The Song, The Heart Read online

  ‘Oh shit! I thought you’d be back late tonight.’

  ‘Obviously,’ Morgan said, eyeing the scantily dressed woman sprawled on her sofa.

  Adrian jumped to his feet, fumbling with the button on his jeans. He bent down and retrieved his T-shirt from the floor. ‘We weren’t gonna do it here; I was about to drag her—’

  ‘Drag? If you’re gonna bring women into my house, at least show them some respect.’

  ‘Okay, I’m sorry. Mel, come on, get up …’

  Morgan narrowed her eyes at him and arched an eyebrow.

  Glancing at Morgan’s stony face with piercing blue eyes, he said in an exaggerated tone, ‘Please.’

  Mel stumbled to her feet, tugging her shirt tightly around her.

  ‘He might be my brother, but that doesn’t mean he’s not a dick sometimes. No one’s worth losing your dignity over. Not even him.’

  Morgan shot Adrian a dirty look. Where had he learnt to treat women like this? Not from her, that was for sure.

  Mel’s face reddened. ‘He’s not—’

  ‘Yeah, yeah, let me guess.’ Morgan widened her eyes, placed her hands on her hips and said in a mocking voice, ‘He’s not that bad. That’s what they all say until he dumps them after he shags them.’

  Adrian didn’t even have the decency to look offended, more bruised ego than guilt. He ran his hand over his dark, ruffled hair. ‘Morgan! I’m standing here, you know.’

  ‘What am I, blind? Mel looks like a nice girl. She’s gonna find out the truth sooner or later. I’m just trying to save her the trouble, and the heartache, because for some incomprehensible reason, these poor girls actually fall for your bullshit.’ Morgan shook her head and walked towards the kitchen. ‘And please, no more getting off where I have to eat. That’s just gross.’

  Morgan pushed the kitchen door open and walked in. Taking a deep breath, she tried her utmost not to let the state of the place enrage her; she should have been used to it by now. Plates sat next to the sink with unidentifiable food encrusted onto them. Beer cans littered the worktop. Empty takeaway cartons were strewn all over the dining table.

  She counted the days until Adrian moved into his own flat. He had shown up on her doorstep seven months ago, with not a penny to his name. Morgan had been sympathetic at the time. She gave her wanna be rock star and his band, Mayhem, regular gigs at her club. To her surprise, they were very good, but Adrian had messed things up by cheating on the vocalist, which meant Morgan would have to find a replacement, as Adrian didn’t seem in any kind of a rush. Typical man-child behaviour, leaving all responsibilities to everyone else.

  Morgan glanced back at the door. Adrian and Mel were arguing in what she supposed were meant to be low voices. Sure she wouldn’t be disturbed, Morgan knelt beside the kitchen cabinet, gently removed the bottom drawer, and reached back as far as her hand could go. Her fingers located the envelope she had hidden. She had received a call earlier that day about Thomas Kidding’s upcoming release. ‘Good behaviour,’ they’d called it. His good behaviour had come too late for her mum. Pity he hadn’t been good when he’d put …

  Before the image of her mum could assemble itself, Morgan pushed the thought out of her mind. She had been the one who had needed to go and identify the malnourished body that had once carried her inside it. She had stood in the mortuary and had placed her hand on her mother’s cold chest to warm her heart, trying to let her love for her mum infuse her still body and start her heart beating again.

  As the imaginary scent of the hospital filled her nose, Morgan felt nauseated and had to swallow the bile. She breathed through her mouth a few times to rid herself of the smell of disinfectant.

  How many times a day could she torture herself about her mum’s demise without taking her own life to end this pain or stop the abyss of insanity drawing her in like a siren on a rock?

  Morgan ran her fingertip along the edge of the envelope before pulling out a scrap of paper on which was scribbled a mobile phone number. No name indicated to whom it belonged. It was better that way; the man couldn’t be traced back to her. When the large muscular man had approached her outside her club four years ago, he had told her that, after reading about her plight, he wanted to help. Morgan, in her grief, gratefully accepted his offer. He was now waiting in the shadows for Morgan to give him the go-ahead. Once she did, her mother’s ex-boyfriend would be back in the depths of hell, where he belonged.

