Still Life with Strings

by L.H. Cosway

  His dull eyes flick to me as he takes a drag. “Greta kicked me out. I’ll need to stay here for a few days.”

  “This isn’t your house, and you’re not welcome, Patrick.”

  His fist slams hard down into the table, and I jump in fright. “I’ll stay as long as I like.”

  “You’ll get the fuck out, or I’ll tell Alec to throw you out.”

  “My son doesn’t take orders from you. And you’d do well to behave,” he replies, the threat obvious.

  I can’t stand him. A couple of months before Pete was born, he and my mother broke up for good. I can’t get my head around why she put up with him for as long as she did in the first place. Mum was an intelligent woman, but she must have had a touch of low self-esteem to ever think this fool was what she deserved. I had to put up with him as a shoddy substitute father for way too long. The last time he came here, he stole fifty euros out of my purse and went to the bookies.

  Then he showed up at three in the morning, shouting to get in because I’d locked all the windows and doors. After about an hour of banging and yelling, and after he’d woken half the neighbourhood, he finally gave up and left. This is the first I’ve seen of him since.

  I fold my arms. “I suppose you’re here to pay me back that fifty?”

  “What fifty?” he answers casually, as though butter wouldn’t melt.

  “That’s it. I’m getting Alec.”

  Strolling into the hallway, I call for my brother, but then my stomach sinks when I remember he’s working today. Patrick must know this already because I can hear him laughing. Now all I’ve got is an empty house and a drunkard gambler in my kitchen. Deciding to face the music alone, I march back in and lift the landline from the receiver on the wall.

  “Get out or I’ll call the police.”

  He stubs his smoke in an empty mug and gives me a look that says, I dare you.

  I give him a steely look in return and begin dialling those three little numbers. When the operator swiftly answers, “Nine, nine, nine. What’s your emergency?” Patrick’s chair squeals against the linoleum as he gets to his feet.

  “Fine. I’m going,” he spits, and I hang up the phone just as the front door opens and slams shut. Hmm, he must have been in a spot of bother with the police recently and doesn’t want any more run-ins.

  Patrick’s not clever enough to be completely evil; however, he is an addict and a leech. I can’t afford to have him in this house wreaking havoc with everyone’s routines. He’s never been a dad to Pete, April, or Alec, and the only reason he ever comes here is for money and a roof over his head.

  As I go to find breakfast, I look down to see that my hands are shaking, so I make a cup of camomile tea in the hopes that it will settle my nerves. I try to steer clear of anti-anxiety medication, because like Patrick I’m an addict and I can’t do drugs of any sort in half measures.

  Perhaps that’s why I can’t stand to have him around, because in a way he’s like a mirror held up to my own flaws.

  After breakfast I get ready for work, and I’m late so I flag a taxi on my way. There’s an afternoon as well as an evening event today, so my shift is going to be a long one. The roster tells me I’m on the ground floor bar, which is a lot busier than the one on the first floor. And it’s just my luck that when I get there both Shane and Avery are sitting on stools and sipping on coffees.

  “Hello, Jade, isn’t it?” Avery greets me as I step out from the back room. Shane stays quiet and lifts his cup to his mouth.

  This woman is nice, I can tell, and since I’ve always kind of felt sorry for her after Noeleen told me of her wedding obsession, I don’t like the idea of Shane using her. The fact they’re both sitting here is either a coincidence, or he’s trying to make me jealous. Okay, so maybe I’m just a little on edge after my encounter with Patrick this morning and feeling extra suspicious.

  “Yep, that’s right, and you’re Avery. I hear you’re wonderful on the violin.” I haven’t heard that, but I know she plays, and for some reason I feel the need to give her a compliment.

  She smiles modestly. “Thank you. Shane was telling me about the place you took him to on Sunday. It sounds amazing.”

  “Oh, Ladybirds? Yeah, it’s a great club. You can come with us next time if you like.”

  Her eyes light up, and I sense an innocence about her, a sheltered life. “Really? I’d love to.”

