Black Girls and Bad Boys: Changing his Tune (3 page)

She made the coffees and brought them back to the table. “What?”

He hadn’t realised he’d been staring. “Nothing.” Had John found that
bottle of bourbon in the garden shed? If he could get Angie out of the way,
he’d be able to find out. “Look, I haven’t made your first day very easy. Why
don’t you go run yourself a bubble bath and I’ll whip something up for
pudding?”

She watched him carefully. He kept his smile small enough to avoid
setting her alarm bells ringing.

“I don’t think I should.”

“I promise I won’t do a runner. You can take my phone and my car
keys if you like. And my wallet.” He waited for her verdict, his stomach
roiling in anticipation of some alcohol. The food had done him some good, but
after so many hours without a drink, he was struggling to keep his hands
steady. “You can’t watch me every second of the day. It’s not practical.”

“No. Not tonight. I’m too full for pudding anyway.”

Great. Now what was he going to do? “Alright.” He’d have to bide his
time. Wait for her to go to bed. “Why don’t we watch a film instead? You can
choose?”

She smiled more naturally. “That sounds like a good idea.”

They cleared the table and loaded up the dishwasher, then he took
her down into his basement screening room.

“Wow. I was thinking wide screen TV. You’ve got your own projector.”

“Yeah. It’s a shame – I’ve probably only used it about four times.”
He knew what impression he gave.
More money than sense.
Well, he had
considerably less money now.

She settled on
The Wizard of Oz
in the end. He offered to
make popcorn, but she said she didn’t want any, so they took a seat, turned
down the lights and let the film wash over them.

Ten minutes in and Noah got a serious case of the fidgets. He could
feel her looking at him, wondering if he had the shakes. It was so humiliating.
A quick swig of something and he’d be as good as new. “I’ll be back in a
minute,” he whispered.

She got up when he did.

“No, it’s okay. You stay and watch the film.”

She didn’t sit down again. “You know I can’t do that.”

He sighed. It had been worth a try. He’d have to get some miniatures
stashed around the place. Either that or give up properly this time. He did
want to stop, but everything felt so awful without a drink. He’d got to the
point where being sober was like walking round with his skin scraped off – he
needed the alcohol to cushion him.

For the sake of appearances, he went to the bathroom while Angie
waited outside the door. Then they went back and watched the rest of the film.

He wasn’t entirely sure how he managed to get through it. Mainly, he
resorted to going over some new songs in his head. The first two were pretty
much done. Only another nine to go. It wasn’t quite as daunting as it had been
a few hours ago.

“So, when did you last watch that?” she asked when the credits
started to roll.

“I don’t know. A long time ago.” Films had never been his thing.
Which made his personal cinema rather a stupid idea.

“It’s a bit soppy, but it’s one of my favourites.”

He nodded, tired of having to make conversation. “I think I’m going
to call it a night.”

“Oh.” She looked at the clock on the wall. “Okay. I’ll come up and
read for a bit.”

He rolled his eyes. “You don’t have to. Watch another film if you
like.”

“No, it’s okay. I’m tired too.”

Yeah, right. He shouldn’t have expected any less, but it still
rankled. Bloody John. Why couldn’t he have just sent him back to rehab?
Because
you refused to go.
So now he couldn’t even go to bed without his new minder
sitting on the other side of the door. Well, she’d better sleep lightly,
because he wasn’t about to give up on that bottle in the shed. “I’ll say
goodnight then.”

“Goodnight. I’ll be up in a minute.” She smoothed back a stray wisp
of hair that had escaped from her ponytail.

Just for a moment, he saw her as a woman again – not a jailer. When
he looked into her eyes, he glimpsed secrets that she didn’t want him to see.
He wished he’d never mentioned her to John. If he had to go through the
indignity of being watched twenty-four hours a day, it would have been a lot
easier if the watcher hadn’t been so bloody pretty. Or so mysterious.

He needed to find out more about Miss Angelique Jones. She was
living in his house now – he had a right to know a bit more about who she was.
And maybe he’d uncover something he could use to his advantage.

