by Lisa Swallow
I watch in amusement as my nieces and nephews establish a pecking order, the five of them squabbling until the eleven-year-old, Lola, promotes herself to boss and gets the others to do exactly what she wants. I laugh to myself; she’s exactly like her mother, Beth, my eldest sister. Not keen on kids, I retreat to the lounge with my beer and flick the TV on.
Tegan appears, dressed to impress and I lift a brow as I study her tiny clothes. I see her two or three times a year, noticing how she changes each time, but my nineteen-year-old sister is a kid to me. My memories of how guys behave at nineteen pushes ‘protective big brother’ to the surface as I take in Tegan’s long legs and slender frame.
“You’ll get cold,” I tell her.
Tegan scouts around the room, straightened brown hair falling into her face as she looks under the coffee table. “You sound like Mum. I do have a jacket.”
“Your legs.”
Locating a stray bottle of nail polish, she straightens. “I have legs, yes.”
I ignore her sarcasm. “How’s Scott?”
She pulls a disgusted face. “That’s over with. He went to uni in Scotland and found somebody else.”
Great. “No new boyfriend with you tonight?”
“And? Bryn, I’m not a kid. I can manage my own relationships and decide what to wear.”
“Am I that obvious?” I ask and drain my bottle.
“Yes and your girlfriend is the same age as me and she wears less clothes than this; don’t be a hypocrite.” Tegan sets herself onto an armchair, balances the bottle of polish and begins to paint her nails bright red.
“Mia is not my girlfriend.” I need to buy a t-shirt with this written on.
“So why does she live with you then?”
“Because…” Again, story told too many times. “Doesn’t matter.”
“Is she coming on tour with us?” Tegan swaps her brush to the other hand. I wrinkle my nose at the overpowering smell of varnish.
“Us?”
“You guys are touring end of January, right?”
“Yeah.”
“And you said I could come, right?” She looks up, narrowing her brown eyes.
Shit. Yeah, I did. Long-term agreement that once she finished school and if she had time, Tegan could come on tour. Now? I’m not so sure.
“Maybe the next one.” I suggest. “This one is only a couple of months; you should wait for the next US one or…”
“I might be at uni by then and won’t be able to come!”
“Mmm. Didn’t think.” But I’m not fooling Tegan.
“So cool that Ruby Riot is going with you,” she says with a look that arouses suspicion. Is this the real reason?
“Why?”
“They’re an awesome band. I mean, your support acts are usually good, but these guys are something else.”
I picture Tegan and Ruby and the image isn’t good. Tegan’s temper matches mine, sweet as anything, but beware if you rub us up the wrong way.
No, the person I really picture is the underlying reason I’m hesitant about Tegan coming. Blond-haired rock god in training, Jax. He’s developing an ego and a taste for girls, both getting bigger and less controlled. Jem and Dylan think it’s funny, but they forget I watched them on the same trajectory.
“What will you do for the two months we’re away?” I ask.
“No idea.” She screws the lid on the bottle and examines her nails. “Whatever you find me to do to help out. I don’t care. Would be cool to be on tour with both bands. Ruby Riot is getting big. I want to be in there when it starts so I can tell everybody.”
“Access all areas?” I ask sarcastically.
“What are they like? Ruby Riot,” she asks, ignoring me.
“Like you said, talented.”
“No, Bryn, I mean what are they like. Are they friendly?”
“Oh, yeah, a little too friendly.”
She giggles. “I guess they would be. Good-looking guys, rock stars… I bet they have lots of ‘friends’.”
Tegan’s emphasis on friends doesn’t escape me and I narrow my eyes at her. Her eyes widen. “Oh! You think I’m going to hook up with one of them, don’t you?”
“No.” Yes.
She laughs. “You, big brother, are a rock star; and however much you tried to hide things from me, I know exactly what you used to get up to. That’s not for me. I don’t have time for guys who treat women the way some of you used to. I’d like to see them try!”
