The Song, The Heart Read online

  The Song

  The Heart

  by

  Jade Winters

  The Song

  The Heart

  by Jade Winters

  Published by Wicked Winters Books

  Copyright © 2016 Jade Winters

  www.jade-winters.com

  All rights reserved. This novel or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author.

  All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Other titles by Jade Winters

  Novels

  143

  A Walk Into Darkness

  Everything To Lose

  Caught By Love

  Guilty Hearts

  Say Something

  Faking It

  Second Thoughts

  Secrets

  In It Together

  Love Interrupted

  Novellas

  Talk Me Down From The Edge

  Short Stories

  The Makeover

  The Love Letter

  Love On The Cards

  A Story Of You

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  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Epilogue

  Chapter One

  Branches lashed the window in a mad frenzy. The hypnotic drum of rain ricocheting off the rooftop was loud and unending. The weather war raging outside went unnoticed, as Skye’s attention remained fixed on the small screen sitting atop a narrow chest of drawers.

  Skye glanced at the digital clock in the bottom right-hand corner of the screen, and a tight knot formed in the pit of her stomach. The climactic moment had arrived. Four weeks of riding an emotional roller coaster of highs, lows, tears and frustration would finally be at an end in a matter of minutes. Skye leant forward on the edge of the bed, resting her arms on her knees, and clasped her clammy hands together. She forced herself to exhale upon noticing she was holding her breath. A slick-looking TV presenter, dressed in a black suit and tie, took centre stage. The camera zoomed in for a close-up of his face until just his head and shoulders filled the screen. A look of anticipation tightened his eyes.

  ‘I’m so nervous, even my hands are shaking,’ he said, flashing the audience a mischievous grin.

  ‘Oh, come on. Just get on with it.’

  Every second counted. Skye’s shift at the restaurant started in less than an hour, and she was still only half dressed. Being late wasn’t an option, but neither was missing this announcement.

  The presenter called the three remaining contestants to join him on stage. Each one trailed the other at a snail’s pace.

  Come on, walk a bit faster, why don't you? Skye’s excitement turned to frustration at the deliberate delays used to build expectation and hype.

  All she wanted to hear was the result. Who had won this year’s Star Maker. Her hopes were pinned on Chastity, a fiery redhead who was full of determination and grit and had the raw talent to make it big if given the chance. Chastity had been an inspiration to Skye from her first audition.

  ‘Before I announce the winner,’ the presenter began, ‘let me just say—’

  A loud thud from the floor below interrupted the tense moment. Skye snapped her head round to look at the bedroom door, trying to place the sound amongst her memory bank of normal household noises. Cocking her head, she waited, listening for a repeat of the noise. Nothing, just silence.

  It’s probably Zeus getting up to no good again. Her cat was a master of mischief that usually ended up with him getting stuck and having to be rescued, or making his own escape at the expense of an ornament or some other breakable object as if he had radar for where he could make the biggest mess. Zeus was a furry wrecking ball, but she loved him dearly.

  Skye returned her attention to the TV, but before she could mentally tune back into what the presenter was saying, there was another loud crash. She instinctively jumped to her feet.

  That didn’t sound good. If it was Zeus, he was surely in trouble.

  Skye rushed out of her bedroom and down the narrow staircase, Star Maker forgotten. The sound of a drawer slamming shut came from the kitchen. She pushed the door open slowly, not knowing what to expect.

  In the moonlit room, a tall figure frantically rummaged through one drawer after the other. Skye clamped a hand over her mouth to muffle a startled cry. Her heart was pounding so loudly, she was sure the intruder would hear it. She crept backwards, her hands outstretched behind her, not wanting to bump into something and alert the stranger. Who knew whether he had a knife? Skye had watched enough late-night crime dramas to know she could be tomorrow’s headline: ‘Woman found dead after disturbing burglar.’

  Skye stopped abruptly upon hearing Zeus’s familiar cry. The intruder spun around with a handful of papers in each hand, stared in the direction of the cat, and then his eyes landed on Skye, who stood halfway down the hallway, ready to make her escape. Her heart was in her mouth. This was a knife-edge moment, one that may be her last. He brazenly flicked the light switch. If he were going to kill her, it seemed he wanted to see the terror in her eyes first.

  Skye gasped in relief as the yellow electrical light showed the shadowy figure to be a very rain-soaked and soggy man. He looked at her and shrugged. A full week had gone by since she had last seen him.

  Skye’s fear gave way to anger. ‘Jesus Christ! Are you trying to give me a heart attack?’

  The man took a step towards her. ‘I need some money!’

  Don’t we all? Skye bent down and picked up Zeus, gently stroking his paw. ‘Well, you’re not gonna find it down here. I’m not that stupid. I learnt my lesson the last time.’

  She now kept her money locked in her bedroom. She couldn’t afford to take any chances.