***

A
ngelique plodded up the stairs to her room wondering if she’d
imagined the connection they’d made in the conservatory that afternoon. As the
evening had worn on, Noah had become more and more monosyllabic until she got
the distinct impression that he hated her.

Mood swings were only to be expected, but his attitude still got to
her. Why she was so bothered about his opinion was a question she didn’t want
to dig too far into. She wasn’t there to be liked, she was there to keep him
clean.

But as she alternated between reading the same paragraph of her book
over and over and staring at his bedroom door, she felt the stirrings of a
thirst she’d thought she’d conquered. It was just as well the house had been
cleared of alcohol – if she’d stumbled across a bottle she would have had a
tough time leaving it unopened.

She tossed her book aside and lay back on the bed. As much as she
needed the money, she couldn’t stay if it was putting her sobriety at risk. She
fumbled in her handbag and brought out her phone. Scrolling through the address
book, she came to Eleanor – her sponsor.

Phoning her was the logical, sensible thing to do. She glanced at
the door again. There was no way she could risk having Noah overhear her. Which
meant forgetting about Eleanor, or leaving the room to call her.

She didn’t have to stay on the phone for long. And he was probably
asleep in there anyway.

Angelique got up and tiptoed over to the door. She put her ear up
against it, but she couldn’t hear anything. What trouble could he get up to in
ten minutes?

As quietly as possible, she slipped out onto the landing and down
the stairs. She didn’t want to go too far, so she took refuge in the kitchen
and dialled the number. It felt wrong to turn on the light. She stood just
inside the doorway in the dark. The ringing phone sounded deafening in the
silent house. He wasn’t close enough to hear her, but waiting for Eleanor to
pick up still made her heart pound.

***

N
oah stripped out of his clothes and got into bed, but he wasn’t
tired enough to go to sleep. He listened to Angie moving about next door. Why
couldn’t she just turn in for the night and give him the chance to tiptoe
downstairs?

He rolled over and stared at the photograph on the wall. It was an
aerial shot of the house. The house he might not have for much longer. Closing
his eyes, he tried to think his way through the minefield he’d laid for
himself. There was no way he’d be able to get the album done, get through a
tour and make enough money to hold onto this place if he was still drinking.
Not to mention the other stuff.

So why not give in and get clean?

Because it’s too hard.

He rolled over to lie on his stomach. He had the shakes again.
Everything ached. He needed that bottle. If it wasn’t in the shed... No. It had
to be there. He was pretty sure John hadn’t checked down there. But what if it
wasn’t?

Maybe it would be for the best. He’d come out of the clinic a new
man, but as soon as he’d caught a whiff of some guy’s whiskey it had been back
to square one.

Which proved that leaving these things in someone else’s hands – in
Angie’s hands – wasn’t the answer. If he couldn’t do it alone, he wouldn’t be
able to do it at all.

He rolled onto his back, the sheet sticking to his sweaty torso. He
couldn’t do it. He needed that drink. He could taste the bourbon already – sweet
and smooth as he rolled it around his mouth, with a touch of fire as it slid
down his throat to warm his belly. And then there’d be the pleasant fog inside
his head. All he’d have to do was take another sip and his money problems would
fade into the background.

No. He could fight it. He didn’t have to take a drink. He threw the
covers off, but then he started to shiver.

Getting out of bed, he pulled on a dressing gown and paused to
listen for sounds of movement next door. He couldn’t hear anything. Maybe she’d
finally gone to sleep.

He crept over to the door and opened it a crack. If she was awake,
he could always say he was going to get some food.

But the room was empty.

He stepped through the door. After all that fuss she’d made, where
the hell had she gone?

It didn’t matter. He’d take the opportunity to nip down to the shed.
If he found the bourbon, he wouldn’t drink it. He’d pour it onto the grass and
go back to bed. Perhaps he’d be able to sleep if the possibility of a drink
wasn’t there in the back of his mind.

***

“A
ngelique?”

“Yeah. Sorry for calling so late.”

