The Club (3 page)

But, newly discovered secrets and childhood memories aside, Jenna still loved James Lorde as deeply as ever. She might not have seen him as often as her friends had seen their fathers while they were growing up, but he had always been a hero to her. A strapping man with a magical laugh, who would toss her into the air and then catch her and give her a big cuddle, who’d slip them money to buy their mum a birthday or Christmas present, who’d herd them all into the car on a Saturday afternoon and drop them off at the cinema. Even when she grew up and moved away from home, it was her dad that she still turned to for advice; him that she would phone whenever she needed a comforting voice in her ear.

Claudia had always been jealous of their relationship, calling Jenna a daddy’s girl and accusing her of playing up to the fact that she was her father’s favourite. But Jenna had never seen it like that – not until the will was read, and she learned that he’d left Zenith solely to her.

Wracked with guilt that Claudia might have been right all along, Jenna rang her sister, intending to tell her that she would sign half of the club over to her as soon as she could. But she immediately changed her mind when Claudia laid into her before she had a chance to say a word, calling her a gold-digging, grave-robbing tramp. Anyway, she figured that her dad must have done it this way on purpose: not because Jenna was his favourite, but because he’d known that Claudia would put the club on the market before the soil was settled on his coffin – which was exactly what she had insisted Jenna should do with the tiny semi in Rusholme where they had grown up and which he’d left to them both.

Not that Claudia would get much out of it when it went, because their dad had obviously done nothing to it after their mum had died and Jenna had left. The neglect showed in everything from the gate hanging off its hinges to the overgrown garden, from the rotting door and window frames to the stale odour of man-alone that tainted the air inside.

But, honoured as she was that her dad had trusted her enough to leave his club in her hands, there was just one major problem for Jenna: she didn’t actually want it.

Taking it on would mean having to move back to Manchester, which she really didn’t want to do. And she didn’t even know if she was capable of running a nightclub, anyway. She’d never taken the slightest interest in the place when she’d lived here, and had resisted her dad’s efforts to bring her in and show her the ropes, because she and her friends preferred the trendier student bars with their cut-price booze and cool live bands. And then she’d moved to London, which was worlds apart from Manchester when it came to club-life, so she was still none the wiser.

But then, her dad couldn’t have known what
he
was doing when he started out, either, and he’d managed to keep it going for twenty years. And he’d done all the hard work, so all she’d have to do would be to walk in and pick up where he’d left off.

She just didn’t
want
to.

But how could she walk away without even trying, when her dad had obviously wanted her to make a go of it?

Knowing that she owed it to him to at least consider it, Jenna decided to go down to the club and take a good look around. If her instincts told her to give it a shot, then fine, she would roll her sleeves up and throw her heart and soul into it, like her dad before her. But if they said no, she would put it up for sale. And she was sure that her dad would understand, as long as she’d given it real consideration first.

Jenna took a cab to the club and her heart sank before it had even pulled up to the kerb. Her dad had obviously missed the regeneration bandwagon when it had rolled into town after the bombings a few years back because, compared to all the bright new façades surrounding it, the club looked dated and scruffy. It had the same old scarred black doors as when he’d first bought it, and the wall was covered in messy posters, leaflets and graffiti.

It was so seedy and neglected that Jenna couldn’t imagine anybody making an effort to come here for a night out. In fact, the only good thing about it was the location: smack in the middle of Deansgate, which had taken a massive upturn in recent years and was now chock-full of upmarket wine and coffee bars and swanky new apartment blocks. If she did end up selling – which was looking very,
very
likely – she’d get more for the postcode than for the actual building.

Using the keys that the solicitor had given her she unlocked the door and went inside. She’d only ever been here a couple of times, and that had been during opening hours when it was fully lit and crammed with people, with music pumping out at an incredible volume. Standing in the foyer now, it just felt cold, dark, and far too quiet.

Shivering, Jenna went through to the clubroom itself, which was pitch dark and really quite eerie. Propping the door open with a chair, she used the sparse light from the foyer to find her way to the lights control box which the solicitor had told her was behind the bar. Flicking switches at random, she had just found the one for the overhead lights when a door opened behind her and a man walked in.

