Page 43 of The First Chord

“Where’s his fucking sorry, though?” he hissed, picking up his mug of tea without using the handle.

I couldn’t take my eyes off his large hand, long fingers wrapped around the blue and white China, and thoughts invaded my head. Thoughts that I had no right thinking.

“I’m guessing he’s too busy doing what he does best,” I said with a tight smile. “Shagging other women and getting high.”

Ronnie’s expression morphed from anger to rage, and I almost felt sorry for Jimmy. If Ronnie didn’t calm down before we went back on tour, I wondered if he’d throw another, much harder, punch at my estranged husband.

“Or maybe,” Ronnie said, “he’s realised that he was lucky you didn’t leave him before now.”

He was right, I should have left Jimmy a long time ago. When you loved someone, though, it was hard to see the red flags. You ignored the things which you’d warn your best friend about. I’d been blinded by the man who I’d thought was the best I’d ever known. I just wished that I’d been smarter all those years ago, because then maybe I wouldn’t have let Jimmy have my heart.

Then again, if I hadn’t, I may never have met Ronnie because, in reality,hewas the best man I’d ever known. A big call, considering I hardly knew him at all, but this time my gut told me I was right. After all, how bad could a man be whose eyes lit up like a child at Christmas for a simple piece of chocolate cake?

CHAPTER21

RONNIE

Iwas nervous, well, mildly nervous because the most important woman in my life was sitting in my kitchen. My auntie Mo was currently talking to another significant female, and I couldn’t gauge how it was going. I mean, I could hear every word, but I didn’t know what Auntie Mo was thinking. She had a great ability to say one thing, look like she was thinking one thing, but have a whole load of different thoughts going on in her head.

I valued those thoughts because she’d never guided me wrong, ever. Since the day I went to live with her when I was eleven, she’d made sure I always made the right choices in life. Sometimes it took me a while, but generally I got there with Auntie Mo’s help. She was my mum’s auntie really, although there was only five years between them, but when my mum and dad died within three months of each other, Auntie Mo stepped up. It wasn’t bad luck that my parents had died so close together, it was because my mum was weak, or that was how I looked at it. Dad died suddenly, he was a mechanic and a car he was working on fell on him and crushed him. Mum was devastated, I was devastated because he was a great dad. She was a great mum, and I had an amazing childhood, until she decided she’d rather be with Dad than me. Thankfully, I didn’t find her. She did it on a day when she knew Auntie Mo would be going to the house—she’d invited her round. All so that my lovely, cuddly auntie could be the one to find her hanging from the banister. She spared me that at least.

There’d been a note for me, explaining everything and why she’d felt the need to do it. Every single touch of tenderness, every softly spoken word, every kiss or hug she’d ever given to me was forgotten that day. Not even the desperately sad words on the paper, about her heart being shattered over Dad could erase the pain and hatred that I felt. What mother leaves their child by choice? One who didn’t really love them, or maybe one who didn’t actually want to be a mother. Perhaps one with evil running through them. There were many different reasons and none of them were good.

That was why Auntie Mo was the most important woman in my life, because she stepped in and became my mum. She was why I was worth millions, why I was one of the best bass guitarists in the world, why I could have gone to university to study architecture if I’d really wanted to—not Diane Dwyer.

As Amber said something which made Auntie Mo laugh, I watched her carefully. It was hard to tell whether her face and mind were at odds with each other, but I’d picked up one tiny thing over the years. The little finger on her right hand twitched when she was putting on an act of approval.

Both hands were perfectly relaxed on the table, fingers spread and motionless.

“I hope she’s not giving all my secrets away,” I said, taking the seat between them.

“No, Mrs Spencer has been listening to all my rubbish.”

Auntie Mo patted Amber’s hand. “I’ve told you, Amber, call me Mo.”

I gave an internal fist pump, she liked her. She never allowed anyone to call her Mo if she didn’t like them.

“That husband of yours sounds like a right prat, me duck, I must say.” Auntie Mo patted her short brown hair and winked at me. She knew these things. Her husband, my uncle Bernard had left her when I was about seven for a nineteen year old who lived in the same street. He’d been forty-seven and apparently now lived alone and penniless in a bedsit. “Good job she’s got you looking out for her, Ronnie,” She added.

“He’s been amazing,” Amber said, giving me a shy smile. “I would have been lost without him.”

“That’s my Ronnie.” Auntie Mo beamed widely. “He’s a good boy. Now,” she said, getting up with a groan, “Shall I start making us something for tea?”

“I’ll cook,” Amber offered. “I haven’t been able to yet, Ronnie hasn’t let me, so it’s the least I can do.”

“I’ve told you, you’re a guest.”

“I know,” she replied, giving me a no nonsense look. “But I would like to. I can’t just keep taking from you.”

I sighed. “Okay, if you really want to.”

“I do.” Amber also stood up and towering over my little auntie, placed a hand on her shoulder. “You sit back down and catch up with Ronnie. I’m going to nip to the shop in the village and get a few things.”

“You don’t need to start anything from scratch,” I protested. “There’s loads of stuff in the freezer.”

She shook her head and grabbed her phone and car keys. “No, I want to do this. I won’t be long.”

Once we heard the front door click shut, I turned to Auntie Mo.

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