Nothing but Trouble

Chapter 15

CHAPTER 15

I SWEPT A pile of straw off the seat and climbed into the back of Jenny’s Land Rover while Connor took the front. Jenny drove, and that in itself was enough to make me regret coming. I hit my head twice as we bounced over the potholes.

“Where are we going?”

“The Port and Pickle,” Jenny answered.

“The what?”

“The local pub. The landlord wanted something memorable.”

“I’ll say,” I muttered as she slowed for the car park, and I looked up at the sign. From that angle, the pickle was doing something to the port no child should see.

“He also tends to do a lot of his own product testing.”

That seemed quite likely. As we approached the front door, the beat of loud music floated out, and when we got closer, I heard a wailing over the top, akin to an animal in pain. The three of us exchanged glances. What on earth…?

Connor pushed the door open, and we were greeted by the sight of a woman on a raised stage that someone had knocked up out of plywood. Gaudy disco lights flashed red and blue, illuminating the crime against music being committed in front of us.

It wasn’t the terrible singing that made our jaws drop, nor the fact that she must have been at least seventy. No, what was remarkable was her outfit. She’d gone for the Madonna look—straw-coloured wig, fishnet tights, and a leotard complete with conical bra over the top.

And she was working it.

We stepped through the doorway as if drawn in by an invisible tractor beam. The performance was so terrible I couldn’t bear to watch, but at the same time I felt compelled to. The rest of the patrons appeared to feel the same way as they crowded in front of the stage, clapping along while she wailed “Like a Virgin.”

Beside me, Connor rubbed his eyes and blinked a few times. “Is that really happening?”

“Either that, or we’re stuck in the same nightmare,” I told him.

“I need a drink.”

Jenny looked at him sharply. “You said you’d drive back, which means you’re on the soft drinks.”

He murmured something that sounded suspiciously like “Heaven help me” as Jenny ordered us both large glasses of wine, with a Pepsi for Connor.

“What’s with the, er...?” She jerked her thumb at the lady, who was still shaking her hip replacements in time to the beat.

The landlord grinned. “One of those business advisors came out from the bank, said I should try diversifying. Figured I’d try a karaoke night. Place is packed, so I reckon he knew what he was talking about.”

There was a good reason people were reaching for the alcohol, I thought, as a toupee-wearing Elvis impersonator replaced Madonna. Nobody would get the full benefit of this sober.

We snagged a table at the side and laughed until we cried through a playlist that included Celine Dion, Bruce Springsteen, and Bon Jovi. After a young girl got up and did a version of Adele’s “Someone Like You” that was actually quite good, the landlord announced a short break before the second “act.”

My sides ached as I reached for my drink. We’d given up on ordering by the glass and got a bottle of white between us. “This is hideous,” I said. “It’s better than the outtakes for the X Factor.”

“It’s like watching a car crash,” said Connor. “Are we coming back next week?”

“It’s not on next week,” Jenny said. “The landlord’s taking the diversification thing very seriously. Next Friday’s drag queen night.”

Hmmm, maybe I could invite Grant and Todd to that? I had a feeling Todd would be the star of the show.

“That only gives you tonight then, Ella,” Connor said.

“Sorry, what?”

“Wasn’t one of your challenges to get up and sing on stage?”

I didn’t like his sly grin, and my alcohol-addled brain whirred away and saw where he was going with this. “No way.”

“Wait, what challenges?” Jenny asked.

Connor filled her in, and she clapped her hands in glee. “Oh, this is perfect. You have to get up there!”

“But I can’t sing. I was planning to take some lessons before I even attempted it.”

“Look around, babe. Nobody else here can sing, either. There’s a stage, there’s a microphone. What more do you need?”

Courage. I needed courage.

“You don’t need courage. You just need wine,” Jenny said, topping up my glass.

Did I say that out loud? Clearly the answer was yes.

“I’m not getting up on that stage by myself and singing. Everyone’ll be staring at me.”

Connor’s evil smile came back. “Then I’ll get up there with you. Jenny can take the photos.”

“No, no, no, no, no.”

I protested until the moment Connor picked me up and deposited me in front of the crowd, right in the centre. I tried to run away, but he had hold of my hand and he wasn’t letting go. Someone thrust a microphone at me, and I blinked in the glare of the spotlight aimed into my eyes.

“What are we even singing?” I hissed, furious that he’d done this.

He grinned down at me. “No idea. I told them to surprise us.”

