Still Life with Strings (36 page)

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 bedtime 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.

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.”