“It’s not that late and that’s what sponsors are for. How are
things?”

“Weird. I started that job today.”

“And?”

She let out a loud breath. “He’s a handful.”

Eleanor laughed. “No more than you can cope with though?”

“That’s what I thought, but I nearly had a panic attack this
afternoon.”

There was silence on the other end of the line.

“I haven’t had a drink.”

“But you’ve been thinking about it.”

“I haven’t been like this in months. I don’t know what’s wrong with
me.” The panic started to well up inside her again, pricking at her insides.
Her breathing got faster.

“Angelique, listen to me. Take a breath, okay? Take a deep breath.”

She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. Her heart carried on
stuttering and she battled to blow out a steady breath. She breathed in again
and held it, focusing on memories of the sea like Eleanor had taught her. Her
breathing and heart rate gradually went back to normal.

“I’m not going to tell you what to do, but don’t let this job ruin
things for you. There’s no shame in quitting if it’s too hard.”

“I know.” She understood it in her head, but every time she thought
about giving up that pay-cheque an image of Lewis would swim in front of her
eyes and make her heart-sick. “I know it’s not worth having a relapse over.”

The kitchen door swung open and Noah stood there silhouetted in the
light from the hall. He stared down at her. She knew he’d heard the juicy parts
of the conversation.

“I have to go,” she said and ended the call.

––––––––

N
oah flipped on the kitchen light. “You’ve got a drink problem.”

She stared up at him, too scared to say anything.

He shook his head. “I can’t believe you. All that sermonising,
giving me advice. You’re as bad as I am.” And he’d come so close to asking for
her help.

“No. I’m straight. I haven’t had a drink in two years.” She folded
her arms, hugging herself.

“But I bet John doesn’t know, does he?” His mouth curled into a
sneer. “Just wait till I tell him—”

“Please. Don’t.”

“Why shouldn’t I? Why should I have to put up with you looking over
my shoulder when you’re just as fucked up as I am? At least I don’t get freaked
out by human contact.” He grabbed her by the arm and pulled her closer.

She flinched and looked down at the floor.

A twinge of guilt flickered in his chest, but he ignored it. She
deserved everything she got. She was a liar.

“Go on, tell me why I shouldn’t call him right now.” He gave her a
shake and she looked up into his eyes.

Tears streaked her beautiful face. Tears he’d caused. He let go of
her.

“I need this job. I need the money.”

“What for? Vodka?” He wished the words back as soon as they were out
of his mouth.

“I don’t drink any more.”

“That’s not what it sounded like on the phone.”

“I was talking to my sponsor about tonight.” She wiped at her face
with the heel of her hand. “I wanted a drink. More than I have for a long
time.” She looked away again, put some distance between them. “But I didn’t
have one.”

Yeah, because you didn’t have anything on you.
Should he believe her? She said she’d been dry for two years. But he
knew how easy it was to throw out lie after lie. He was so confused. It didn’t
feel like a lie.

Had it been his fault? Had he pushed her to the brink with his
bullshit? “Why tonight?”

She looked at him for a long time. Another tear ran down her cheek
and she wiped it away.

He didn’t want to care, but watching her cry made him feel evil. It
would be better for both of them if she left. This whole thing had been a
stupid idea. He’d go back to the clinic and really try this time. “I’m sorry.
I’m a big fuck-up and it looks like I’m ruining your life as well as mine now.
Just go.”

She shook her head. “I need the money.”

It would have been nicer if she’d said she didn’t want to let him
down. “What for?”

Wiping her cheeks again, she clammed up and turned away.

“Fine. I’ll call John first thing in the morning and tell him why
you’re leaving.” He had to know what was going on.

“If I tell you, will you promise not to say anything?” She turned
her big brown eyes on him and he desperately wanted to nod his head.

But he couldn’t let her control him like that. “I can’t make any
promises. Just tell me.”

“Okay. But I’ll make some tea first.”

He walked around in front of her to the kitchen cupboards. “Let me
make it. You go and sit down.”

