Still Life with Strings

by L.H. Cosway

  She holds her hands up. “No effing way. I’m not talking about sex with you.”

  “Then there will be no boyfriends spending the night under this roof,” I tell her happily and she turns on her heel, sulking all the way back to her bedroom.

  Unable to keep my curiosity at bay any longer, I grab my phone and plug it into the charger. I need to know if Shane tried to call me. I’m hoping he did, because if he didn’t, that could mean he caved to Mona’s pleadings and decided he’s going to give their relationship another college try.

  If he did, then not only might I actually be finding my way to a bottle of vodka in the very near future, but I will also have lost all respect for him.

  My phone lights up, and several missed calls flash across the screen. One is from Ben, and the rest are from Shane. They span over several hours, and the last time he tried to phone me was at four in the morning.

  In the words of Germans in bad situations the world over: Scheisse.

  He never left any voicemails or texts, so I have no clue what’s going on with him. There’s a message from Ben, asking me if I’m all set for our weekend away and telling me that we’ll leave from my house tomorrow morning. I send him a quick message back saying I’ll be ready with bells on. Then I text Shane.

  Jade: We’re leaving from my place tomorrow at ten. You still coming?

  It’s the safest option. I haven’t mentioned his countless attempts at calling me, nor have I made reference to my ear-wigging adventures last night. I sit back and wait for him to reply, but when I get no messages right away, I go shower and have breakfast. Over an hour passes, and still there’s no response.

  I have a couple of errands to run today, one of which involves going grocery shopping and stocking the fridge with food for when I’m away. Another is giving Alec strict instructions to make sure April doesn’t sneak any gentleman callers into her bedroom.

  I’m determined not to dwell on Shane’s radio silence, so I get busy and head to the nearest supermarket. As I’m leaving, my hands full carrying plastic bags, I spot a familiar face staring back at me from the magazine racks. I was right when I predicted they were going to put him on the front cover. It’s the edition of Hot Press containing Shane’s interview.

  Standing there for far too long, I hesitate over whether or not I should give in and buy a copy. I mean, I overheard most of what was said in the interview, but not all of it. Perhaps there will be some little gem in there that will enlighten me as to who he really is. Something that will make him seem less perfect in my eyes, like expressing a racist sentiment or declaring his support for the neo-Nazi movement.

  I also have a shameful desire to slobber all of the pictures that were taken at the photo shoot. Glancing from left to right, like I’m afraid of getting caught buying a porno mag, I snatch a copy off the shelf and bring it to the register to pay before stuffing it into one of my shopping bags.

  When I return, I give the downstairs of the house a spring clean and make lunch for Pete. Ever since he’s started going to school again, he’s been coming home on his lunch hour. I’m seeing this as a good sign. If he’s at home, then he isn’t hanging out with Damo and company.

  Coming in the door in his uniform, he drops his bag at the bottom of the stairs and walks into the kitchen. I’ve already set a sandwich and a glass of juice on the table, so he swipes up the sandwich and takes a big hungry bite. Then he goes upstairs to get his laptop, muttering about wanting to show me something. When he returns, he plonks his laptop down on the table and fires it up.

  I sit on the other side eating my own sandwich, Specky sitting dutifully at my feet waiting for scraps, her eyes full of hope that I’ll drop a nice piece of ham or maybe a pickle. Unlike some dogs, Specky will eat almost anything. I once came home and found her trying to fit her jaws around a Golden Delicious apple.

  “Okay, so I want your honest opinion,” says Pete. “I’m thinking of putting it up on YouTube.”

  He seems nervous, and I have no clue what he’s talking about. “Putting what up on YouTube?” I ask, hoping to God he hasn’t filmed one of those awful Harlem Shake videos.

  “The song I made with Shane. I recorded a sample of him playing the violin and worked it into a dance track I created. Listen.”

  I do listen as a slow, heavy beat starts up and rolls into a Dubstep-style track. About thirty seconds into it the violin comes in, weaving through the electronic bits and creating a really original sound. “Wow, it’s brilliant,” I tell him. “I didn’t even know you two recorded anything.”