  Chapter Five

  Though Skye’s stomach had never fluttered with butterflies at the thought of love, it twisted into knots of dread every time she returned home. On a good day, Oliver would be fast asleep on the sofa while the TV blared. On a bad day, Skye found her father in an unconscious heap, surrounded by unidentifiable pills, needles and small foil packets. On an awful day, she came home to find the drugs had run out and watched as her father fiendishly hunted for his next fix. On any one of these days, a huge mess was to be expected.

  Skye held her breath as she stopped outside her front door, dreading the next few minutes. How would her dad take the news of her going away? She still couldn’t believe her luck. A trip to London was an indulgence beyond her wildest dreams.

  Skye took a moment to calm her breathing and get her adrenaline rush under control. Her fingers stiff from the night’s icy air, she rubbed her hands together briskly before inserting the key into the tricky lock—the very lock her dad had promised to fix two months ago. She made a mental note of finding a cheap locksmith on Gumtree before someone burgled the place again.

  Skye found Oliver slumped on the sofa in front of the TV, one eye barely open and the other firmly shut. Newspapers, beer cans and dirty clothes surrounded him. A quilt her grandmother had gifted the family when Skye was born hung off the edge of the sofa, her father having tried to drag it up in a pathetic attempt to warm himself. Skye dutifully tucked the blanket around his motionless body.

  All that mattered was that he’d come home and was actually okay. Oliver lifted his head an inch off the cushion when she dropped her bag on the floor with a thud. This temporary catch of his attention was enough to encourage her to broach the subject of her trip to London.

  ‘Dad … Dad.’ Anticipation and fear flooded her. He barely noticed she was speaking to him. She took a deep breath and tried to recall the lines she’d rehearsed over and over in her mind. ‘Dad, I need to talk to you.’

  ‘Urgh.’ Dry spittle crusted the corner of his mouth and his lips barely moved.

  ‘Dad?’ She bent over him and waved her hand in front of his face. ‘Dad, can you hear me?’

  He remained motionless.

  She pushed on before she lost her courage. ‘Dad! I’m going away for a week.’

  Something must have registered in his brain, as his upper body tensed.

  No doubt he’s worried his money supply will dry up.

  For a fleeting moment, a wave of sympathy washed over her and she fought the urge to wipe the long line of dribble from his chin.

  ‘Dad, listen to me. I’m going to London next week. Can you hear me?’

  With great effort, Oliver pushed himself into a sitting position. His glazed eyes looked up at her. ‘What you talking about, girl?’

  ‘Just what I said. My big boss won a trip to London. He doesn’t want it, so I’m going with Izzy. How cool is that?’ She grinned at him, finally feeling the excitement building within.

  Flopping down beside him, Skye prayed for her dad to be happy for her. She had the chance to leave their small town, even if it was only to travel to London. Surely he can give me this much.

  ‘Cool? Yeah, groovy,’ he slurred. ‘You go and enjoy yourself.’

  Skye smiled. ‘Thanks, Da—’

  ‘Don’t you worry about me. No doubt you’ll be happy if I die while you’re gone.’

  Her smile died. No, I don’t want you to die, Dad. I want the disease that’s taken over your life to die.

  ‘So what do you want me to do?’ Skye leapt to her feet. ‘Turn down a
trip of a lifetime ’cause you can’t bloody fend for yourself for a week?’

  Oliver leant forward and clutched his head in his hands as if her words had caused him physical pain. ‘Enough.’

  The heat of her anger sustained her long enough to tell him the truth. ‘No. You’re gonna listen to what I have to say. I won’t let you ruin everything for me. I don’t have a life because I have to look after you. I do it because I love you, but I deserve a life of my own that doesn’t revolve around you. No wonder Mum left you. I don’t know how she put up with you for so long.’

  As soon as the words left her mouth, she wished she could draw them back in, but the words had already struck her father in the heart. Skye felt like a complete and utter shit.

  ‘Dad … I’m … sorry.’ She put a hand over her mouth as if more verbal daggers were about to escape.

  He waved her away with a feeble flick of his hand. ‘No, you ain’t.’

  Oliver pushed himself up onto unsteady feet, and panic took hold of Skye. ‘Where’re you going?’

