by K. A. Finn
He scratches his arm. The fucking thing is driving him crazy. How the hell can he think about performing when he can’t even stop scratching?
‘You picked up your guitar yet?’
Tate sighs and looks out the window.
‘Yeah, thought not. How about the bike?’
‘How about you mind your own damn business and concentrate on not crashing my truck?’
Gregg glares across at him but keeps any further questions to himself until he pulls into the car park overlooking Lough Tay in the Wicklow Mountains. He kills the engine and turns to face Tate. ‘See. No scratches.’ He runs his hand over the steering wheel. ‘I like this.’
‘Yeah, so do I. Get out.’
‘Ah nuts. Seriously?’
‘Seriously.’
Gregg curses as he climbs out of the truck, then glares at Tate as he passes him on the way to the passenger side. He slumps back in the passenger seat and slams the door. ‘Spoil sport.’ He pulls a bag out of his pocket and offers it to Tate. ‘Gummy bear?’
Tate grabs a handful and they eat in silence for a few minutes until Gregg speaks.
‘You know, I’ve been thinking.’
‘What have I told you about doing that?’
‘Ha ha. So glad to know your sense of humour comes back when taking the piss out of me.’
Tate smirks at him as he chews on a gummy bear. ‘I’ve got to have some fun.’
Gregg flicks him the bird then sits back in the seat again. ‘What I was trying to say is that I realised something about you this morning when I was in the shower.’
Tate looks sideways at him. ‘You were thinking about me when you were in the shower?’
‘Of course. I do a lot of thinking in the shower.’
‘Is that right?’ Tate leans back against the car door and frowns over at his friend. ‘Am I the only one you think about in the shower?’
Gregg looks over at him and grimaces when Tate smirks. ‘Oh God. Not like that, you ass. Yeah. Fine. Go on, laugh it up.’
‘Sorry, Gregg. You walked into that one.’
‘Fair enough.’ Gregg chews on another sweet as Tate laughs. ‘You know, I missed that.’
Tate opens the window, letting the fresh mountain air into the truck. ‘Missed what?’
‘You laughing. Felt like I got my old mate back again just now. Glad to know he’s still in there under all the glaring and brooding.’ Gregg smiles to soften his words.
He knows Gregg wasn’t having a go, but his words still hit home. He has been a moody, awkward, irritable fucker lately. It’s not something he’s consciously doing. Since he woke up in hospital, going on the defensive and snapping at people has been his default setting. ‘I know. I’m sorry. I just...’ he sighs and scrubs a hand over his face. ‘I don’t feel like me anymore. That doesn’t make sense.’
‘Of course it makes sense, you eejit. You’re all over the place and that’s what I’m saying. For as long as I can remember— Okay, for the last few years at least, there’s been two things you’ve been attached to - your guitar and your bike. They’re as much a part of you as your arm is. Now, correct me if I’m wrong, but I’ve not seen you in the company of either since you got out of rehab. What the fuck are you waiting for?’
‘You bring me up here to give me a lecture?’
‘You going to answer the question or keep dodging. What are you waiting for?’
‘Nothing.’
‘Right, so do something about it. You told me you want to get back to performing but you haven’t done a damn thing about it. You realise in order to perform you need to touch a guitar, right? That’s kind of your thing.’
‘Yes, Gregg. I know that, but it’s not that easy. You really think anyone will want to come and see me now?’
‘You won’t know unless you speak to Ellen.’ Gregg searches in the bag for another sweet and pops it into his mouth. ‘You’ve got to stop doing this to yourself, mate.’
‘Doing what?’
‘Whatever the hell you’re doing to yourself. You seem intent on beating yourself up. You got to get out of the pile of crap you’re buried under.’
Tate laughs harshly. ‘Right. Grand. Will do.’ Tate yelps when Gregg punches him in the arm. ‘What the fuck was that for?’
‘You’re being a dick again. I know you think you messed up and it’s the end of the world as you know it. But it’s not. You need to get your life back. I’m not just talking about singing. I’m talking about bringing you out up here.’ He taps the side of his head. ‘You’re free to get back to your life.’
‘What life?’
‘And that there is exactly what I’m talking about. You’ve given up. Thrown the towel in before you’ve even tried to sort things out. Let us help you. Your family, your friends - we’re all here for you. Stop pushing us away.’
He scratches at his arm again, stopping when Gregg slaps him on the chest. ‘Hit me again and I’m seriously going to flatten you.’
‘Stop scratching your fucking arm. Let’s see the damage.’
‘Leave it.’
‘Pull up your sleeve, Tate. C’mon.’
He gives in just because he doesn’t have the energy left to argue. He pulls off his hoody and shoves his t-shirt sleeve up. Gregg whistles slowly. ‘You’ve made a right pig’s ear of that, haven’t you?’
Tate looks down at the inside of his left arm. Raw scratch marks spread out a few inches above and below his elbow. He’s even managed to tear at the griffin tattoo on his left arm, adding a deep gouge to its back leg.
Gregg leans closer to get a better look. ‘You got some skin thing I don’t want to know about?’
‘What? No, it’s in my head. I don’t even know I’m doing it half the time.’
‘You need to leave it alone or it’ll never heal.’
‘Oh well, cheers for those words of wisdom. Where would I be without you?’ Tate slumps back in the seat and looks at the patch of red, raw skin. If he keeps this up he’ll need to get some of his tattoos redone.
‘So you want to tell me about this lady you dozed off on?’