  Shane’s eyes warm as he takes me in, and I suddenly realise that I was wrong. He wasn’t trying to make me jealous. He’s just trying to make a new friend, like I’ve been encouraging him to do. He sees the same innocence in Avery that I see, and he likes that I’m being nice to her.

  “Great. Shane can pick you up.”

  “I’d be glad to,” Shane puts in.

  I wipe down the bar and go to serve a customer sitting at the other end.

  “Jade Lennon, you’re in big trouble!” I hear Alec’s voice boom jokingly around the room as he walks toward the bar. I sigh, taking in his dirty work clothes and his dishevelled Mohawk. Only my brother wouldn’t think twice about walking into a classy place like this in construction gear. He slides onto a stool and gives Shane a sturdy handshake before nodding hello to Avery and winking. Her cheeks redden, and I let out another sigh. Alec never met a vagina he didn’t like.

  “To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?” I ask as I use a dish towel to dry some glasses.

  “I heard you had a visitor this morning. I’m working on a site close by today, so I thought I’d drop over and see if you’re all right.”

  “I can handle your dad, Alec.”

  “I know that. But he can be a prick at the best of times. Did he say anything to you?”

  “He said a few things. He always does. Had his mind set on staying at ours, but I threatened him with calling the police and he skedaddled. We probably won’t be hearing from him again for a while.”

  Both Shane and Avery are quiet as they listen to our exchange.

  “Yeah, he rang me, giving out hell and calling you every name under the sun. I told him straight that he couldn’t stay.”

  “I’m sorry, Al. I know he’s your dad and all, but I can’t have him in the house. I’m only starting to make headway with Pete, and you know if Patrick’s around all that will go to shit.”

  “I know. I don’t want him there, either.”

  When I glance at Shane for a second, I find concern and protectiveness etched on his face. It makes my heart stutter.

  “Do you want a drink?” I ask Alec. “Or I could grab you something from the restaurant. Have you eaten yet?”

  He pats his stomach. “Nope, haven’t had the chance. If you could get your hands on a sandwich, I wouldn’t say no.”

  “Okay, I’ll be back in a minute.”

  The concert hall houses a restaurant to the front of the building and I’m friends with a couple of the kitchen staff, so I know it won’t be a problem getting something for Alec. When I return with a chicken and bacon club, I find Shane gone and Alec sitting on his vacated stool next to Avery, too close really.

  I put the sandwich down in front of him, and he gives me a grin in thanks.

  “So, how long have you been in the orchestra?” he asks her, and I watch with interest.

  I don’t like the idea of my brother with this girl, mainly because I can see him chewing her up and spitting her out, but I’m still fascinated. The two of them are so different, her refined and well-bred, Alec unrefined and rough around the edges. In some ways they’re like me and Shane. Although I like to think I’m not as rough and ready as my brother.

  “Just over a year,” Avery replies shyly, focusing intently on her coffee cup as she drains the last of its contents. She looks like she might have a heart attack from Alec’s attention. “I’d better get going. It’s not long before the afternoon concert starts.”

  Just as she slides off her stool, Alec puts down his sandwich and grabs her hand, pulling it to his mouth and kissing it. I try to hold back my lau
gh. He can be such a little chancer at times.

  “Hopefully we’ll bump into each other again sometime,” he says as he looks up at her.

  Avery lets out a tiny gasp and blushes yet again before quickly stealing away.

  Alec turns back around in his stool and resumes eating his sandwich, a pleased gleam in his eye. I shake my head at him.

  “Smooth as ever, bro.”

  He grins. “What can I say? I think I’ve just acquired a taste for posh birds.”

  I point a finger at him. “You leave her alone. She’s not like your usual type.”

  “Oh, so it’s all right for you to punch above your weight, but not me?” he chides me playfully.

  I scowl. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “The half-Asian pretty boy. I know you’ve been getting yourself a slice of action there.”