  ‘Out.’ He stumbled towards the door. ‘Don’t bother asking when I’ll be back, ’cause I dunno, and you’re leaving me anyway, so why would you care?’

  Guilt ate at her. She ran to his side, grabbing his arm to stop him from leaving. ‘Dad, please don’t leave things like this.’

  He shrugged her hand off. ‘Like what? You spoke the truth, didn’t ya? It was only a matter of time before you buggered off like your mother. I’ll tell you the exact thing I told her: fuck off and don’t bother looking back.’

  Without another word, he staggered towards the front door. Skye remained rooted to the spot, stunned into immobility until she heard the door slam shut. The guilt within surged as it always did when she displeased her father in any way. This time, though, it receded a lot quicker than it normally did.

  Maybe it’s because I’ve reached the breaking point. Skye looked across the room and noticed Zeus sitting on the windowsill. His large green eyes bored into hers with what she imagined was a look of disgust. They seemed to ask how she could be so mean to her poor dad.

  Oh, stop being so bloody stupid. A cat couldn’t understand the stress I’m under. As if agreeing with her, Zeus jumped down and made his way over to her, circling her and wrapping his long fluffy tail around her leg as he purred. Skye bent down and scratched Zeus behind his ears.

  A text message alert sounded inside her jacket pocket. Fishing it out, she laughed at the picture on WhatsApp that Izzy had sent her. Izzy was lying on top of the selection of clothes she planned on taking to London. She had them fanned over her bed and was sprawled across them in the style of a fifties film star. Skye closed her eyes and wondered whether she should just stay home and look after her dad like she always did.

  Stop it! You deserve a life too! The one step forward, ten steps back had to stop. The line had been drawn in the sand between father and daughter. Skye had a choice to make: cancel the trip to London and remain home, or go on the trip and use it as a wake-up call to make her dad face the fact she wouldn’t be around to hold his hand forever. Whatever decision she made, it would be a hard one. A slither of pain speared her heart, as she knew she had already chosen the latter.

  Chapter Six

  When the prison van drove Thomas Kidding through the gates of HMP Pentonville four years ago, the golden leaves on the trees, so vivid against the grey building and even greyer sky, had caught his attention. From behind the barred window where he stood gazing out, those same branches were now bare. He turned away from the depressing view and continued stuffing his meagre belongings into a large see-through bag given to him by a prison guard. He paused to take a final look around the compact cell that had been his home for the past four years. An institutional-grey coarse blanket and a deflated colourless pillow covered a narrow bunk bed. In a corner, barely three feet away, stood a toilet and next to it a small sink. He shook his head in disbelief. The cell was barely large enough for one person, let alone two. How he had managed not to go stir crazy was beyond him.

  He returned to the job at hand, wanting to be done and gone in case they found some bogus reason to keep him locked up. Then he surely would go crazy. His mind turned to the outside world, anticipating the smell of fresh air. He was desperate to say goodbye to the perpetual stink of urine and sweat that had nauseatingly filled his nose every minute he had spent inside. He looked forward to having a peaceful night’s sleep without listening for any noise that indicated a cell door opening, and when he did hear that dreaded noise, always wondering if they were coming for him and if that day would be his last sunrise.

  Thomas had been convinced that he’d be brought out in a body bag, feet first, as the saying went. He didn’t doubt that many people thought he deserved such a fate, including himself. Even before his sentencing at Blackfriars Crown Court, Thomas knew, without doubt, he was going to prison. He was guilty, and that had been his plea. But nothing, nothing at all, could have prepared him for the hell he’d had to endure between the prison walls. The Ville was a vicious world, one that had changed him viscerally. He had seen things in here that would haunt him as long as he lived.

  He brushed those macabre thoughts away as he heard footsteps squeaking down the passage towards him.

  ‘So this is it? Freedom at last,’ said a deep, raspy voice.

  Jenkins, Thomas’s cellmate, entered with a grin. Though small in stature, his shoulders were wide and muscular, and the scar down his left cheek served to remind potential attackers that he wasn’t a man to be messed with. He wore the scar like a badge of honour. The fool who had disfigured him had misjudged Jenkins and had come off a lot worse. Hence the reason Jenkins was serving a life sentence. He came into the prison with the protection of his violent history and made short work of anyone who crossed him, except Thomas. Their one run-in had told Jenkins that Thomas could be just as violent, if not more so.