“Yeah, well, tour details haven’t been finalised yet; I’ll let you know.” The fridge full of beer is calling so I stand.
Tegan stands too and brushes her skirt back into place. “Well, make sure my name’s on whatever list it needs to be on.”
Tegan walks over, as tall as me in her heels, and then plants a kiss on my cheek. “See you later, big brother.”
I watch my not-so-little little sister head out of the room, battling the urge to follow Tegan and keep an eye on her night out. Then I shake my head, amused at not being invited, and how, even if I am a rock star, it’s still uncool for her to hang around with me.
Pissed off by Tegan, I change my mind about the beer; a walk would help blow away thoughts of Hannah that keep intruding. I head back to my car to find the jacket I left in there. Leaning into the passenger seat to grab the jacket, something small on the floor catches my eye.
I pick the gold earring from the car mat and dangle it between my fingers. Avery. Funny chick. Did I do the right thing there? I was drunk and intended to leave after the disastrous dinner when it was apparent I was wasting my time. I didn’t think that through. I thought Avery would enjoy the joke; but the longer it went on, the less amused she seemed. I do stupid shit when I’m bored.
The kiss. Yeah, not a great idea either. To be honest, I only intended lips on lips to prove a point to Avery’s friend, but the combination of beer in my system and her curves beneath my hands meant the kiss became too convincing. Avery’s enthusiasm surprised me, considering her earlier annoyance. At that point, I decided my presence in her evening was welcome after all and persuaded her to spend some time alone with me.
Was I interested in taking that further? A hook-up with another girl would be a sure-fire way to forget about Hannah for a night and I thought Avery was up for it until she hit the floor.
I can’t remember the last time I’ve relaxed around a chick, and Avery amused me. Somebody who made me laugh and I forgot all the shit going on around me for a few hours. The idea I could move on edged in. The right person is out there. I half-thought I could meet Avery again but she wasn’t keen to catch up again. The next morning, her lack of interest in repeating the kiss was unmistakable. Avery couldn’t wait to get away quick enough.
Maybe she saw through my motives.
Avery did the right thing. Broken-hearted guys don’t treat chicks nicely, a good job she wasn’t sober or interested.
Looking at the grey clouds, I change my mind about the walk and head back from the cold evening into the warmth of my family home.
Chapter Ten
BRYN
I settle in front of my Xbox with a tray of pizza and a beer from my well-stocked fridge. Mia appears in a designer scrap of cloth, face transformed by make-up, looking five years older, and a completely different person. When Mia puts make-up on, it’s an hour-long work of art with shading and sculpting and painting.
Mia looks at me with tired exasperation as she pushes a large silver earring through her ear. “You’re staying here, then.”
“Yes.” I crack the lid from a bottle. “Nothing else to do.”
“Nothing else to do? How many New Year’s invites did you get?”
“A few.” Usually I go wherever the band is going. Recently, this has been Dylan’s place, but he’s away. As are Liam and Cerys, who are on honeymoon, and Jem has disappeared with Ruby somewhere too.
Leaving me with Mia as an option.
No thanks.
“Who are you going with?” I ask Mia.
I frown. “No date? Mia Jordan never goes to parties without a date.”
She suddenly focuses hard on searching for something in the chaos of my lounge room. “Mia?”
“I said you were coming with me,” she tells the carpet.
“What? Do you not listen to me? Your selective deafness is starting to piss me off.”
When I arrived back after Christmas, my house still contained Mia, so much for her promise she’d find somewhere else to live by the time I got back from Wales.
“I kind of hoped you would, you know, keep an eye on me.” Mia gives me one of her beguiling smiles that she’s perfected after years of using on her dad.
Is Mia an airhead or a mastermind? Whatever, her persistence matches rat dog’s grip on my sleeve whenever he gets his teeth locked on. Won’t work. “I’m not your baby-sitter or your boyfriend. Go out, have fun, and be careful.”
“On my own,” she mutters.
“I’m pretty sure you won’t be on your own for long. Have a great time.”
