Hell's Music

by Therese von Willegen

  Just the fact that they spoke about everything but Simon was clear enough indication that they felt sorry for her. She did not want anyone’s pity. She wanted to lash out at someone, but he wasn’t there. That he stayed away was confirmation of his guilt and it made her furious to think she’d allowed him to lead her on.

  But what they’d had had seemed so genuine.

  Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes and Emily wiped at her face. She hadn’t worn makeup in days, so she’d not be running the risk of looking like something that crawled out of a B-grade horror flick with smeared mascara that turned her into a ghoul.

  A key grated in the lock and Emily leaned back into the couch, watching through the numbness as her sister passed the entrance to the lounge then paused, standing there for a long while gazing her.

  “Hey,” said Rae.

  “Hey yourself.”

  “How was your day?”

  “Shitty.”

  The cuckoo clock ticked off the seconds and Emily looked away from those gray eyes, unable to endure the attention.

  “I called Simon today.”

  This got Emily’s attention and she sat up and fixed her sister with a glare. “Why would you want to do that?”

  “To apologize for being such a bitch when I first saw the paper.”

  “What did he say?”

  “Well, technically I didn’t speak to him. I left a message on his cell, explaining that I’m sorry my phone call the other week sucked donkey’s bollocks and that I could have been more tactful. And I told him he should speak to you.”

  Anger flared. “That wasn’t necessary.”

  Rae straightened and placed her hands on her hips. “Oh, hell, it was. I’ve done my bit now. I seem to succeed all too well complicating your life and I had to come clean. The rest is up to you. I’ve also called Eric. We’re all going to that gig on Saturday.”

  “What the fu– Oh, I’m so not going. I’m done with Simon.”

  “The two of you need to talk. You can’t just leave it hanging.”

  “He fucked some blond twunt. As far as I’m concerned, it’s over.”

  Rae held up a finger. “You’re assuming he shagged the chick. Nowhere in that article does it say they had sex.”

  “She’s naked!”

  “From the waist up.”

  Emily leveled a disbelieving look at her sister.

  Rae sucked in a deep breath and flicked an errant strand of hair from her eyes. “I don’t care what really happened that night. But I’m so fucking tired of you having hang-ups about the men you get involved in. I saw it with the last one. You just packed your bags and left. Have you spoken to him since?”

  “No, but–”

  “Exactly! And remember that time you and me were at the Waterfront and we saw him with that excuse of a boyfriend he’d picked up? You pretty much ran away with your tail between your legs. Left me standing there like a stupid cow with my jaw hanging open so I had to talk to him and say ‘hi’ and all the rest. You’re a coward, Emily Clark, and you’re never going to get on with your life until you tell the shit-bag exactly what’s on your mind.”

  Emily bit her tongue to still the angry words that threatened to paint the air blue and placed her hands over her eyes, consciously breathing in and out hard. She would absolutely not lose her composure.

  When she didn’t feel as though she’d throttle her sister, she slumped back into the couch, aware only of how cool the leather was against her skin and the smell of it. Leather always comforted her, reminding her of her grandparents’ old house in Rondebosch. Anything but the chaos with which she now dealt. All the while she was far too aware of the way her sister glared at her, as if daring her to return her statement with a fat outburst.

  Rae had a point.

  “You think you’re wise beyond your years, don’t you?” Emily asked, the bitterness making her clip her words.

  “I might just be your bratty kid sister, but I’m not completely naive, okay? I can pick up a pattern when I see it. You’re not doing yourself any favors. I’m not expecting you to get back together with the guy. I’m merely suggesting you need to get closure. You need to tell him why you’re hurt, not just by the picture of him with the bimbo, but also why you’re unhappy with him just chickening out the way he’s gone about things.

  “Just the fact that he’s not bothered to call or see you, or even try to raise you on my cell–and he has this number–should be a fair indication that either he’s guilty as all sin, or just doesn’t give a flying fuck. Either way, you deserve to know the truth, or just give him a piece of your mind.”