  Pete looks pleased as punch with my reaction but tries to hide his excitement by affecting a cool demeanour. “So you think I should put it on YouTube?”

  “Yeah, go for it.”

  He grins full-on then, and I reach over to ruffle his hair, to which he immediately scowls. I don’t care. I’m so happy that he’s found something to be passionate about that for a few brief minutes I forget all about my own troubles.

  Soon he has to head back to school for his afternoon classes, and I clear the table. Then I pull out the magazine I bought, running my hands over the front cover showing Shane’s handsome face looking off into the distance.

  Flicking to midway through the mag, I stop on Shane’s interview, which has the photos of him spread throughout. There’s one that really catches my eye. It’s from when he’d been holding his violin and I’d made a joke. He’d smiled at me. I hadn’t realised it then, but his smile was so full of affection. As I stare at it, I find it difficult to breathe for a second.

  Starting at the beginning of the interview, I discover the usual pat questions, which then move on to the part where the journalist brazenly asked about Mona. He puts in a little aside about how Shane clammed up and didn’t seem to want to talk about his ex, which could be a sign that there’s a colourful history there. Huh. You don’t know the half of it, Mister.

  At about the three-quarter-way point I discover questions that were asked after I’d gone, one of which stands out.

  LB: Do you think you’ll ever write any original pieces again like you did for the Bohemia Quartet’s album, Songs for Her?

  SA: For a long time, no, I didn’t think I would. Those pieces were inspired by a particular experience, and afterward I simply didn’t have anything else that inspired me in the same way. Very recently, though, I’ve had a new person in my life who’s made me hear music in my head again. I’ve actually already composed one or two pieces because I just had to get them out. I guess that’s how it happens — the music burrows its way into your brain, and the only way to stop it driving you crazy is to make it real.

  Oh, lord. The only new person who was in his life right then was me. At least as far as I know. For a moment my head is awash with fanciful notions of being his muse, before I force myself back down to earth and continue reading.

  LB: Well, that’s very exciting. I hope you plan on recording this work at some stage. I’d love to hear more about the new person in your life, though. Is it a girlfriend, perhaps?

  SA: *Smiles fondly* No, just a really good friend.

  LB: I bet your female fans will be glad to hear that.

  SA: *Chuckles* Maybe.

  And then the journalist delves into a couple more questions, asking Shane who his biggest idol is and whose career he’d like to emulate, before wrapping things up. I sit back in my chair and sigh, pulling my phone out of my pocket to find the screen depressingly free of any new messages. I’m dying to know what’s up with him. Is he sulking, or has something important come up that’s keeping him away from his phone? Has he fallen into a depression?

  Knowing that he was once in such a low place that he considered ending his own life, I worry a little. It makes me momentarily consider going to his house to check up on him, but I don’t. He’s probably just busy today, and if I show up all crazy and worried about him he’ll think I’m being overbearing and clingy.

  The rest of my day drags along at a snail’s pace, and just before bedtim
e I pack my bag for the morning. The weather report is predicting snow again, so I don’t bother to bring anything fancy, just lots of warm, comfy outfits. Ben said the house we’re going to be staying in is a ten-minute drive from the nearest town, so we probably won’t be going out much. That’s fine by me. I’m in the mood for a weekend of relaxation and warming my toes by a nice open fire.

  I just really hope Shane decides to show up.

  ***

  It’s two minutes after ten the next morning and there’s still no sign of him. I caved and tried to call him late last night, but I didn’t get an answer.

  “Is lover boy coming with us?” Ben asks as he helps Lara and me shove our bags into the back of Clark’s car.

  “I’m not sure,” I answer hesitantly. “Can we wait until a quarter past and see if he shows?”

  Ben gives me a pat on the shoulder. “Of course, babes.”

