Still Life with Strings

by L.H. Cosway

  “Uh, I’m not a fan. I’m his friend,” I tell her, disgruntled.

  She gives me a look as if to say, so what? and I decide I’m really not in the mood. I put both hands around my mouth and call to him over their heads.

  “Yo! I’m going to walk. I’ll call you tomorrow, ’kay?”

  I’m surprised that he actually hears me over the excited chattering. His head whips up from a CD he’d been signing, his eyes locking with mine.

  “Give me ten minutes?” he asks pleadingly, and some of the girls’ gazes cut to me.

  I tap my wrist. “It’s late, and I’ve got an early start. You stay. I’m good walking.”

  He looks disappointed for a minute but then finally nods his acceptance, gives me a quick wave goodbye, and goes back to signing. I turn and start in the direction of home. When I reach my street, I notice somebody sitting on my front doorstep. As I get closer I see it’s Patrick, looking like shit with a bottle of whiskey in his hand, intermittently taking sips. If ever there was a picture to describe the term “lowest ebb,” this would be it. So much for him staying away for a couple of weeks. It’s only been a few days, and he’s back already. He must be having a particularly bad time of it.

  I stop in front of him and tap my foot on the path. “Do you mind getting out of the way, Pat?” I ask. As it stands, he’s completely blocking my entrance.

  His bleary eyes move up to meet mine, and he does a little shrug. “Been knocking for ages. Alec won’t let me in.” His voice is all lonesome and dejected, and something stirs inside me. I know what it feels like to be Patrick. I’ve been at rock bottom, too, and it’s the loneliest place in the world.

  I go down on my haunches and study him. He glances up from his bottle and does a little huff as though to keep from crying. To be honest, his face is so messed up he could already be crying, and I wouldn’t be able to tell. Somewhere in the days since I last saw him, he’s gotten himself a black eye and a fat lip. Either he was in a fight, or he owes someone money that he can’t afford to pay back.

  “It never leads anywhere good, does it?” I ask, reaching over and tapping the glass bottle in his hand.

  He stares at me full-on then, and it’s hard to keep looking at eyes that bloodshot. His mouth twists, and then he finally answers, “No, it doesn’t.”

  I don’t know a lot about Patrick’s life before he met my mother, but I do know a few bits and pieces. His father was a violent drunk who beat his wife and kids. The usual fucked-up family story. At times it’s hard to judge Patrick when I know there’s a reason for his behaviour. As I said, I’ve been there myself.

  I take the bottle from him, and he must have completely run out of steam because he doesn’t even bother to fight me. I’ll probably regret this decision in the morning, but I help him up to standing, wincing at the smell of him, and say, “You can stay one night. Tomorrow I’m going to call an old friend of mine and get you booked into rehab, okay?”

  At hearing the word “rehab,” his entire body stills, and I can tell he’s deciding whether or not to make a run for it. Is a night with somewhere warm and safe to sleep worth going into a clinic? I can practically see his mind weighing the options as he stands there frozen. A minute later he wipes a hand across his mouth, turns to me, and nods.

  I open the front door and lead him into the kitchen before sitting him down on a chair and placing a pint of water in front of him.

  “Drink this. You’ll thank me in the morning,” I say just as Alec comes down the stairs.

  “Jade, I already told him he can’t stay. Why did you let him in?”

  “I took pity on the pathetic bastard. Come and help set up the couch for him to sleep on, would you?” I reply tiredly.

  Alec scratches the back of his neck. “I’m not sure this is a good idea.”

  “It’s just for one night. I’ve got a friend who works at the rehab centre I went to back in the day. She might be able to find a place for Patrick. That’s where I’m sending him in the morning.”

  “You think it’ll work? He’s quit rehab at least five times already.”

  “I think I can get through to him if we talk. This is the last chance he’s going to get, and I’m doing it for you, April, and Pete. If it’s possible to get him clean, then I’ll do everything I can to help. You three deserve a proper father, even if you are all grown already.”