  “We’re friends, Alec. Believe it or not, some people are actually capable of maintaining friendships with the opposite sex.”

  “Some people, but not you two. I’m not blind.”

  God, he’s so right. I hate that he’s right. “Whatever.”

  He lets out a loud, boisterous laugh. “Ha! I knew it. To be honest, I’m glad for you, sis. I was beginning to get worried. You haven’t had a bloke since that fuckhead Jason years ago.”

  “We’re not together, not like that. We just had a bit of a thing…”

  “Okay, stop right there. I don’t want any details,” Alec interrupts, wiping some crumbs off his mouth with a bar napkin.

  I raise an eyebrow. “Don’t worry, you won’t be getting any.” Sex talk with my brother is not something that’s on my bucket list, thank you very much. I serve a couple of customers while he finishes his food.

  “So, I suppose I’m on dinner duty tonight,” he says, setting the plate aside.

  “Yeah, if you don’t mind. I’m working until ten.”

  “No problem, I’ll grab some Chinese.”

  A few minutes later he heads back to work, and I get busy as the bar starts to fill up. When the early evening crowd have gone and it’s time for my break, I find a message from Shane on my phone from a few minutes ago.

  Sorry I had 2 leave w/out saying goodbye earlier. Come c me in the dressing room?

  I wonder what he wants to see me for. I have to grab something to eat while I’m on my break, but I suppose I can spare a few minutes to go talk to him. The dressing room is mostly empty when I get there; Shane’s sitting, scrolling through his phone when his head comes up and he spots me approaching. I slide my bum onto the table in front of him and fold my arms.

  “I saw your message. What’s up?” I say as he tucks his phone back in his pants pocket.

  “Have you eaten?” he asks and winces suddenly, lifting his hand to rub the side of his neck.

  “Not yet,” I say, and frown. “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah, just a bit of neck strain. It happens when you spend half your life with an instrument tucked there.” He gives me a half-hearted smile.

  “Ouch. Come here,” I reply before I’ve properly thought it through.

  He comes to me willingly, and I lean closer so I can gently rub his neck. Letting out a low groan, he melts into my touch, and the noise stirs a tingle between my legs. His hand rests on my thigh as I continue to massage his sore spot.

  “That feels amazing. Can I hire you as my personal masseuse?”

  I chuckle quietly. “I’m afraid you couldn’t afford me, sir.”

  Another low groan. Wow, that noise is such an aphrodisiac it’s not funny. “Name your price.”

  I just shake my head and keep rubbing until I feel him loosen up. “Any better?”

  His eyes move to mine, hot and seeking. He seems to be considering something, but then simply answers, “Much better,” and pulls his chair back to its original spot. “So, do you want to go grab some food?”

  “Sure. I was going to get a burrito. I need the carbs when I’m on my feet all day,” I reply. “Does that suit you?”

  “Suits me fine,” he says, grabbing his coat.

  We walk to the nearby burrito bar and then decide to sit in the gardens just behind the concert hall to eat.

  “My brother was chatting up Avery at the bar after you left, you know,” I say before taking a big bite.

  Shane looks surprised. “Really? I wouldn’t have thought she’d be his, uh, type.”

  “Alec doesn’t have a type. He likes all types. But anyway, maybe you could warn her away from him? I don’t want her getting hurt when he takes her for a one-night stand and then never calls her again. She seems like a sensitive girl.”

  “Oh, right, that sort of behaviour must run in the family,” Shane teases me.

  I stare at him. “That’s not that same thing.”

  He can barely conceal his grin. “So you’re saying I’d have seen you again if it hadn’t by chance turned out that I played in the orchestra?”

  “Of course you’d have seen me again. Every time you walked down Grafton Street, you’d see me standing there all in blue,” I tease him back.

  “Ah, so I’d get to admire you from afar.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Kind of feels like that anyway,” he says quietly.

  “That’s not true. You’re always close, Shane. Too close.”

  “Not close enough.”