I turn back to my game and grab a slice of Hawaiian pizza, stuffing it in my mouth to demonstrate conversation over. I half-toyed with the idea of staying in Wales for New Year too, but a few days with a house full of sisters and assorted offspring and I’m relieved to get back to London.
Mia bangs around, feeds rat dog, and then leaves in a cloud of expensive perfume. Thank Christ for that, maybe she’s learning not to nag me.
Rat dog sits on the armchair opposite me and we eye each other with the usual distrust. It growls at me and I growl back. Stupid bloody creature.
Lost in my beer-soaked, gaming world, I lose the evening. On my trip to the fridge, I glance at the time. Approaching midnight. Should I call Hannah, wish her a Happy New Year? Show her there’s no hard feelings even though there bloody are. Picking up the phone, I dial. A recorded message with an Australian accent informs me the number is out of service.
I pull up my email account on the laptop and send Hannah a message, a bland ‘Happy New Year’, no comments or connotations. Five minutes later, the email has bounced back.
My mind reels. I’d clung onto the idea Hannah would change her mind, but now she’s pushed me further away. I put down the beer, untouched. I never hassled her, so why cut me off completely?
I guess one of us has to make the final break.
New Year’s Resolutions aren’t my thing, but 2015, I’m going to start living my life with Bryn at the top of my priorities. There’s no point hanging onto the last few years. Not only my idiotic belief Hannah would spend her life with me, but the band. Musically, yeah, things don’t change, but everything else has.
I’m sick of holding the guys together when they fall apart, all in the name of keeping Blue Phoenix going. I need a life outside the band. I’m not going to ‘do a Dylan’; he was really fucked up, but this year is about a new balance. The rest of the guys are moving forward and so can I.
****
AVERY
I stare at the contents of my glass and calculate how many rum and cokes I’ve had. Not enough to see me through a New Year’s Eve with friends I rarely see, or a dodgy guy hitting on me, but just enough to remove me from the situation and leave a nice, glowy mist around the world. People cram around metal tables and the long bar, sardine packed on the dance floor. I’ve retreated to our table. If Tim gropes my ass one more time, I’m going to punch him. My feet hurt from drunken dancing amongst the sweaty masses and I pull off my shoe and wriggle my toes.
“Avery!”
Janet calls through the lull in the music and trips across the dance floor to grab my arm. The music rises again and I cringe at the opening bars of “The Final Countdown”. Every New Year’s party, every year, the same song. I shove my shoe back on and drag myself into the suffocating start to my year, yanked into the circle of old friends by two of them. Arms across my shoulders, practically in a headlock, the group enthusiastically count down, drinks sloshing in the air.
What does next year hold?
I finish the academic part of my course and then move onto the vocational in September. Teacher training at a school all day equals no possibility of part-time work to see me through. Will I be able to afford the last year?
Losing my Christmas holiday job sucks because the money earned was to get me through until the next holidays. Rent is high in London; and the ‘I told you so’ from my parents who aren’t in a financial position to support me niggles, but they’re right. Moving to Cardiff or Swansea to study would’ve made more sense, instead of my starry-eyed decision to live in London. A year of living it up led to debts that grow every day and, three years later, there’s a limit to the overdraft the bank will give me.
The possibility I might have to stop my studies for a year and find a part-time job to afford to pay my way through my training year looms.
“…Two! One!” Janet screams and bounces up and down, eagerly hugging and kissing everybody. Caught up in the once a year ‘it’s okay to touch anybody’, I take part in the ritualistic embracing everybody in turn.
I come face to face with Tim, whose kiss is heading dangerously close to my lips. The friendly New Year’s kisses involve cheeks, not what he intends with his open mouth. I duck my head and step back, smiling sweetly.
“Better call my other friends!” I shout at him over the noise and indicate the table where my bag and phone are. Disappointment crosses his face momentarily before another girl throws her arms around his shoulders and their mouths meet instead.
Funny.