  Alec keeps staring at me and then pulls me into a hug. “You’re a better person than me, sis. I gave up on him a long time ago.”

  I smile at him tightly when we break our hug. “What can I say? I’m a sucker for a lost cause.”

  Because I was one, and I know it’s possible to get better.

  Alec goes into the kitchen, speaking a few quiet but hard words to Patrick as I go upstairs to get some pillows and a blanket from the airing cupboard. He’s probably warning him not to fuck this up, because this is the last chance we’re going to give him. In the living room I make the couch into as much of a bed as I can manage. It’s old and threadbare, but it’s the best we have to offer him at the moment.

  Entering the kitchen, I find Patrick alone now, sipping quietly on the water I gave him. I put the kettle on and make myself a cup of tea. Then I go to sit down opposite him.

  “How old are you, Pat?” I ask, clasping my hands around the warm mug.

  He looks at me, then slurs, “Fifty-two.”

  I whistle. “That’s old.”

  “Piss off,” he says, but chuckles just a little.

  “Apart from when you were a kid, did you ever not drink? And I don’t mean just a day or two. I mean being completely sober.”

  He purses his lips, thinking about it. He looks a little ashamed when he replies, “No.”

  “And in your fifty-two years, have you ever been happy? More to the point, has drinking ever made you happy?”

  Dejectedly, he shakes his head, not even bothering to form words.

  I take a sip of tea. “So, every time you go drinking and gambling, you think it’s going to make you feel better, but it never does, not in the long run, anyway. Maybe there’s a period of about an hour in every drinking session where you feel on top of the world, but the rest of the time you feel like shit. Am I right?”

  “Are you lecturing me, Jade?”

  “If anyone needs a lecture, it’s you, Patrick. So you go through all the money loss, the sickness, the depression, the feeling like you’re twenty years older than you actually are, and you never learn your lesson. All for a pathetic hour of feeling free and many hours of feeling nothing. That’s fairly fucking dumb, isn’t it?”

  Patrick lifts his head like it takes a great effort. “I know my life is a joke. You don’t have to remind me.”

  “Yeah, your life is a joke, but it doesn’t have to be. You get yourself sober, get a job, and a little apartment maybe. Spend some time with your kids. They’re great kids, Pat, and I feel sorry for you that you’ve missed out on so much with them. But anyway, don’t waste time regretting your mistakes — take control and make them right. Don’t waste any more time.”

  Picking up the pint glass, he tips the last of its contents into his mouth. “I’ll try.”

  “Don’t say you’ll try, say you’ll succeed. Trying means you’re giving yourself the option to fail. Don’t give yourself that option. I didn’t, and look at me. Five years sober.”

  “Okay,” he says hesitantly. “I’ll — I’ll succeed.”

  I stare at him approvingly. I have no idea if he’s actually going to clean up his act. That’s all on him. All I can do is give him a little push in the right direction. After walking him into the living room, I pull back the blanket I’ve set on the couch and gesture for him to lie down. He slips off his boots and jacket and then drops down onto it, closing his eyes.

  I’m at the door, about to leave and go to bed myself, when Patrick suddenly says, “You’re a good girl, Jade. I know I’ve always been a prick to you, but you never deserved it.”

  I only nod at him, not
knowing what to say. In all the years I’ve known him, I think this might be the first time he’s said something genuinely nice to me.

  “And I’m sorry about your sister,” he says then, his words mumbled.

  “Who, April?” I ask, my brow furrowed.

  Eyes still closed, he shakes his head and whispers, “No, not April.”

  I suck in a sharp breath. Emotion immediately grips me, clogging my throat. I can’t speak, so I simply step out of the room and close the door softly behind me. It seems I’ve just been dealt my own little memory bitch slap. Upstairs in my bed, I lie beneath the covers and stare at the sparrows on my wallpaper.

  Those sparrows mean so much more to me than most people even realise.

  For the first time in years, I think of a girl long past and cry myself to sleep.