  The man let the papers drop from his hands. Skye watched them fall to the floor—large paper leaves falling from a human tree.

  ‘Skye, I ain’t got time for games. I need eighty quid. I need it now.’ His voice, hard and angry, brought her back from her whimsical reverie.

  Skye ran a hand over her face and sighed. ‘Yeah, course you do. Same story, again and again and again! You’re like a broken record.’

  ‘I told you: I need time.’ His voice was no longer only harsh, but threatening. ‘Are you gonna hand it over, or do I have to—’

  ‘What, Dad? Am I going to hand it over or you’ll have to what? Mug an old lady? Hold up a petrol station?�
�� She emitted a small contemptuous laugh while still holding the warm furry body of Zeus against her chest.

  An all too familiar look of shame crossed Oliver’s features.

  ‘Or kill yourself like you threatened to do last week before you walked out and left me wondering, day in and day out, if you had gone through with it?’ Skye went on, her voice heavy with emotion. ‘Wondering every time my phone rang if it was the hospital, or worse, the police, to say they’d found your body.’

  Oliver raked his fingers through his hair and his face twisted in defeat.

  Skye’s sigh seemed to come from the bottom of her weary heart. ‘So tell me, what more could you possibly do to hurt me?’

  They stared at each other in a silent standoff. Identical green eyes locked, only hers were welling with tears and his were vacant.

  How do other girls have fathers that nurture and love them, and I get this one?

  Oliver’s jeans hung loosely around his emaciated waist, and the dark shadows under his eyes gave him a haunted look. Skye always wondered what demons tortured his soul and made him not give a flying fuck about anyone or anything, not even himself.

  She didn’t trust herself to speak. What good would it do to repeat it all anyway? Oliver would only accuse her of nagging. He had said on more than one occasion that he hadn’t even noticed when her mum had left them, as living with Skye was no different.

  Oliver stepped forward. ‘So, what’s it gonna be?’

  Skye gently placed Zeus on the floor and straightened. Oliver knew her too well. He knew she couldn’t bear to see him suffer. Tough love was the one thing Skye could never administer. Not even if it’s for his own good.

  ‘Give me a minute.’

  Skye turned around and rushed back up to her bedroom. Glancing at the TV upon entering the room, she crossed the threadbare carpet towards the bed. Her heart sank. The woman’s face filling the screen with tears of joy wasn’t Chastity’s. Skye thought this contestant had been the least talented. The unexpected outcome only served to reinforce her beliefs: talent had nothing to do with getting ahead; it was all about luck. Which I seem to be in short supply of!

  She knelt beside the bed and lifted the mattress slightly. Her fingers searched around until they located a roll of money—the hard-earned tips she had been saving from work this past year to pay for her dad to go to rehab. Only then could she escape from this prison of a life. Skye’s grand plan was to move from Marlborough once her dad was on the straight and narrow and head to the bright lights of London. Once there, she wanted to find the courage to audition for Star Maker. It had been a dream of hers ever since the show started airing three years ago.

  Blocking out the speech the winner was giving on TV, Skye peeled off four twenty-pound notes and stuffed the remaining money back under the mattress. She dropped her head onto the edge of the bed. She hated giving her dad so much cash, especially knowing the sort of people he was mixed up with, but what choice was there? If she helped him she was enabling his drug abuse. If she didn’t he would just find another way to get the money. She wouldn’t abandon her dad, not ever. She wasn’t a quitter who ran away when life took an unexpected turn for the worse, unlike her mother.

  Chapter Two

  Despite a traumatic few years, Morgan’s only vices were coffee and the few drags she took from Chanel’s cigarettes now and again. While the clientele in her nightclub spent the night knocking back half-priced cocktails as they watched the stage acts, Morgan always remained sober. Not that being teetotal bothered her in the slightest. The things people got up to when they were drunk were appalling, and besides, the hangovers were just not worth it.

  ‘So,’ Chanel said with a wry smile as she slid a couple of drinks over the bar top to one of the waitresses. ‘I couldn’t help noticing the cutie over there has had her eye on you all night. She keeps ordering loads of vodka shots. I think she’s trying to pluck up enough courage to come and talk to you. Poor cow. I hope you’ll let her down gently.’

  ‘What? Vodka girl?’ Morgan glanced over at the woman Chanel was talking about. She was indeed knocking back a vodka shot, and by the looks of her, Chanel was right: the shot was one of many she had drunk. The woman stood as if she felt vibes coming from the two women at the bar, wriggled her bum to pull her short skirt down and looked blearily around.

  Morgan turned back to Chanel. ‘Really? I didn’t even notice. I doubt she was looking at me anyway. She’s more your type.’

  ‘No, no, she definitely wants you. I’ve had my fair share of attempted pickups tonight,’ Chanel teased.

  ‘Ugh,’ Morgan said, tucking a stray lock of black hair behind her ear. ‘I saw her puffing on a fag outside. I don’t want to kiss a woman who tastes like an ashtray.’

