Still Life with Strings (8 page)

“
In flagrante
what?”
Lara asks, confused.

“He caught them having
sex,” Clark explains to her.

“Oh, shit,” she blurts
out, and then reaches over to put a comforting hand on Shane’s arm before
pulling away again. “That’s awful. Your fiancée and your best friend!”

Shane winces a little
when she reiterates the fact, and I can’t stop staring at him. Now I know where
the almost tangible sadness comes from when he plays his violin. And now I also
know the reason why he left his string quartet.

“Were you in love with
her?” Ben asks in a low voice.

Shane gives him a
mournful smile. “I should hope so. I’m not in the habit of asking women I’m not
in love with to marry me.”

I can’t hold back from
reaching to him under the table and taking his hand in mine for a moment. Our
fingers intertwine effortlessly, and tingles shoot from his skin into mine when
we touch. I don’t keep holding on for long, and when I let go I feel like I’ve
lost something vital.

“Well,” Lara chimes in,
“once a cheater, always a cheater, that’s what I say. You’re well shot of her,
just the same way my Mia and I are better off without her lying man-whore of a
father.”

The edges of Shane’s
mouth curve up in a grin, and we continue eating our food. We chat for another
hour or so, and then everyone begins to say their goodbyes and leave. Shane is
still there when my friends have gone. Once I’ve waved off Ben and Clark, I
return to the kitchen to find him standing by the sink, rinsing dishes.

“Hey, you don’t need to
do that. I’m the hostess,” I say placing a hand on his shoulder.

He turns his head to
look at me, and there’s an intensity in his gaze when his eyes wander to my
hand on him.

“My grandmother always
told me it’s good manners to help with the clean-up when you’ve eaten at
somebody’s house. Let me do it — I’ll feel weird if I don’t.”

“Okay, but that means I
get to dry,” I reply, grabbing a towel. “Sorry we don’t have a dishwasher.”

I don’t go into the
fact that a dishwasher is a luxury I can’t afford right now. Shane only shrugs,
and continues rinsing plates and cups. As we quietly clean up together, I’m
aware of him watching me, but I’m too self-conscious to make eye contact. I
don’t know what it is about being alone in the room with him that makes me get
shy.

We’re almost done when
the front door opens and shuts, and my sister April struts in. She’s wearing
leopard-print leggings and a pink diamante Paul’s Boutique hoodie that’s
probably a fake from the markets. God bless the teenagers these days, but they
haven’t got a clue about fashion. Although to be honest, neither did I at that
age. All I ever wore was baggy jeans and even baggier band T-shirts. My only
nod to style was the fact that I used to dye my hair purple and colour my eyes
in with copious amounts of black eyeliner, because, you know, I considered
myself to be “different.”

April opens the fridge
and pulls out a carton of orange juice, taking a long swig before she even
notices anyone else is in the room. When her eager eyes land on Shane, a grin
shapes her mouth.

“Hey, I’m April, Jade’s
sister,” she says, thrusting her hand out for him to shake.

I watch the entire
exchange with amusement as Shane turns and takes the dishtowel from me to dry
his hands off on it.

“It’s a pleasure to
meet you, April,” he says.

“Oh, nice accent.
Posh,” says April, nodding her head as she sizes him up. “I bet you’re loaded,
too. You look like you’re loaded.”

Shane bursts out
laughing as April eyes his designer shoes. She might not seem like it, but my
sister can spot expensive brands from a mile away. She’s like a baby gold
digger in the making, and I can’t really blame her for wanting to improve her
circumstances, given her less than lavish upbringing. Still, she can keep her
eager little eyes off Shane.

“I’m sorry,” I
apologise to Shane while giving April a light slap on the arm. “My sister was
too busy donning her leopard print this morning to remember to put on her
manners as well.”

“And I’m sorry that
my
sister talks like a nerd. Seriously, Jade, who uses the word ‘donning’?” she
asks, grinning and sticking out her tongue.