She sat at the table and some of the tension leaked out of her. He
hated how much better that made him feel. He should have been glad to let her
squirm after all the lies she’d told, but he didn’t like to see her upset. Too
bloody chivalrous for his own good.

He filled the kettle and put the mugs in place, carefully avoiding
eye-contact as he did so. She was probably getting ready to spin him some sob-story
about all the debt she’d run up when she was still drinking. Whatever it was,
he was pretty sure John didn’t know any of it.

The kettle came to the boil and he made the drinks. Actually, now
he’d thought about it some more, it might not make sense to get her fired. John
would only get someone else in to take her place. At least she understood what
he was going through.

And if the worst came to the worst, he’d have some very valuable
secrets to hold over her.

Sitting at the table with a warm mug of tea in her hands, Angelique
found herself not knowing where to start. She’d never told anyone the whole
story – even Eleanor only knew parts of it. But she didn’t know what to tell
him and what to leave out.

“What do you need the money for?”

That was an easy question, but it was hard to let the answer pass
her lips. She took a drink of tea and almost scalded her tongue. “To fight for
custody of my son. Joint custody – I wouldn’t get sole custody. Not with my
history.”

It went very quiet for a long few seconds.

“What happened?”

“Short version? My husband left me and I turned to the bottle.” She
shook her head, angry with herself. “I know. I’m a shit mother.” Tears welled
up behind her eyelids but she wouldn’t let them fall. She kissed her teeth in
frustration. Getting tearful wasn’t like her at all. “I’m weak and I don’t
deserve to get Lewis back.”

“That’s not true and you know it. You wouldn’t want to fight for
custody if you believed that.”

“Perhaps I’m just being selfish. He’s probably better off without
me.”

“Have you stopped drinking?”

She nodded.

“Do you love him?”

“Of course I do.” How could he even ask that?

“So how would he be better off without you?”

Because he wouldn’t have to deal with her shit. “He must hate me. I
would in his place.”

“How old is he?”

“Nine.”

“Trust me, he doesn’t hate you.”

That last comment had the ring of something learned from experience.
After the bullshit he’d pulled with her that day, he was the last person she’d
expected to comfort her. She wanted to take his hand and squeeze it for saying
those things, but it was too hard to try.

“What happened with his dad? Doesn’t he realise you’ve sorted
yourself out now?”

“He doesn’t care. When he got custody, I’d given him enough
ammunition to keep me out of Lewis’s life for good. There was no point fighting
it, even when I cleaned myself up. Not with the kind of lawyers I could afford,
anyway.”

“Oh.”

The rest of the story bubbled up at the back of her throat, but she
held back – there wasn’t anything else he needed to know. He was being nice
now, but she had to be careful. The other stuff could stay buried. “That’s why
I need this job – so I can fight for him.” She could feel him watching her,
thinking about what she’d said.

“Do you think you can help me?”

“I do. And I’m not just saying that because I want to stay.”

“Then I won’t tell John—”

“Thank you, thank you—”

“So, did you sort things out with your sponsor.” He fixed her with a
serious look.

“Sort of. Don’t worry, I’m not going to have a drink.” She still
felt wretched, but the need for alcohol had shrunk back to something she could
ignore.

“There’s nothing here anyway.” His attention wandered and he gazed
out of the window at the garden for a moment before turning back to her. “Why
did you freak out when I touched you?”

She looked down at the table. “I... I don’t want to talk about that.”
If she could spare herself from the way he would look at her if he knew... He
didn’t need to hear that story.

He watched her for so long she had to look away. “Okay. Now we know
where we stand, there’s something you can help me with.” He got to his feet.
“We need to find the rest of my stash and pour it away.”

She looked at him with wary eyes. “I thought you might have had more
stuff hidden away.” Close contact with bottles of liquor wasn’t something she
felt too comfortable about, but it would be better to get it out of the way.

“Come on, we can start in the shed. We can keep each other on the
straight and narrow.”

That wasn’t such a bad idea. Neither of them would be likely to give
in to temptation with the other one watching.