  She wrinkled her nose as if she could smell the smoke from where she was sitting.

  ‘Morgan! You smoke!’

  Morgan grinned at her as she tilted her chin up defiantly. ‘Well, barely, and anyway, everything’s okay as long as I’m the one doing it.’

  ‘You’re too much.’ Chanel leant over and slapped Morgan’s shoulder playfully, but her cheery tone vanished as the conversation took a thoughtful turn. ‘Joking aside, you’re way too quick to dismiss women who are clearly interested in you. You need to give people a chance. You may be missing out on a magical adventure.’

  Swatting the comment away with a dismissive wave of her hand, Morgan said, ‘Gimme a break. We’ve been through this a million times, and I keep telling you I don’t have time to date.’

  A scuff on Morgan’s left shoe suddenly caught her attention. She bent down and gave the imaginary spot a rough wipe.

  ‘Can’t, or won’t?’ Chanel shot back. ‘Morgan, you can’t let issues from your past stop you from having a life and a future.’

  Chanel took Morgan’s hand, covering it with her own. ‘Look at me,’ she said sternly.

  Morgan lifted her head and levelled her a look.

  ‘What that bastard rotting in jail did can’t be undone, but you can’t let him destroy you. If you give him that power over you, he’s won.’

  Morgan sighed and held Chanel’s gaze. She was an attractive woman with long dark hair and mesmeric, feline eyes. ‘Yeah, I know, but I honestly don’t want a girlfriend. Look at the mess I made with Maggie. My head’s all over the place.’

  She looked up as if the ceiling held the answer to her troubles.

  ‘Listen, baby, I know,’ Chanel said. ‘I feel it too, but the justice you’re looking for isn’t going to happen, not in this lifetime anyway. Nothing will bring them back. I wish life worked like that, but it doesn’t.’

  Morgan remained silent. She had heard the same argument a thousand times. Ignoring Chanel as if she hadn’t spoken, Morgan withdrew her hand from Chanel’s grasp and glanced at her wristwatch. Technically, it was still too early to close up, but that didn’t mean she had to stay there and listen to Chanel go on about her love life, or lack of it.

  ‘Doesn’t look like there’ll be much action around here tonight.’ Morgan unhooked her jacket from the back of her seat. ‘I’m gonna head off. I’ll see you tomorrow, lady.’

  ‘Alright, but think about what I said. You don’t wanna end up an old maid, do ya?’ Chanel called to her as Morgan headed towards the entrance.

  Morgan raised a hand in farewell and, as she reached the door, she turned and said, ‘You know what they say? Whatever will be will be?’

  She slipped her arms into her jacket and headed out the door. Chanel’s heart was in the right place and she was only looking out for her, but dating was not on Morgan’s priority list at all, if truth be told. She couldn’t imagine craving the constant companionship of a woman—not that she hadn’t tried. After her last dismal attempt with Maggie several months ago, Morgan was left feeling disappointed and like a complete failure. She had concluded that dating wasn’t her thing. The elusive feeling of butterflies before a date was incomprehensible. Wasting make-up, time and feelings on some run-of-the-mill g
irlfriend archetype just wasn’t worth the effort.

  Morgan recalled acting out a wedding between herself and her most prized Barbie doll around the age of five, but that was about as romantic as she’d ever been. She had attended many therapy sessions, which had helped her understand her inability to feel emotionally connected and why she sabotaged her relationships. Morgan could easily equate her disinterest in dating over the past few years to the emotional turmoil she had endured. It wasn’t just dating; it was everything. Life had lost its colour. Nothing seemed important enough to put energy into.

  Why bother when, in a single moment, it can be taken from you forever?

  Her unhappiness didn’t stem from her lack of a girlfriend; it stemmed from the fact that the drug addict responsible for her misery was still alive. He got to wake up every morning, live, breathe, eat. On top of that, the inadequacy of the sentencing laws in the UK meant he was due for release any day now.

  The thought of that scumbag walking free gave her a cold, sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. When it came to junkies, she wished they could be wiped off the face of the earth. Instead, they walked the streets, fiendishly hunting for their next fix or victim, looking for the next life to destroy. So no, Morgan didn’t have the energy to waste on a relationship. She barely had the energy to keep herself going. She had far too many important things to think about, like what she would do when Thomas Kidding was released from prison.

  Chapter Three

  A sheet of crimson velvet, which hung from ceiling to floor, served as the focal point inside the swanky club that teemed with London’s finest personalities. A whirlwind of cocktails and conversations overwhelmed Skye’s senses as she took one final breath before the lights dimmed. She closed her eyes, centreing herself.

  This is your dream. Make it happen. The roar of the crowd turned to a whisper as the spotlight called attention to the glisten on Skye’s skin, the glitter on her dress, and the grace of her presence. A second crawled past, leaving the club virtually silent.