September Song by Colin Murray Read Free Book Online Page A

him a pint.’
    Peter sank his own beer and picked up his trumpet while the barman poured Jerry’s drink and took my money. Then Peter put his hand on my shoulder. ‘Jeannie’s back there too. We wouldn’t mind a quiet word.’
    I slid Jerry’s drink over to him. ‘I’ll be back in a minute,’ I said.
    â€˜Take all the time you need, my friend,’ Jerry said. ‘A jug of beer, a bag of crisps and thou  . . .’ He smiled contentedly, and Peter gave him a puzzled frown before the two of us ambled over to the stage and slipped quickly along the narrow, dingy corridor where the dressing rooms and the office lay.
    The heavy, dark-brown door with ‘Office’ stencilled on it in black jogged unpleasant memories of loitering outside the headmaster’s study at school, gloomily anticipating the inevitable consequence of the summons. He liked to keep us waiting, knowing, I suppose, that there was no punishment he could administer that was so bad it wasn’t made much worse by being thought about. However, Peter and I didn’t hang about outside the door.
    Jeannie Summers looked up from her glass when we pushed past it, and she offered us a wan smile. But then she immediately resumed studying the glass of warm gin and tonic her hands were wrapped around.
    Peter Baxter shaped up to pat her tentatively on the shoulder as he bustled by her, but he seemed to think better of it and his hand hung awkwardly in the air for a second or two before he moved behind his desk, put his trumpet down and fussed with a bottle of Hennessy’s and two smeared tumblers. He handed me one of the tumblers and absent-mindedly splashed a large measure of brandy into it.
    â€˜Her piano player’s gone AWOL,’ he said, pouring an even bigger slug into his own glass. After slurping at his drink, he continued: ‘Thing is. We were wondering if you could help.’
    I couldn’t think why he was asking me. I’d never even mastered the comb and tissue paper.
    â€˜I don’t see how,’ I said.
    â€˜Oh, nothing to worry about,’ he said reassuringly, his brandy threatening to slop over the edge of his glass as he waved it about, ‘just make a few enquiries, ask around a bit. He can’t be too far.’ He glanced down at Miss Summers, his look a strange combination of affection and exasperation. ‘Jeannie, love, perhaps you could explain  . . .’
    Jeannie Summers looked at me in the same heart-melting way she’d done the previous night. She wasn’t as young or as pretty as I’d thought when I’d first seen her on the stage, but there was a fragility about her that made you want to hug her, to tell her that everything was all right, and if it wasn’t, you’d make it so. She was wearing a green, full-skirted dress that left her pale shoulders bare, making her seem that little bit more vulnerable.
    â€˜Lee has a need,’ she said quietly, and she lowered her gaze to her drink again. ‘An illness, really, an addiction. It’s not uncommon in our line of work.’
    I wanted her to look at me again, but she didn’t. Instead, she continued staring at the clear liquid in her glass. Her voice, though, soft, rich and low, still touched me. But something about it nagged at me.
    â€˜Will you help find him?’ she said.
    I realized that she didn’t look at me because she was expecting me to say no and didn’t want me to see the hurt in her eyes.
    â€˜How long has he been missing?’ I said.
    â€˜I haven’t seen him since our second set last night. He didn’t come back to the digs.’
    â€˜Do you know where he went?’
    She shook her head.
    â€˜Did he leave with anyone?’
    Again, she gave a little shake of her head. I wasn’t quite sure if that just meant that she didn’t know.
    Twenty hours wasn’t a long time in a junkie’s life. I hadn’t come