  A silence falls. I take a couple more bites of my burrito, but I know I can’t finish it. All of a sudden I’ve lost my appetite. I wrap it up in the foil and put it in my bag. Perhaps I’ll eat the rest later.

  “I’m not sure if I can agree to what you’ve asked,” I say softly.

  He turns to face me, his brows knit together. “Why not?”

  “I just don’t feel up to that sort of an arrangement,” I answer, my voice breaking slightly.

  Understanding in his gaze, he recognises my inner struggle and nods, putting his arm around my shoulder and pulling me to his side. “Okay, Bluebird. Let’s forget I ever brought it up.”

  I rest my head on his shoulder and stare straight ahead, whispering, “Thank you.” And for the next while we sit in quiet, listening to the water crash in the garden waterfall close by.

  Fifteen

  People are all around me, but I’m alone in my own little world.

  The rush of Friday shoppers flows by like a gushing river, so much movement, and yet I’m absolutely still. When I’m standing on my box, I like to focus on something tiny, something nobody else even notices.

  On the building on the other side of the street, a piece of red ribbon has gotten caught on a shop sign. It flutters in the breeze as though dancing. I’ve been watching it for the last two hours, completely transfixed. I’ve been watching it for so long that it’s no longer a single object. Now it’s cheap thread and red dye; it’s the shine when it catches a certain slant of light. It’s the distant music I hear when it dances with the wind.

  I prick my ears then, because outside my deep meditation something is breaking through. Something other than the din of the crowded street. It’s real music, music I recognise.

  Curiosity wins out, and with the slowness you’d expect of a statue that has suddenly sprung to life, I change my pose so I’m looking in the direction the music is coming from. Just a few yards away Shane is standing outside a shoe shop playing “Carmen Fantasy” on his violin.

  What’s he doing here?

  When he sees that I’m watching him, he winks. Winks!

  Well, now he has my attention, not to mention the attention of several people who have stopped to listen to him play. Soon a crowd has formed to watch the virtuoso on the street. Living statues never really attract crowds. We connect with one or two people at a time. Music is where the big money is at when it comes to street performance. That or circus acts. Anything that involves fire and stilts always attracts interest.

  Unless of course you happen to set yourself on fire or fall off your stilts, and in my years doing this I’ve witnessed both. Though in all honesty, the ac
cidents bring with them their own audience.

  I like this piece he’s playing. It reminds me of a tango dance. Shane does this really cool vibrato, and the crowd cheers. All of a sudden people are pairing off into couples and tangoing down the street. And don’t even ask me where the women got all those frilly dresses from, or the men their fancy black tuxedos.

  Soon I’m surrounded not by shoppers but a street full of ballroom dancers. The bright blue sky darkens, the outdoor air drifts away, and I’m indoors in a ballroom that extends forever. Chandeliers hang from ceilings, light glittering through the cut crystal. Antique candelabras all around are lit with long, thin candlesticks.

  A couple struts around my box. The man dips the woman low and runs his hand down her thigh, which is exposed by a deep slit in her dress. He lifts her up and twirls her away from me. The piece approaches its finish, and the room begins to brighten. The enclosed ceiling turns back into the open sky, and the glittering chandeliers are replaced by dull white clouds.

  Shane’s music ends, and there are no dancers anymore, just ordinary shoppers like before. Sometimes I hate it when the music stops, hate the finality. Lots of people put money in the open violin case at his feet, and he thanks them gracefully. I smile when he packs up his things and walks toward me.

  I haven’t moved a muscle since I turned to see where the music was coming from. He looks up at me as though admiring a work of art, his eyes landing on my wings, my white face, the waistline of my dress. Standing before me, he gives a deep bow, then rises and walks away, a smile on his lips all the while.

  Okay, that was possibly the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me. Needless to say, I’ve never had a man come and play music while I stood on the street in my costume. All of a sudden a loud involuntary laugh bursts out of my mouth. It’s so full of simple happiness that I find it difficult to breathe.

  What is he doing to me?

  Why is he doing this to me?