  Emily nodded then pulled her arms around her knees, drawing her legs onto the couch. No one was around to tell her to take her feet off the furniture, a thought that made her grin.

  “That’s better.” Rae placed a hand on Emily’s shoulder. She’d obviously misinterpreted the smile, but right now Emily couldn’t care.

  “Fine. I’ll go, but don’t expect me to enjoy myself.”

  “I’m not expecting you to enjoy yourself. I just think it’s a good idea that you face your situation head-on. Then we can move along swiftly.”

  “Men suck.”

  “In all the wrong places.”

  They both laughed then, some of the heaviness lifting. Hell, maybe she’d even kick him in the bollocks for being such a jerk. She’d not had the opportunity with Adrian. Rat bastards, the lot of them.

  “I think I’m going to turn lettie.”

  Rae arched a brow. “Trust me, I think lesbians are as–if not more–complicated than the guys.”

  “And how would you know?”

  Her sister gave her the kind of shit-eating grin that suggested she didn’t want to find out.

  Chapter 14

  Hellbound Hearts

  Eric arrived early to collect them, pulling up in Uncle Reinhardt’s pick-up truck, a gleaming gunmetal gray affair with tinted windows. Emily waited by the door and watched her cousin as he locked the vehicle then made his way up the stairs. Dressed in faded denims and an old Metallica t-shirt, he looked a little more like the old self she remembered, of course sans the long hair.

  He paused on the landing. “Hey.” His smile was cautious.

  “Hey, cuz, how’s it hanging?”

  Eric looked her up and down. “You look...like you did in way back when.”

  “Blame Rae for that.” She gestured at the ragged silk dress and Doc Martens. “She made me dig in the garage for my fourteen-holes. It feels odd to be wearing them again.”

  Her cousin’s eyes crinkled at the corners. “One for memory lane, eh?”

  “If you want to say that. Come inside.”

  He brushed past her, a whiff of woody cologne reaching her. It would almost be as things used to be, the two of them sneaking out to get horribly trashed. Only tonight she wasn’t planning on getting completely obliterated, and it would be the absolute last time she intended to relive the past.

  The old Emily ended tonight.

  She followed Eric to the kitchen, where Davy nursed a bottle of lager in the nook. Emily couldn’t help but feel horribly nauseous. Just the way the liquid swished in the green bottle Davy held made her swallow back saliva.

  “Where’s my other cousin?” Eric looked about.

  “Still finishing her makeup,” Davy answered.

  “And you must be Davy.” Eric strode forward, hand outstretched.

  Davy stiffened ever so slightly, but he took the proffered hand, and Emily had to stifle a grin. Gods, the boy probably hadn’t been on the scene when Eric and she had been living it up. Why did he suddenly seem so young when he was only four years her junior?

  “Yeah, I’m Davy.” He sat again, his hair falling over his face. God, if only he wouldn’t do that. It made him look so juvenile.

  In the short time she’d gotten to know him a bit better, it was clear he had a lot to offer but lacked the confidence. Maybe that job at The Event Horizon would boost his ego–or turn him ro
tten, like Gavin and his ilk. Like she’d almost gone way back when. She had no clear answers.

  Emily sighed then went to stand by the window and gazed onto the courtyard where the potted plants had turned into dried husks. She’d read somewhere that being able to grow plants was a sign that one was ready for a long-term commitment. The state of her plants suggested anything but that. Funny how a week or so of neglect could cause such wide-scale destruction.

  Someone spoke and Emily started, turning to Eric. “Sorry, I was distracted.”

  Her cousin shared a knowing look with Davy but grinned at her. “He got you so ditzy?”

  Emily sucked in her breath. “Good fucking Christ! Does everyone discuss me behind my back?”

  “You wound me.” Eric placed a hand on his chest and batted his lashes at her.

  But she couldn’t stay angry at him. She blinked to rid herself of tears that threatened to make her mascara run. Emily allowed herself a faltering smile. “Better emotional wounds than physical, at the hands of a madwoman who’ll...” She glanced about the room and spied an appropriate utensil to use as a weapon. “...beat you senseless with a rolling pin.”

