Still Life with Strings (17 page)

Okay, that Keith is one
evil genius. I really hadn’t been expecting this, hadn’t thought that there
would be a big finish. The audience is clapping and gasping as the lights in
the room reflect off the mirrors.

Suddenly I’m catching
glimpses of myself from all different angles. The other couples are going to
the mirrors to study themselves and see what’s been written on them. For a long
time I can’t move at all, afraid of what I might see. Then somebody’s taking my
hand in theirs. Shane. He pulls me over to a large full-length mirror and
positions me in front of it.

I stare at his elegant
handwriting, and now I don’t want to wash it away. I want to tattoo it onto my
skin so that I can keep this feeling, become the beautiful thing he thinks I
am.

On my neck he’s written
“swallow,” but for some reason I imagine the bird rather than the action. He
knows I have a thing for birds. I turn around and crane my neck over my
shoulder to see my back. My eyes trail to my arse cheek, and I giggle when I
see the word “peach.” But that’s not what holds my attention. What holds my
attention are the musical notes he’s drawn from one shoulder to the other.
“What do they mean?” I ask.

He purses his lips,
holding in a smile before answering, “It’s the musical notation to ‘Lucy in the
Sky with Diamonds’ by The Beatles.”

I laugh. “I love that
song!” Sometimes I think my brain might be a Beatles track. You know, one of
the trippy ones that don’t make any sense.

“Well, I would imagine
so. You did write it in another life,” he teases.

“Ah, yes, very true,” I
agree with a pleased nod.

He lets the smile free
now. “It reminds me of you, the girl with kaleidoscope eyes.”

“My eyes are green.”

“Not to me. I see a
world of things in your gaze, Jade,” he replies mysteriously.

 I look at him through
the mirror for a second but I don’t get the chance to question him because
Keith hops up onto the stage.

“Ladies and gentlemen,
I give you ‘Words and Skins,’ and I’ll leave you with one question. Is your
identity an organic thing or dependent on what other people perceive of you?
Thank you, and I hope you enjoyed this installation. If you’d like to take part
in the next one, you can contact me on Twitter, Facebook, or through my
website.”

The audience claps, and
I go to grab my clothes. As I’m pulling on my top, Shane comes up beside me,
buttoning his pants. “I think he kind of ruined the message with the social
media bit at the end,” he whispers jokingly.

I roll my eyes in
agreement, trying not to stare at his bare chest. “I know. I was thinking he
might have some real substance until he did that.”

The doors are opened as
the audience members start to leave, and loud music streams in from the other
room. Once I’m dressed I look around for Ben and Clark, but they’ve already
gone. They’re headed home to shag each other’s brains out, no doubt. Not that
I’m jealous or anything.

Shane and I go in the
direction of the music, back to the big room with the painted walls. Inside are
an instrumental band that consists of an acoustic guitarist, a keyboard player,
a drummer, a violinist, and an accordion player. Mary is going around the room
with a tray of drinks as the band plays a rendition of Coldplay’s “The
Scientist.” She hands Shane a plastic cup with some sort of orange cocktail,
and I wave her off when she tries to give one to me. I can smell the rum in it
from here.

We go and sit on a
couple of pillows a few feet away from the band, and I notice the violinist’s
eyes widen when he sees Shane. He definitely recognises him. Perhaps he’s even
a fan. This is so exciting. I’m friends with a “sort of” famous person. I think
Shane’s noticed, too, because he’s shifting uncomfortably as he sips on the
cocktail Mary gave him.

“How’s the drink?” I
ask.

“Completely awful,” he
replies, and I burst out laughing.

“Why are you drinking
it if it’s awful?”

“I didn’t want to be
rude.”

I shake my head and
take the cup from him before setting it aside. The song comes to an end, and I
watch as the violinist goes to whisper animatedly to the guitarist. The guy is
only about nineteen or twenty, so it’s very likely that Shane is someone he
looks up to. My suspicions are confirmed when both the violinist and the
guitarist start waving Shane over.

“I think you’re
wanted,” I tell him with a pleased expression.

His posture goes rigid.
“No, I’m not.”

I nudge him with my
elbow. “Yes, you are. Now stop being antisocial and go over there and talk to
them. Make some new friends.”

He gives me a
long-suffering look before getting to his feet and walking to the musicians. I
watch as the violinist gives Shane a big excited handshake and a pat on the
back. The band all clamour around him, chatting animatedly. I sit back and
watch. They’re obviously trying to get him to play a song with them because
Shane’s shaking his head and I’m lip reading a whole bunch of “no” and “I can’t”
responses.

I wonder how he can be
so comfortable playing on stage with an orchestra, or even before with his
string quartet, and yet he looks like playing here for this relatively small
gathering of people is the last thing he wants to do. Perhaps it’s because
there isn’t an actual stage here. There’s no formal line between him and the
general public. Here he is the general public, and not some untouchable
virtuoso on a grand platform. There’s no shield of distance.

Finally, it looks like
the band has convinced him to play. He’s nodding his head and then making his
way back over to me.

“They want me to play a
song with them. Just one song. You don’t mind, do you?”

“No, not at all.” I
smile. “Go knock ’em dead.”

He gives me a small
smile in return and then goes back to join the band. The violinist hands over
his instrument to Shane and then retreats into the audience. The band starts
up, and it takes me a second to realise they’re playing a modern song. Apart
from his attempt at David Bowie in my bedroom, I haven’t yet heard Shane play a
non-classical piece. I recognise it immediately as “Just the Way You Are” by
Bruno Mars. The beat of the drum fills my ears, purple sound waves drifting up
to the ceiling. The violin is like the voice, the rest of the instruments the
backing track.