  Twenty

  The next morning I almost regret having given Patrick a chance. It takes forever to wake him up, and he’s hung over as fuck. The living room smells like a brewery, so I have to open all the windows as wide as they’ll go to let the stink out.

  Once I’ve wrangled him into having a shower, I go get my phone to call my old friend Cheryl. She works as an administrative assistant at the rehab clinic I booked myself into way back when. Thinking about it, it should be time for me to get a new tattoo to add to my collection soon.

  When I get her on the line, I beg and plead and practically promise her my left kidney to get her to find a place in the clinic for Patrick. In the end she finally finds a way to squeeze him into a three-week stay. I really hope he stays the course. If he leaves, then I wash my hands of him.

  There’s only so much you can do for people before they have to take control of things themselves. It feels like I’ve barely had time to breathe as I rush into work after getting Alec to drive Patrick to the clinic.

  I have a two-and-a-half-hour break in the middle of the day between the conference and the evening concert, so I go home to put my feet up for a while. I’m at a deli getting a chicken salad wrap made up when my phone buzzes with a text.

  Shane: Hey Bluebird. You want to come over tonight? Xxx.

  A little thrill goes through me at his question as I remember our time in the hotel yesterday. I do want to come over, but I don’t text him back right away. There are a few misgivings rising to the surface of my thoughts, telling me I should slow things down with Shane. I mean, fuck buddies are only supposed to get together every once in a while, right? But with us it seems we’re seeing each other practically every day.

  At my house I’m hoping to relax and watch some mindless daytime television. It doesn’t seem like I’m going to get my way as I step inside the living room to find April lounging on the couch, snogging the face off some guy. They’re going at it so much that they don’t even hear me come in. I have to cough extra loudly to get their attention.

  Immediately they hop off each other, and I grin, eyeing the guy. I could definitely refer to him as a boy, thankfully, because he looks no older than eighteen or nineteen. He’s got the whole skater style going on.

  “Sorry to interrupt,” I say, folding my arms and shooting April a raised eyebrow.

  She fumbles with her T-shirt, fixing it back in place. “Uh, this is Chris. Chris, this is my older sister, Jade.”

  “Pleased to meet you, Chris,” I say, flopping down onto an armchair and opening up my wrap. I take a big bite, chewing as I ask, “So, where did you two meet?”

  “He lives in the apartment next to Lara’s. We met when I was leaving her place one day,” says April, a small smile on her lips. She seems nervous. She must really like this boy, and he’s actually an appropriate age. I could jump for joy right now.

  “Cool,” I say, just as she gets up from the couch and motions for Chris to do the same. He rises, his cheeks flushed with obvious embarrassment. They’re about to leave when I tell her, “Oh, by the way, Shane gave me tickets for you to see him play. Do you still want to go?”

  April looks at me, and then her eyes flick to Chris. “Nah, you can have them. I’m good.”

  Well, no one could ever say my sister didn’t have a flighty side. A new boy on the scene, and she’s all but forgotten about her little crush on Shane. Although it’s probably a good thing. It could get slightly weird, given I’m having sex with the man.

  The front door opens and shuts, signalling their departure, and I let out a contented sigh. Peace at last. When I’m done eating, I let Specky in and she sits on my lap, keeping me company as I watch a Dr. Phil rerun. Is it just me, or is he getting bitchier in his old age?

  After a while I take out my phone and read Shane’s last text again. I feel bad leaving him hanging, but I really don’t know how to reply. In the end, I bite on my lip and start typing.

  Jade: I’m going to be working late again. Can we wait a few days? Miss you. X.

  I hit “send” before realising that asking him for a few days’ break from each other and then telling him I miss him is a bit of a contradiction. It’s true that I miss him, though. It’s just that what happens when we’re around one another scares me.

  My phone buzzes.

  Shane: Miss you, too. Like crazy. A few days will kill me. Tomorrow?

  I can’t stop my heart from speeding up when I read this. I mull over how to respond for a minute.