  Her cousin’s chuckle sounded nervous and he backed toward the fridge where he turned and opened the door. He delved for a beer, the bottle clinking against its mates as he removed it.

  “Should you be drinking?” Emily asked.

  “What’s one beer?”

  She shrugged. “Whatever. So long as it’s just the one beer now.”

  Rae announced herself at the doorway. “So, guys, how do I look?”

  Her sister had spent quite a while ensconced in the bathroom and had painted her face to the usual Gothic complexion, face powdered to a chalk-white pallor, brows shaped and eyes darkened with so much liner she must have gone through half the pencil.

  Davy beamed at her. “Beautiful!”

  “Like something out of an old Hammer horror,” Eric replied.

  “At this rate, we’ll never leave early enough to find parking,” Emily said. “Hand me the keys, Eric. I’ll drive to the gig while you add to that beer gut you’re working on.”

  “But my dad said–”

  “I don’t care what Uncle Reinhardt said about anyone else driving the truck. At least I’ve not been drinking.” Emily rolled her eyes then held out her hand.

  Her cousin handed her the keys with obvious reluctance but maintained his death grip on the beer.

  “You’re gonna enjoy yourself.” Rae squeezed Emily’s upper arm.

  “You’re only saying that because you’re going to enjoy yourself and don’t want to feel guilty while doing so,” Emily shot back. “Now let’s go.”

  The group made its way out to the car, Emily locking the house and arming the alarm system before she opened the truck for the others.

  She was nervous as all hell about this evening’s concert and not entirely comfortable about driving the truck. She’d rather take charge than sit passively while enduring Eric’s driving. Not that she worried about the one beer but it would feel a hell of a lot better being in control of something tonight.

  “You gonna be okay to drive?” Eric asked.

  “I’ll be fine.”

  “Driving a truck isn’t the same as riding a Vespa.”

  “So? Do you honestly think I’d forget?” She didn’t want to admit she hadn’t driven a car for more than a year, but now was not the time. Her hands shook as she turned the wheel. Luckily the gears shifted easily as she nosed the unwieldy vehicle into the street.

  As if on cue, Mrs. De Wet’s curtain twitched shut as she straightened. Emily suppressed the need to flip the old lady the bird.

  Okay, it was nice to do something different, like attending an outdoor event, instead of moldering at home. By the time they reached the eastern slopes of Table Mountain, they’d be out of the wind, and it had been ages time since she’d set foot in the botanical garden. Fresh air and all.

  As if aware of her train of thoughts, Rae asked, “Remember when our parents took us to the garden? We used to go make a wish at the bird bath.”

  Emily laughed. “Remember that time someone reported you for stealing the coins from the pool?”

  “Hey, I was going to throw them back in and make more wishes.”

  “Yeah, right.”

  Eric spoke. “A friend of mine sneaked in one evening and got out enough cash for his matric dance ticket.”

  “You people are terrible.” Emily laughed despite herself. “I just wonder how the hell the metal heads managed to arrange for heavy music to play there.”

  “They got some big bands, that’s how,” Davy said. “Spoke to Gavin at work. Says they got sponsorship.”

  That brought the conversation back to the music, and Emily fell silent, concentrating rather on the road as she negotiated the late afternoon traffic. The voices became background noise to her, and it was quite obvious which particular band the others discussed, as if the Dead Voices reunion wasn’t the headlining act and Simon didn’t exist.

  On more than one occasion Emily almost turned the truck around. She didn’t want to do this. Simon would be there, with his old band, with all his groupies, perfectly at home in his world that, in the time they’d been seeing each other, he’d done an excellent job keeping her out of.

  If he deigned to look at her tonight, he’d in all likelihood only spare her a withering glance while continuing a conversation with some gorgeous blond bimbette, her arm slung around his waist. Or worse yet, he’d ignore her thoroughly. That’s if he even noticed her, if she went as far as to place herself in such a situation where he could catch sight of her from the stage.