Flopping onto the semi-circle bench around the table, I pull my bag from under the table. In the shadows, I squint and scroll through the contacts for Ben’s number, my housemate in London and one of my best friends. The screen is blurry so I wipe it. Still blurry. Right. I’ve had more to drink than I realise.
My mind trips back to last time I got drunk. Very drunk. With a rock star who thought it was hilarious to crash my life and pretend we were a couple. Did I have some explaining to do to my friends tonight when my so-called boyfriend wasn’t with me.
Hitting the screen, I dial.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Ben! Happy New Year!” I yell over the noise around me. Did Ben spend New Year’s Eve alone? He’s a party boy and there’s no noise in the background.
“Ben?” the confused voice replies.
“Ben?” Oh, crap. “Sorry, did I call the wrong number?”
“Ah!” The ‘not Ben’ laughs. “Are you drunk again, cariad?”
The voice carries me straight back to the night I was just thinking about, embarrassment instant. “Bryn? Ohmygod, I’m sorry! I should’ve deleted your number. I won’t call again…”
“Wait!” he says as I’m about to hang up. “Talk to me. I can hardly hear you; it’s very noisy where you are.”
“And very quiet where you are. I’d have thought a rock star would be at a swish celeb party.”
“Not me. Not in the mood.” He pauses. “Go somewhere quieter; talk to me.”
“Um. Okay.” I head to the hallway and lean against the cool wall between the entrance and the bathrooms.
“Okay?” I ask.
“That’s better,” he says. “Now, why did you call?”
“I didn’t!”
“Cariad, you’re speaking to me on the phone and I didn’t call you.”
“I mean I didn’t mean to. I was calling a friend.”
“Mmm-hmm.”
“I was! I’m not a groupie!”
“I’m teasing. I know you wouldn’t stalk me. Happy New Year, cariad.”
“Happy New Year, mountain man.”
“Having fun?”
“Explaining where you are, yes.”
He pauses. Crap. Talking to famous people must include etiquette I’m unaware of that doesn’t include a sharp tone. “I told you I was in London and couldn’t come.”
Taylor teeters in my direction, party popper ribbon trailed in her hair. “Who are yo
u talking to? Your rock star?” she asks snidely.
“Yes, I am, actually.”
“Of course you are…” She pulls a ‘don’t lie to me’ face and trip toward the Ladies.
“Was that bitchface?” asks Bryn.
“Yeah.”
“Why are you with her again?”
“I’m out with the old gang, but that’s it after tonight. I’ve had enough. I’m leaving in a couple of days, going back to London.”
“You live in London? You never said.”
“You never asked.”
“You don’t sound too happy about going back.”
“No job. No money. But I think it’ll be easier to find a couple of weeks work in the city.” Dream on, Avery.
“Oh, that’s right. You lost your job, didn’t you? The soup.” I can practically hear him smirking.
“Tell me, why are you on your own, Bryn Hughes, rock star?” I ask, eager to change the subject.
“Wasn’t in the mood, stayed home with my pizza and Xbox.”
That is as far removed from what I’d expect of a rock star on New Year’s Eve as I can imagine. Next, he’ll tell me he crochets in his spare time. “On your own? Nobody should be alone on New Year’s Eve.”
“Rat dog is with me.”
“Pardon?”
“And beers. Although I think I drank them all.”
That explains why he wants to talk to me; funny how great it is to talk to strangers when you’re drunk.
“If you’d said you live in London, I’d have arranged a date.”
I laugh. “Of course you would.”
“Seriously, I could do with one.”
“You can do better than an inept waitress.”
Bryn chuckles. “But that’s why, because you’re funny. And cute.”
Cute. The teasing tone is back. “You know that’s not true.”
“Yeah, armed with soup and stilettos, you’re lethal.”
We share a laugh, and the secret rock star fantasises I’ve had since the evening we spent together resurface. I shake my head to dislodge them.
“Well, sorry again, I’ll delete your number now,” I say.
“Keep it. Call me again when you’re drunk. I like it.”