  Jade: This is only supposed to be a casual thing. I want to see you, but I think we’re letting ourselves get serious too quickly. It frightens me…

  Whoa. Talk about frank honesty. I feel incredibly nervous after I hit “send,” not knowing what he’s going to say to that, but I need to get it out there. Seconds later my phone starts to ring. Oh, no. He’s calling me. This can’t be good. Forcing the shakiness out of my hands, I pick up the phone and answer.

  “Hey.”

  “Babe,” says Shane, his voice low and full of affection.

  “What?” I respond, unable to disguise the note of anxiety in my tone.

  “You’re fucking adorable, but you need to stop overthinking this.”

  “No, you need to stop being so nice to me,” I blurt out, and he chuckles.

  “What? You want me to be a bastard instead?”

  “That’s not what I meant. You’re being all attentive and stuff, and I know exactly what you’re up to.”

  There’s a smile in his voice when he replies, “Okay, enlighten me, then?”

  “You’re making this ‘arrangement’ into a relationship, a serious relationship, and that’s not what I agreed to.”

  When I dived into this thing head first without a thought for my sanity, I never considered he’d be sly like this. And the fact of the matter is, my heart loves that he’s being sly. My heart is a needy thing that wants to be lavished with attention.

  He lets out a long sigh, and it sounds like he’s fiddling with a piece of paper or something. His voice is low and serious when he says, “That’s not what I’m doing, Jade. I can’t help it if I’m into you and I get carried away. Tell me where the boundaries lie, and I’ll stick to them.”

  I bite on my lip. He sounds like he means what he’s saying. “Okay,” I reply warily.

  There’s a beat of silence before Shane says, “Are you at home or at work?”

  “I’m at home.”

  “Should I come over so we can discuss this in person?”

  “No,” I answer, almost too fervently. “I have to get back to work soon. Let’s just talk on the phone.”

  Because if I see you in person, I’ll only want to kiss you, and then no talking will get done.

  “Okay, stick it to me, babe. What are your rules?”

  Oh, God, did I mention how much I like his telephone voice? It’s so deep and masculine, like a cup of warm chocolate. And when he calls me babe like that? Fucking hell. It’s not one of those contrived terms of endearment, it’s like it just slips out so naturally and he can’t help it.

  “Well, I suppose only seeing each other every couple of days would be a good rule,” I say.

 
“How many days is a couple?”

  “Um, three?”

  “Right. So I can’t see you for another two days?”

  I hesitate, realising I don’t like the sound of that, either, but I soldier on nonetheless. “Yeah.”

  “That’s going to be hard. What if we bump into each other when you’re working?”

  “That’s fine. When I say ‘see each other,’ I mean, like, you know…”

  Jesus, am I blushing?

  “Fucking?” Shane finishes for me, a raspy note in his voice.

  “Yes.”

  There’s a muffled sound of him moving and then, “Okay, what else?”

  “No, uh, public displays of affection when we bump into each other.”

  “I can’t touch you?” He sounds disappointed.

  “No, you can’t.”

  “I like touching you.”

  “And that’s something that couples do. We aren’t a couple.”

  “Fine. Anything more?”

  “I think that’s it. I’ll let you know if I think of more.”

  Specky, who had been snoozing on my lap, wakes up and hops down onto the floor before scurrying into the kitchen. I stand and follow her, opening the back door to let her out.

  Shane clears his throat. “So then I suppose I won’t see you until the night you and April come to see me play.”

  Oh, for God’s sake, why does he have to sound so sad…and so appealing?

  “Actually, there’s a change of plans needed there. April got herself a new boyfriend and has no interest in coming to the orchestra anymore. I think I might ask Alec along. I know he’ll agree to it if I tell him Avery will be there.”

  Shane laughs. “Sounds like a plan. Will you stay with me that night?”

  My reply comes out low and shaky. “Sure.”

  He seems happy again when he says, “Brilliant. I can’t wait.”

  I laugh, loving how quickly his mood can improve, especially since it’s the prospect of spending time with me that improves it. Again, my needy heart is reaching out for some affection, and it’ll take whatever it can get.