Leaping back when he saw her, he cried, ‘Holy
shit
! You scared the crap out of me!’ Patting his chest then, he gave her a sheepish grin. ‘Guess you’re not an armed robber, huh?’

‘Definitely not,’ Jenna assured him, amused that he seemed even more alarmed than she was – he was lean and muscular and looked quite capable of taking care of himself. He was also very good-looking, she noticed. Mixed-race, clean-shaven, with ice-white teeth, unusual blue eyes and a soft American accent.

And a broad gold wedding band on the third finger of his left hand, which he wasn’t trying to hide – unlike Jason, who had hidden his for six long years, the bastard!

Shaking the irritating thought of Jason out of her head, she asked the man if he worked here.

‘Weekends,’ he said, presuming her to be one of the waitresses who worked mid-week when DJs Fiddy or Marky Day had their slots. ‘Shame we had to shut down, isn’t it?’ he murmured then, gazing around the room. ‘It’s a great place. And James was pretty cool for an old guy. But nothing lasts for ever, right?’

Jenna nodded her agreement, liking him because he’d obviously liked her dad.

‘It’s Vibes, by the way.’ He held out his hand. ‘One of the DJs – or, at least, I
was
.’

‘Jenna,’ she told him, shaking it. ‘You say the club’s been closed down?’ she asked then, wondering why the solicitor hadn’t told her about that.

‘Yeah, the day James died,’ Vibes said, frowning quizzically. ‘Look, sorry, I don’t mean to be rude, but shouldn’t you already know that if you work here?’

‘I’m the old guy’s daughter,’ Jenna told him, smiling when she saw the information sink in and show up in his eyes.

‘For real?’ Drawing his head back, he peered at her face, then nodded. ‘Yeah, I guess I can see it. You’ve got the same nose.’

But not the same anything else
, he thought, because she was absolutely stunning.

Snapping himself out of it, he said, ‘So I take it you’re the new owner, then, huh? And you’re like – what? Just checking the place out?’

‘Something like that,’ Jenna replied. ‘I wanted to see what my instincts told me before I made any decisions.’

‘And what are they telling you?’

‘Not sure yet.’ She shrugged. ‘It’ll need major renovations if I do take it on.’

‘Worth it, though,’ Vibes said, adding quickly, ‘not that I’m trying to sway you, or anything, but – well, you know. It’s a great place.’

‘So you said.’

‘Bad habit, repeating myself.’ Vibes flashed her a sheepish grin. Then, shrugging, he said, ‘Suppose I’d best let you get on with it, then. Don’t mind if I just grab a bit of my gear, do you? Only Fabian’s waiting out back to lock up and I don’t want to keep him waiting, ’cos I don’t think he was planning on sticking around.’

‘No, go ahead.’

‘Right, well, then.’ Another smile. ‘See you later, I guess.’

Watching as he strolled across the dance floor and tripped lightly up the stairs to the DJ’s booth, Jenna bit her lip thoughtfully. She hadn’t even considered what her decision would mean to the staff. If she sold Zenith they would all be out of a job. But even if she’d wanted to keep it open, she doubted that she’d be able to afford all the work that would be needed to bring the club into the twenty-first century. The decor was hideously old-fashioned, the seating worn and faded, the carpets so manky that she’d bet her feet would stick to them, and the bar was a huge wooden monstrosity with brass hand- and footrails that would have looked more at home in an old back-street pub – which was probably where her dad had picked it up from in the first place. It might look great in the alcohol-glazed atmosphere of night, but in this harsh overhead light it resembled a seedy old working men’s club.

‘Er . . . excuse me, but who are
you
, and how did you get in here?’

Jumping when she heard the accusing voice behind her, Jenna turned around and saw yet another good-looking man. This one was white, with expensively cut blond hair, slate-grey eyes, and a very good-quality suit.

Raising an eyebrow when he saw her face, Fabian King’s gaze slid over the rest of her and a slow smile lifted the corner of his lip.

‘You must be Fabian?’ Jenna said, looking him in the eye, unamused by his leering.

His eyebrow went up another notch. ‘How did you know that?’

‘Vibes mentioned you.’