If I hadn’t had the microphone in one hand, and he hadn’t been holding the other in a death grip, I’d have walloped him. As it was, the only thing thumping was my heart, which threatened to explode. Actually, it mightn’t have been a bad thing if it did. In hospital, I could have escaped singing in front of a bloody audience.

There was the screech of microphone feedback then the speakers crackled with the opening bars of Pink’s “Just Give Me a Reason.”

There had to be a hundred expectant faces staring up at me, and I realised that the only thing worse than me butchering a song I loved would be not to sing at all. At least I knew the words, that was a saving grace.

Cringing, I launched into a slightly slurred attempt at the first verse. So far, so mediocre. It was when the second verse started I got my next shock of the night.

Connor could sing. I mean, really sing.

Until that point, there had been background chatter and the clink of glasses, but the rest of the pub fell silent as everybody stopped to listen. Me included. I completely forgot to start my next bit until he nudged me and muttered, “Sing!”

I garbled my way through it, thinking only of hearing him again. He hit every note perfectly, his voice like molten chocolate, and standing there while he sang to me, I believed every word.

When the music died down, it was replaced by a couple of voices chanting.

“More! More! More!”

Others joined them, and soon the whole pub was shouting for Connor to sing again.

For the first time ever, he seemed a little embarrassed. “Perhaps we should sit down now.”

No way was he getting away with that. He’d dragged me up there, so he could damn well stick around and do another song. “Don’t you bloody dare. You’re staying here if I have to tie you up.”

He waggled his eyebrows at me. “You promise?”

“Oh, just sing, will you?”

Someone cued up the music, and I realised he was still holding on to me. I had no choice but to stand next to him like a spare part as he got the crowd to its feet with “Died in your arms tonight.”

They cheered for him to sing again at the end, but he wasn’t having any more of it. “Done now,” he said as he led the way back to our table.

The landlord came over with more drinks. “Think you deserve this, lad. The ladies loved you,” he said, placing a couple more glasses of wine and a pint of beer on the table. “On the house.”

“I got that,” Connor said, placing a scrunched up pair of knickers on the table. “Someone threw these at me.”

“Eeew!” squealed Jenny. “Who knows where they’ve been.”

He held them aloft. They had to be at least a size twenty. Smirking, he scanned the room and winked at a larger lady on the far side who was staring at him with her tongue hanging out. She started fanning herself.

“For crying out loud,” Jenny said. “I can’t take you anywhere.”

“Did you get the photos?” I asked. That was all I cared about. If I had photos, I could prove to Albert I’d got up on stage and sung. Well, squawked. I’d been there, and that was what mattered.

“Loads of them. f*******: here we come.”

“No! Please don’t,” I begged. I didn’t want my moment of shame broadcast to anyone who might recognise me.

“But you were great,” she protested.

Connor caught her eye and gave his head a little shake. “Jen, no.”

She looked contrite. “Oh, yeah. I forgot.”

I was about to ask what she’d forgotten when a gaggle of girls surrounded us, ignoring Jenny and me while they fawned over Connor.

“You’re amazing, you should be on telly.”

“Have you taken singing lessons?”

“Are you going to be here every week?”

“Our friend’s having a party. Do you want to come with us?”

“I’m sure I’ve seen you somewhere before—are you in a band?”

“Can I get your autograph?”

Four girls became eight, and eight became sixteen. Someone jostled the table, and the pint of beer fell over and drenched me. I tried to blot it up with napkins while Connor disappeared under a sea of females, all chattering away excitedly. More were coming our way when Connor’s hand appeared like a drowning man’s reaching for a lifeline.

I grabbed it and pulled, then Jenny grabbed my waist and tugged as well. The crowd surged and Connor popped free, landing on top of us as we all fell onto the sticky floor. He got to his feet first and hauled us both up, and we ran, or in my case stumbled, for the door.

“Bloody hell,” Jenny said once we were in her Land Rover with the doors firmly locked. “What happened?”

“Eighteen-year-olds and alcohol,” I muttered. “They wanted Connor’s blood.” I turned to him. “You should have warned me you could sing like that.” I thought back to something one of the girls said about recognising him. “Have you been in a band somewhere?”

“Not unless you count messing around in the garage with a few friends when I was twelve, no.”

“So how did you learn to sing?”

He shrugged. “Just one of my many talents.”

“Is modesty another of them?”

He turned and grinned as he started the engine. “That one passed me by.”