  When 10:16 hits and he still hasn’t turned up, I decide to swallow back my dashed hopes and expectations, and let us get on our way. Ben allows me to sit in the passenger seat beside Clark because he has this strange aversion to riding in the front unless he’s the one driving. We’re just about to pull away from my house when a taxi stops on the other side of the street. My heart lifts as Shane steps out of the vehicle, a bag thrown over his shoulder and his violin case in his hand.

  Wow, what relief I’m feeling right now. It’s a little disconcerting.

  He jogs over to the car as the taxi drives off, looking out of breath as I roll down my window.

  “I thought you weren’t coming,” I say, my eyes drinking him in.

  Shane nods, his hair messy like he didn’t get the chance to comb it this morning. “I didn’t think I was going to make it. I’m running terribly late. I’m sorry, everyone,” he calls to the others.

  “Go hop in the back,” says Clark. “I’ve popped the trunk so you can throw your bag in there.”

  When Shane gets in the car and Ben starts up the engine again, I glance at him in the overhead mirror. All of a sudden, I’m disappointed that I sat in the front. I want to touch him, want to ask him why he hasn’t been in contact. It’s going to be an awfully long drive, an awfully long five-hour drive, to be exact.

  I’m already willing the minutes to go faster so that we can stop off somewhere for food midway through. He leans forward and reaches out, squeezing my shoulder and giving me a strange look. I have no idea how to interpret it.

  “Pete played the track you two made together for me,” I say.

  “Oh, yeah? What did you think?”

  “Amazing. I can’t thank you enough for spending time with him. He’s like a different kid to the one he was a few weeks ago.”

  “Well, I’m happy to help,” says Shane modestly.

  “Hey, why don’t we all play one of those memory games?” Ben interrupts, and the next few hours are filled with mindless chatter.

  Twenty-Six

  When lunchtime hits, we’re all starving, so we stop off in a town called Nenagh in County Tipperary, parking in front of an old roadside restaurant. I want to ask Shane a dozen questions, but he places his hand on the small of my back and ushers me inside.

  “Can we talk when we get to the house?” he murmurs in my ear, and I’m relieved that he actually plans on discussing things.

  “Sure,” I reply before sliding into the worn leather booth, wondering if I should take Mary’s advice from the other night and just tell him. Hand him my heart, and let him decide if he wants to keep it or awkwardly give it back.

  I order a tuna melt wrap from the waitress, finding myself sitting in between Lara and Clark. Damn this day. Some higher power is determined to keep me from being even remotely within touching distance of Shane. Ben’s sitting beside him on the other side of the booth, sucking a vanilla milkshake through a straw and eyeing Shane with an amused expression.

  “Say, Clarky, honey, didn’t we see Mr Violin here on the front cover of some fancy magazine in the shop the other day?” he chirps.

  “Yes.” Clark smiles. “Indeed we did. They got some great pictures of you, by the way.”

  Shane gets this cute embarrassed look on his face and scratches his jaw. “Uh, thanks.”

  I shake my head at my friend. “Since when was Hot Press fancy?”

  Ben puts on a dramatic pout. “It’s fancy to me. Though I’ll be honest, I was more than a little disappointed that they didn’t include any topless shots.”

  “Ben!” I exclaim, and he laughs uproariously.

  “Oh, look, she’s all possessive of her man, how adorable. Doesn’t want anybody else to see the goods.”

  “He’s not…” I start, and then stop myself from completing the sentence. “Just shut up, okay?”

  “These cushiony lips are sealed,” he says with a wink.

  “Ha!” Lara snorts. “You wish they were cushiony.”

  “Well, they will be,” Ben argues. “Clark’s agreed to get me Botox injections for my birthday next year. Haven’t you, honey?”

  Clark shifts uncomfortably. “We’ll see.”

  “Oh, Jesus, please tell me you’re joking,” says Lara with one eyebrow raised.

  I zone out of the conversation then, because Ben mentioning birthdays has reminded me that it’s Shane’s thirtieth tomorrow. He must not enjoy people making a fuss, because he hasn’t mentioned it. The waitress drops off our food, and I slide my phone out of my pocket, doing a search for the nearest bakery to where we’re going to be staying. You know me, any excuse to eat cake.

