his talent and commitment, both of which he knew he had in spades.

      He risked glancing up again. Paula had gone now. Presumably to the loo, before they began their second set.

      But apparently not.

      ‘Boo!’ came a voice. Joey swivelled on his stool. Paula was behind him, in a cloud of musky fragrance, presumably having just returned from the ladies’. She nodded towards the bar, which was still rammed with people getting their drinks in before they started. ‘Who was that?’ she asked, as she tucked her bag down behind him. Her hair brushed his shoulder as she did so.

      ‘That black guy? Dunno,’ he said. ‘He said his name was Mac-something. Nice bloke. Bought me a pint.’

      ‘I noticed.’ She looked across to the bar again, where the man was half-hidden in the crush. Except he wasn’t crushed. It was like he had some sort of force field around him. He also stood a whole head above the men gathered around him, none of which Joey recognised either. He looked for his uncle Nicky, who’d brought him and his kit down here in his battered van earlier. He might only just be out of prison but he seemed to know everyone. But there was no sign of him and Joey realised he’d probably not returned yet from where he’d gone once they’d brought the stuff in, to ‘see a man about a dog’.

      ‘But I’ll be back before you’re finished,’ he’d promised. ‘Help you pack up and take you home and that.’ And though Joey didn’t doubt it, he couldn’t help wondering what exactly the man and the dog bit was actually all about. His mam had spent fifteen years visiting his uncle Nicky in prison – VOs as regular as clockwork, and she never missed one – but now he was home, Joey couldn’t fail to СКАЧАТЬ