Whoa, he looks hot up
there. He catches my eye then and doesn’t stop looking.

Feeling uncomfortable
under his attention, I try to fix my stare on the other players, but it’s no
use. I can still sense his gaze on me. Some people get up and start dancing to
the catchy beat, some even sing the lyrics. It’s the kind of song that you can
never feel sad after.

Once it’s over, Shane
accepts some applause from the room before returning the violin to its owner.

“That was amazing,” I
exclaim when he reaches me and sits back down. “I didn’t know you played modern
songs, too.”

He shrugs, his eyes
alight. I’ve noticed he always seems more energised after playing, more
centred. “I learn them sometimes to take a break from my usual repertoire.” Pausing,
he looks like he’s considering whether or not to tell me something. “My
counsellor encouraged me to learn that one.”

It’s news to me that he
sees a counsellor, but I don’t want to pry about it. “The Bruno Mars song?”

He grimaces. “She said
I should learn some happy songs. There was a period of about six months where
all I could play was funerary music.”

This piece of
information concerns me, but I file it away for later. Deciding to make light
of it instead, I whisper, “Did you go through a Goth phase, Shane?”

He laughs. “No, I was
just sad.”

I venture a guess.
“Because of Mona?”

“She was a part of it.
Anyway, once I agreed to move on, I was glad. Funerary violin is beautiful, but
it’s also pretty depressing.”

“I can imagine. So,
have you had fun tonight?”

He grins. “Yes, in the
most bizarre way possible.”

“Will you come again?
Get to know the people.” I nod over to the band. “You’ve already made some new
friends.”

“I’ll come again, but
only if you’re here.”

“I’m here every few
weekends. Next time I’ll bring you up onto the roof. It’s great to just sit in
the dark and look at the night sky, see how many stars you can count, see if
you can count any at all.”

Shane doesn’t say
anything, and when I look at him his attention is focused intently on my mouth.
He looks into my eyes then, and I get caught. I hadn’t realised until now just
how close we are, just how cosy we must look sitting huddled together on these
pillows.

He swallows hard and
says, “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“Promise not to get mad
at me or not want to be my friend anymore?”

Wary now, I reply,
“I’ll try not to.”

He moves even closer,
taking my hand into his and smoothing his fingers over my knuckles. It feels
nice.

“When we’re around each
other there’s this…tension.” He pauses for a second.

Yeah, he doesn’t need
to explain further, because I know exactly what he’s talking about.

“It’s fucking agony,
Jade, not to touch you,” he continues, like he’s baring his soul. “And I know
you’re not interested in a relationship, so I was thinking we could have an
arrangement.”

I raise an eyebrow, not
liking where I can see this heading.

“‘An arrangement?’” I
question. He stares at me and I can’t take the atmosphere, so I have to crack a
joke. “I hope you’re not suggesting a
Pretty Woman
scenario here?”

The ghost of a smile
touches his lips. “You know that’s not what I’m suggesting.” He draws closer so
that he can whisper into my ear. “I want to be inside you again.”

I whimper, and his
tongue flicks over the shell of my ear, turning my entire body to jelly.

“You want us to be fuck
buddies,” I say, my voice barely audible.

“I prefer the term
‘friends with benefits.’ I have so much respect for you, Jade, and I promise to
treat you like a queen, but I need you. I’ll be your friend, but with more…”

“Shane, I…”

“Please don’t say no.”

“I have to think about
this.”

He pulls me to him,
resting his forehead against mine and exhaling. “Okay.”

“I’ll let you know…I
mean, I think we need to call it a night.” I draw away, but he grips my hand.

“I’ll drive you home.”
His eyes flick back and forth between mine as though trying to decipher my
thoughts. “Jade, tell me I haven’t fucked up.”

“You haven’t fucked
up.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

And with that he pulls
us both up to stand, leading me from the room and out of the building.

The next morning I’m chatting with my
neighbour Barry a couple of houses down from mine when I see Pete leaving for
school. I say my quick goodbyes to Barry before cutting down a side alley that
I know will bring me directly onto Pete’s path.

“Hello, stranger, fancy
meeting you here,” I say as I fall into step beside him.

His sleepy eyes drift
to me as he shakes his head. “What do you think you’re doing, Jade?”

“Taking a stroll,” I
answer with a shrug. “Thought I’d keep you company while I’m at it.”

A sigh. “I know what
you’re up to.”

He’s not getting mad at
me, which is a good sign. “Uh,
yeah
. Like I said, I’m taking a stroll.”

“Herding me to school,
more like.”

I let out a big long
chuckle and smack him lightly on the shoulder. “Oh, you teenagers are such
suspicious creatures.”

He doesn’t say
anything, and we continue walking. Once we’re around the corner from his
school, I wave him off. He takes a few steps before turning back around.

Scratching at his head,
he asks, “Does your friend still want to give me music lessons?”

I’m surprised he’s
asked this, and given the open-ended way I left things with Shane last night,
I’m not certain what’s going to happen between us, but I’m sure he’ll still
work with Pete if I ask him to.

“Of course.”

“And he’s not just
doing it because you’re making him?”

“Of course not!”

“Okay, well, you can
tell him I’ll do it.”

Wow, that was easier
than I thought it’d be. I imagined I’d be in for at least another couple weeks
of sulking before he came around. I salute him, then turn on my heel and head
home.

Last night Shane
dropped me off at my house, walking me to the door and giving me a long,
question-filled hug. We parted ways, and I haven’t been able to stop thinking
about him since. I hardly got a wink of sleep, which is why I was up early
enough to make sure Pete got himself to school this morning.