“I do,” I reply,
guiding Shane from the kitchen and into the empty living room. Alec must be
staying with whatever girl he’s shagging this month, because he hasn’t been
around this evening, and Pete’s upstairs in his room, playing computer games.

“She’s a character,”
says Shane, sitting down on the couch as I turn on the television.

“Mm-hmm, that’s one way
to put it,” I scoff.

It’s just gone half
past ten, and I’m kind of wondering what he’s still doing here. It’s not that I
don’t enjoy his company (to be honest, I enjoy it slightly too much), but it
feels like he’s waiting. Like maybe if he sticks around long enough, something
will happen between us.

“Do you want me to call
you a cab?” I ask casually, standing and flicking through the stations, afraid
that if I sit down beside him I’ll want to do something crazy…like grab him and
stick my tongue down his throat.

“I don’t need a cab. I
drove here tonight,” he replies, and I turn to look at him with wide eyes. I
didn’t know he had a car, since he didn’t drive to the concert hall the other
night.

“You drove here? Where
did you park?” I ask with just the tiniest hint of urgency.

“Just around the
corner. There were no spaces any closer to your house.”

“Right, and what kind
of car do you drive?”

“A Range Rover,” he
says, and his brow furrows at my panic. “What’s wrong, Jade?”

Great, a flipping Range
Rover in this neck of the woods. He’ll be lucky if it hasn’t been stolen and
sold on the black market already — and I’m not exaggerating.

Without thinking
further, I hurry into the hall, grabbing my boots, coat, and keys on the way.
“I should have warned you. You can’t just leave a car like that around here,” I
tell him as he follows me out the door.

We walk around the corner, and the
anxiety that had been building in my chest dissolves when I see his car is
still there. That only lasts a moment before I clock two shifty-looking
characters hanging around nearby. One of them is leaning up against a wall,
looking from side to side — keeping sketch, in other words. The other is
craning his neck to look in the window of Shane’s car. I guess he’s thinking
the whole rigmarole of selling a stolen vehicle is too much hassle when he
could just do a smash and grab, steal something valuable from the glove
compartment, and run off.

“Hey, Babyface Nelson,
keep walking,” I call sarcastically, and the guy startles, his attention
shifting quickly to me.

The other guy narrows
his eyes as he chews on a wad of gum. “We’re happy where we are, thanks,” he
replies in a hard tone.

Babyface Nelson walks
to his friend and folds his arms. “Yeah, that’s right.”

Shane puts his hand to
the small of my back in a protective gesture as he guides me to the car. “We
don’t want any trouble here,” he says, pulling his keys from his pocket. Both
their attentions light up when they see the keys, the plan for a quick clean
steal formulating in their heads. I wish I’d thought to warn Shane not to take
his keys from his pocket. Now they know he’s the owner.

Quick as a flash, one
of the thugs pulls out a short flick knife, making sure Shane gets a good look
at it and understands the threat.

“Throw those keys over
here,” says the thug, and Shane eyeballs him.

“Fuck off,” he answers,
his hand on my back pressing in harder.

The thug’s expression
turns angry as he moves towards us.

“I said give me the
keys, or I’ll fuck up your pretty little girlfriend.”

“And I said fuck off.”
Shane stands firm.

I don’t like where this
is going, not one tiny bit. I’m about to tell Shane to just give him the keys,
because he obviously has insurance for a car this expensive, and it’s not worth
getting stabbed over. But I don’t get the chance to do that, because the thug
with the knife moves fast, running directly toward me with the blade. Before I
can move, Shane twists his body around mine, and the thug ends up sticking him
in the side instead.

I see red just as Shane
clutches himself from the shock of being stabbed and the thug dives for the
keys that have dropped to the ground. Leaping into action, I kick him hard
right between the legs. The thug grunts in pain and I grab his wrist, twisting
it so the knife falls from his hand. I pick it up quickly and hold it out.