  Somebody nudges my foot, and I look up to see Shane watching me.

  What? I mouth.

  A small smile curves his lips. “What are you up to?”

  I slip the phone back in my pocket and pick up one half of my sandwich. “Nothing.”

  “Doesn’t look like nothing.”

  “Be quiet and eat your lunch,” I say, sticking out my tongue at him.

  When we’re done in the restaurant we get back on the road, and despite it only being mid-afternoon, I’m feeling sleepy. I roll my cardigan into a ball and shove it against the window as a pillow before laying my head down on it, and try to catch a few winks.

  Surprising enough, I do manage to fall asleep, and when I wake up the car isn’t moving anymore. I can smell Shane’s cologne, and somebody’s undoing my seatbelt. Opening my eyes, I find him so close to me I could lean forward just a fraction, and our lips would be touching. It feels like it’s been forever since we last kissed.

  But I don’t kiss him, because I want to know what’s been going on with him and why he didn’t contact me at all yesterday. And, to be perfectly honest, I’m a little pissed about it. I mean, why hasn’t he explained himself yet? If it were something simple like he lost his phone, then he would have mentioned it already.

  “Sleep well, Bluebird?” he asks, his minty breath washing over me.

  I sit forward, and he moves back to give me room. “Yeah,” I reply, clipped, and slide out of the car.

  “I already brought your bag in. Clark’s put us in the double room to the rear of the house.” He pauses, running his hand back and forth over his head. “Is that okay with you?”

  I study him as I question him back. “Are you okay with it?”

  “Why wouldn’t I be?”

  “Well, for a start, you ignored me all day yesterday, and then you show up for this trip late, like you weren’t sure you were even going to come.”

  “Let’s go inside and we’ll talk about this,” he says, stepping forward to take my hand, but I move out of his reach.

  Frustration grips me as I look around. The house is gorgeous, a long bungalow with a wraparound porch, surrounded by woodland. It’s getting dark and it’s cold out, so I turn away from him and walk inside anyway. I’m not in the mood to have a fight out in the open.

  Ben and Clark are in the kitchen, unpacking the food supplies they brought with them.

  “Where’s my room?” I ask, standing in the doorway, hands on hips.
>
  Ben gives me a funny look and replies, “The last door at the end of the hall.”

  I nod and walk out, making my way down the hall. I don’t realise Shane was hot on my heels until I open the door and he pushes me in, shutting it behind him.

  “I don’t get why you’re pissed. You seemed fine earlier,” he says as he stalks me to the other side of the room.

  Letting out a sigh, I apologise, “I’m sorry. I think the car nap might have made me cranky.” Going to sit down on the bed, I look up at him. “So, are you going to tell me what’s been going on?”

  He sits down beside me and takes my hands into his. “The other night at the concert, Mona asked if we could talk. I should have told her no, but she wouldn’t stop pestering me, so I finally gave in and went to her dressing room.”

  “I know,” I say quietly.

  Shane looks confused. “You know?”

  Pulling my hands from his, I begin to pick at my nails and confess, “I was sent to deliver drinks to that room. When I got there I saw you both inside, so I waited in the corridor and listened.”

  “Jade.”

  “Look, I know it sounds bad, but I couldn’t help it. I wanted to know what you were doing there.”

  His expression is unreadable now, and it makes me nervous. “So you must have heard how she broke off her engagement to Justin and that she wants me back.”

  “Yeah,” I whisper, swallowing hard. “I didn’t stay and listen to all of it, though. I couldn’t.”

  A period of quiet falls between us, and I wish he’d say something. After several minutes he does. “She threw herself at me.”

  “Threw herself at you in what way?”

  “She kissed me,” he answers, eyes gauging my reaction.

  My heart rate starts to speed up. “And did you kiss her back?”

  “Of course not! She took me by surprise. I pushed her away immediately and told her she was being absurd. If you had stayed, you would have heard what I said to her afterward. I told her…”

  He falls silent, and I grip his hand in mine. “You told her what?”