  ‘I’m gonna miss you, man.’ He gave Thomas a hearty slap on the shoulder. ‘Those little kiddies better be careful around—’

  Thomas moved swiftly, pushing him hard against the yellow-stained wall.

  ‘Shut your fucking mouth. Do you hear me?’ he growled.

  Jenkins laughed. ‘Whoa, calm down, man. I was kidding. I mean, you know it was a joke.’

  Thomas tightened his grip around the scruff of Jenkins’s neck, almost lifting him off his feet. At six foot four inches, Thomas was taller, and a lot stronger, than Jenkins. The smaller man knew better than to retaliate.

  ‘I warned you not to talk shit to me, didn’t I?’ He pushed Jenkins a little harder. ‘Didn’t I?’

  The veins on Thomas’s temples throbbed.

  ‘Alright man, alright.’ Jenkins grabbed Thomas’s hand and tugged at it. ‘It wasn’t cool to joke about something like that. I get it. Now let me go before someone walks past and thinks I’m your fucking bitch. Let go, man. We’re cool.’

  Seeing the genuine contrition in Jenkins’s eyes, Thomas released him and watched the other man slump a little while he regained his composure. Another time, he would have taken his chance with him for making a joke about his past.

  Jenkins straightened his shirt as he moved to the cell door. ‘You need to keep that temper under wraps, mate. Otherwise, you’re gonna find yourself right back in here before you can say Fanny’s your aunt.’

  ‘Not a fucking chance in hell,’ Thomas said. ‘I’d rather top myself than spend another night in this fucking hellhole.’

  Thomas turned his back on Jenkins and carried on putting the last of his things into the bag. As he did, he sank into a reflective mood. He had lost count of the times he had considered killing himself. Shaping his bed sheet into a noose and slipping his head through it would have been any easy task. In mere minutes, he would have passed over into the peace of complete darkness or the eternal fires of hell. Either way, at least, he wouldn’t be in this fucking world anymore.

  He looked over at Jenkins, who was studying him like a man in the know, like
he knew something Thomas didn’t and wasn’t sure if he should share his guarded information.

  ‘Come on, spit it out, Jenks. What’ve you heard?’

  Jenkins winced and backed out onto the landing. Thomas grabbed his bag, swung it over his shoulder and followed his cellmate. The sound of a fight breaking out on the ground floor distracted him. Inmates hollered and cheered as two men the size of giants grappled like WWE wrestlers in a ring. Jenkins leant over the railing to look at the action. Reaching across, Thomas caught him by the shoulder and spun him around to face him.

  ‘Well?’ Thomas’s voice sounded above the raucous.

  Jenkins held his hands up. ‘Let’s just say, you might not have to top yourself.’

  Jenkins was testing the waters to see how little he could get away with saying. Thomas glared at him.

  ‘What the fuck does that mean?’ Thomas pressed.

  ‘Just repeating what I heard.’ He gave a small shake of his head. ‘There’s a mark on your back, man. People wanna see you dead.’

  It didn’t surprise him. Thomas knew that people on the outside were gunning for him and that he would have to be extra vigilant to survive on the streets.

  ‘I’ve done my time. I just wanna get on with my life,’ Thomas said more to himself than to Jenkins.

  All of his suffering would have been worth it had Claire still been around. He could have taken the beatings and the threats on his life had he known she would be there once he got out. But she was gone. Unless Jesus came down to perform a miracle resurrection, there was no bringing her back, and he doubted he was in Jesus’s book of favours.

  Jenkins’s eyes were alive with excitement as he moved to the railing again and glanced down as several prison guards tried to break up the fight.

  Backing away in the direction of the metal staircase, Jenkins said, in all seriousness, ‘Listen, be careful, man. Sleep with one eye open, you get me? And stay the fuck away from trouble.’

  Thomas watched as Jenkins scurried along the landing and down the stairs to feed on the mayhem. He scraped his hand over his face as he thought of his future. Somehow, he’d managed to survive hell, but now they were releasing him from prison to face something much, much worse.