“Get out of here now,
both of you, before I call the police.”

Once they’ve scarpered,
I turn quickly to Shane, pulling his shirt up so that I can check the damage.
He didn’t get cut too deep, just enough to make him bleed, but it might need
stitches.

“You okay?” I ask,
slightly out of breath.

His lips turn up in an
almost smile. “Yeah, I’ve been worse,” he says, giving a pained wince as I lead
him to the passenger door. “I have to say, I’m feeling slightly emasculated.”

I grin. “What?! You got
stabbed for me. That’s about as heroic as it comes. Come on, I’m driving you to
A&E in St. James’ to get you looked at.”

He doesn’t complain
about me driving his car, and since I’m used to my old Mini that I had to sell
last year, it takes a bit of getting used to driving a Range Rover. Shane grins
at my mistakes but doesn’t comment on them. I think he’s in a little too much
pain to speak but is trying his best to hide it. I park close to the hospital
entrance and hold Shane’s hand as we walk inside. We explain to one of the
nurses on duty what happened, and she gives us a form to fill in before
instructing us to take a seat. It’s eleven o’clock at night, so suffice it to
say there are more drunks and junkies hanging around than actual sick people.

It’s an environment I
recognise well. I’ve been hospitalised a few times over the years, all
self-inflicted of course. With my life being so clean now, it’s hard to be
reminded of when it wasn’t.

A woman drinking a
bottle of strawberry Ensure is sitting in the row in front of us, having an
argument with herself. I imagine all the nutrients and vitamins sinking into
her damaged system, trying to repair a body fucked up by drugs. Vitamin A,
vitamin B, vitamins C, D, E, and K. All in liquid form, because she can’t
handle solid foods, or maybe she just doesn’t care enough to go through the
hassle of chewing.

I know I didn’t.

Often I’d shun a bowl
of cereal for breakfast in favour of a cigarette and a bottle of something
strong.

“We could be waiting a
while,” I say to Shane with an apologetic expression. I feel to blame for all
this; the reason he’s injured is because he was protecting me (which makes me
feel all mushy inside) and also because my neighbourhood is so crappy that he
couldn’t even park his car there for a couple of hours without someone trying
to steal it.

“I have good health
insurance,” he replies. “Does that make a difference?”

His eyes light up for a
moment, like he’s actually enjoying this or something.

“Oh, I’m not sure.
Maybe.”

Our question is
answered no longer than twenty minutes later, when a nurse calls his name. Yep,
the insurance definitely makes a difference. I’ve spent my whole life on free
healthcare and sometimes have had to wait several hours to be seen. I try to go
with Shane, but in a clipped voice the nurse informs me that’s not allowed.
Huh. I wonder why she’s being so snotty. Maybe I gave her a hassle years ago
and she remembers my face.

I sit back down in the
seat and pull out my phone, dialling the number of the police station nearest
my home. A male voice I recognise answers, a cop I’ve had to deal with a few
times over the last couple months when Pete’s gotten himself into trouble. He’s
a bit of an old prick, but aren’t they all? Sergeant Finnegan, I think I
remember his name being.

I quickly tell him the
details of what happened, and he says he’ll look into it. I get the feeling he
doesn’t exactly play things by the book, because I’m sure he should have told
me to come down to the station.

When Shane returns, he
has that pleased look in his eye that shows he’s been given some good
painkillers. He lifts the side of his shirt to show me his hip is all bandaged
up.

“Are you going to be
okay to play your instrument?” I ask with concern, trying not to ogle his
momentarily bared abdomen.

He waves me off. “Oh,
yeah, it was only a little cut.”

I grin and make a funny
swooning noise. “Such a man.”

“The manliest.” He
smiles and dangles his keys in my face. “Now take me home, woman. I strangely
enjoy watching you drive my car.”

I swipe the keys and
stand up. “What, like a comedy of errors?”

“Nah, more like
foreplay.”