‘I see.’ Flipping into instant cold mode, Fabian frowned. Vibes had obviously tricked him into coming over, thinking he’d be stupid enough to let him in then get straight off and leave him to his little rendezvous. ‘I suppose he let you in the front door, did he?’ he demanded now, all set to tell her that she could damn well let herself back out the same way.

‘No, I let myself in,’ Jenna told him coolly, wondering what it had to do with him.

Eyes narrowing with suspicion, Fabian drew his head back and peered at her. ‘How?’

‘With these.’ Jenna showed him the keys.

Scrutinising her face for a moment longer, Fabian clicked his fingers. ‘You must be Jim’s daughter?’

A flicker of a frown crossed Jenna’s brow. She had never in her life heard anybody shorten her dad’s name to Jim, and it didn’t sound at all right. But then, maybe he’d liked it – who knew? There were plenty of things she hadn’t known about him, it seemed.

‘So, how are you?’ Fabian asked, in a sympathetic
if you need to talk, I’m your man
tone. ‘Funeral go all right?’

‘I’m fine,’ she told him guardedly, not liking the sudden switch from cold suspicion to warm familiarity. ‘And it went as well as we could have hoped, thanks.’

‘Sorry I couldn’t make it,’ he went on, as if he’d been invited – which he hadn’t, because she didn’t even know who he was. ‘I would have loved to have been there, but there was too much to do over here, I’m afraid. And, knowing your dad, he’d have preferred me to get this place sorted than to waste time saying goodbye to a coffin.’

‘Mmm,’ Jenna murmured, thinking that his choice of words was a little insensitive, even if she did agree with what he’d said. Her dad
had
put the club first in life, so why wouldn’t he in death?

Pity he hadn’t thought to spend a little more money maintaining it, though. But judging by the state of this place
and
the house, he’d obviously let a lot of things slide lately.

‘Care to join me for a drink?’ Fabian was asking now. Adding, with a cheeky grin, ‘Don’t worry, I won’t charge you.’

Jenna was starting to get irritated. First he’d called her dad ‘Jim’, which nobody had ever done – not even her mum. And now he was offering out drinks as if
he
owned the place.

Shaking her head, she folded her arms and said, ‘No offence, but who exactly
are
you?’

‘Fabian King,’ he told her over his shoulder as he helped himself to a shot of brandy. ‘The manager,’ he added, turning back to her.

‘
Really
?’ She frowned. ‘What happened to Frank?’

‘Long story. Let’s just say he and Jim stopped seeing eye to eye.’

‘Dad never said,’ Jenna murmured, wondering what could have possibly happened to make them fall out. Frank had been the manager here for over ten years, and her dad had considered him a friend as much as an employee. ‘When was this?’

‘Last year,’ Fabian told her, leaning back against the counter. ‘I came in to cover Frank’s holiday time, originally. But your dad asked me to stay on, so obviously I said yes. Don’t mean to blow my own trumpet,’ he went on – doing exactly that, Jenna thought – ‘but this place was going steadily downhill before I came on board. It’s been a struggle, but we’re on our way back up now. Well, we
were
,’ he added, giving her a pointed look. ‘Still could be, if we don’t stay shut too long.’

Taking a sip of his drink now, he carried on looking at her, waiting for her to respond. When she didn’t after a moment, he said, ‘If you don’t mind me asking, what
are
your plans?’

‘I haven’t made up my mind yet,’ Jenna told him evasively. ‘But don’t worry, I’ll let you know as soon as I do.’

Pursing his lips thoughtfully, Fabian nodded slowly. What he really wanted to know was, if she
did
keep the club on, would he still have a job? But she hadn’t been very forthcoming, so far, and he sensed that it was probably best not to push her. Yet.

Vibes came back just then, several cases of CDs in his hands and a holdall of vinyl albums over one shoulder. Avoiding making eye contact with Jenna – because Fabian was already doing such a good job of leering at her and Vibes didn’t want her to think she’d landed on Planet Lech – he said, ‘I’ll have to leave the rest for now – if that’s okay?’

‘It’s fine,’ Jenna assured him. ‘If you want to give me your number, I’ll give you a ring and let you know when I’m coming in again.’