  Already she’d picked up talk of an after-party later at The Event Horizon, something Davy had let slip, and she sure as hell wasn’t going to allow anyone to subject her to that. Oh no, not a damn fucking chance. After the fest, she’d march backstage, put on some charm to get past security, speak to Simon, then clear the hell out of the place. Once home, she’d draw a bath, soak away all the mental and physical grime, then pop a sleeping tab and embrace eight to twelve hours’ oblivion.

  Tomorrow would bring its own issues, but tonight she’d close a particularly disheartening chapter in her life. Pity she couldn’t cut her hair any shorter than it already was, at least not without looking like a boy. An even greater pity she couldn’t forget how Simon had sent her spiraling into such orgasms as she hadn’t had in years, if not her entire life.

  “You’ve gone all quiet,” Rae said from behind the driver’s seat.

  “I’m thinking,” Emily answered.

  “I thought you women could multi-task,” Eric said.

  “Screw you, Eric. And Rae, you know perfectly well why I don’t want to comment on what you’ve said.”

  “It won’t be that bad, you’ll see,” her sister said.

  They’d neared Kirstenbosch Gardens and already parking was a problem. Emily did not bother trying to gain entry to one of the official parking areas and instead drove until she found space in one of the residential streets. Who’d have thought that a collection of alternative and metal bands sharing the stage would draw such a crowd? But then again, it wasn’t every day that an internationally acclaimed artist such as Simon van Helsdingen performed locally with his old band with other big names present. The hordes of concertgoers passing them with picnic baskets were made up of all sorts, not just alternatives but loads of Joe Publics.

  More nervous than she’d like to let on, Emily waited for everyone else to get out of the truck before she locked. She paused for a moment and gazed up at the mountain. Low clouds had swirled down through the wooded ravines, hiding the sandstone cliffs, and a warm mugginess clung to the air, suggesting it might rain later. Just great. She hadn’t brought a blanket or a jacket.

  “C’mon,” Rae said. “Close your mouth and stop staring at the mountain. Not only are you going to catch flies but people are going to think you’re a retard.”

  “You’re the retard.” Em
ily flipped her sister the bird, but she fell in with them, unable to help a small smile when Rae stuck out her tongue.

  The route leading toward the concert area gave her something to occupy her mind, and Emily allowed her gaze to follow the paving. Occasionally she noted the sprawl of greenery on either side. Feet pounded the ground. She’d never seen so many people here before, the sheer numbers overwhelming, but then, when last had she come out for a summer concert at the gardens? Everyone else always spoke in glowing terms of all the shows they saw here, from the Cape Town Philharmonic playing Carmina Burana to live jazz, rock and opera.

  As kids, way back when their parents were still together and they’d lived some sort of semblance of being a happy family, she and Rae had run on the wide expanses of lawns, or had hunted for tadpoles in one of the numerous watercourses threading down from the mountain. Once their dad had hired one of the electric carts and they’d ridden a grand tour of the entire perimeter, and she remembered the story she’d read about the Indian princess who’d been given a wish by a wise old magician.

  He’d told she could be beautiful or fabulously rich, and the princess had asked that her garden would always be with her. The magician had thought it an odd request, but he’d granted it in any case, or so she thought. Then her father had married her off to a prince who lived in the middle of the desert, and she’d had to leave her garden despite her earlier wish. The princess had despaired at the endless dunes and their shifting sands, as well as the dry sucking heat, and above all, she’d mourned the loss of her garden.

  Though, when she’d awoken the next morning in her marriage bed, where the desert had been, an endless garden stretched from horizon to horizon, and the old magician’s promise to her had been fulfilled. Emily liked to think of Kirstenbosch Botanical Garden being an echo of this magical forever garden of the story, and she and Rae had pretended they were princesses waiting for their princes to find them.

  Only there weren’t any princes in real life, were there? Rae looked happy now, swinging the hand that held Davy’s, but in truth, how long would that relationship last? Six months? A year? Maybe three at best. There was no forever love these days. Husbands and wives fell out of love, or met someone new.