‘Near not on. There’s nothing much to tell. I was out on Jove and bumped into her on the way home. Her car was dead so I brought her back to Dorothy’s and she made me a coffee. We got to chatting and she asked where I was living so I cleared out before she could ask why I was back living with my parents. I saw her on the beach again today and thought I’d give being normal another shot.’
‘Losing battle, mate.’
‘Yeah, thanks. We talked for a bit then she got back to her drawing. I laid down on the grass beside her then normal went to shit. I haven’t been sleeping well. I guess I dozed off and had a nightmare.’ He moves to scratch his arm but stops himself in time and goes for his jaw instead. ‘I ran like a fucking idiot. I didn’t even try to explain or apologise. Just jumped on Jove and fucked off.’
‘Yeah. That’s monumentally embarrassing. So, is she cute?’
He nods. ‘More than just cute. She’s gorgeous, Gregg.’
‘Are you attracted to her or do you just fancy having your way with her and moving on like usual?’
Tate bites back his harsh reply. A few months ago that’s probably what he would have done. ‘I’m attracted to her, Gregg.’
‘Interesting. Are you hoping to move from sleeping near her to sleeping with her at some stage? Unless you’ve already slept with her of course.’
‘That supposed to be funny?’
Gregg grins. ‘I thought it was. So?’
‘No I haven’t sept with her. I’ve only met her twice on the beach.’
‘And? Never stopped you before.’
Tate looks across at Gregg. ‘You’re really not helping.’
‘Sorry, I’m just surprised to hear you talk like this. Don’t get me wrong, that’s absolutely not a criticism. Nice to know your dick doesn’t fully control you.’
‘Have you been stockpiling these comments to use when I need a motivational speech or a
re you just on a roll today?’
‘A little of both. I’m trying to lighten the mood.’
‘Yeah, well thanks. I feel so much better. It doesn’t matter anyway. I’m not in the right place for this. I should leave her alone and... I don’t know...’
‘Wallow in self-pity for the rest of your life?’
‘You think that’s what I’m doing?’
Gregg shrugs. ‘A little. Not saying I blame you, but you’re letting what happened get to you. Hear me out before you do that eye roll thing of yours. You don’t wallow. Never have. You wouldn’t be an international fucking superstar if you did. You get knocked back, pick yourself up and plough on regardless. Always have. Face it like you would any other knock you’ve had. Fight it. You’re letting it win and it’s killing me.’
Tate slowly looks across at his friend and frowns at the devastation on his face. Gregg didn’t do serious. Through the months of slow recovery, Gregg kept every situation light-hearted. It was Gregg’s positivity that helped drag him out of his depression. ‘Gregg, I don’t want—’
‘I’m not blaming you for how I feel so don’t even go there. It just gets to me when you’re letting that dick destroy your life.’
‘What do you suggest?’ Gregg doesn’t reply so Tate looks up and frowns at him. ‘What’s that look for?’
‘Who was it?’
‘What?’
‘I said it gets to me when you let that dick destroy your life. You didn’t correct me. What you should have said is ‘Who are you talking about, Gregg?’ but you didn’t. So, who pushed you too far?’
Fuck. That wasn’t supposed to happen. ‘I’ve told you I don’t want to talk about it.’
‘And I’ve told you that you will. Who pushed you?’
Tate starts the engine, but Gregg leans over and pulls the key out. ‘No. You’re not running from this.’
‘Fuck you.’ Not the best response but it’s all he’s got. Needing to get away from the look Gregg is throwing at him, he climbs out of the truck and slams the door. He kicks at a rock that’s looking at him the wrong way, sending it flying over the edge of the track and down the side of the valley.
Gregg isn’t going to let this go now. He’s well and truly screwed himself. He’s too tired to keep things straight in his head. Tate squeezes his eyes shut and she’s there again. Staring accusingly back as him. Blaming him for her death. He beats his fist against his forehead hoping to force the images from his head.
Gravel crunches behind him as Gregg walks over.
‘Why do I get the feeling you were imagining my head in place of that rock you just sent over the edge?’ He looks down as Gregg crouches in front of him and places another rock near his boot. He can’t help but laugh when he sees a smiley face drawn on it in marker. ‘Don’t get me wrong, it was an impressive kick. Let’s see how far you can get this one.’
He sends rock Gregg number two a good few feet further than its predecessor.
‘Not bad. Now that you’ve kicked the shit out of me, fancy talking?’
Tate sits on the bench overlooking the lake trying to get his story straight in his head as Gregg sits down beside him. ‘I got a letter when I was home at Christmas.’
‘Love or not so much?’
‘Not so much. It was about my childhood. You know before I was put in foster care. I don’t remember anything before then. Well, I didn’t until that fucking letter arrived. But all these memories came back over the next few days. I think I was hit as a child. A lot. I couldn’t sleep because the nightmares kept coming. I got stuck in them. It was like the memories were on fucking replay. I was reliving everything that happened.’
He looks down at the lake and shrugs. ‘Then another letter came. And another. Each one hinted at more shit that went on. My biological dad sounds like a prize asshole. Anyway, I tried so many different things to distract myself, but nothing worked. I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I just wanted to... forget everything for a while.’
‘And that’s where Eddie comes in.’
He nods. ‘This is going to sound unbelievably stupid, but I don’t think it even registered with me that I was taking heroin. And I didn’t get the first letter then go straight to that. Nothing else I tried had worked. Fuck, some of the stuff Eddie gave me made the dreams worse. When the letters kept coming I... I guess I didn’t care what he was giving me. Once I tried it though I couldn’t stop. Probably didn’t help that there was a near constant supply.
Gregg snorts loudly. ‘Yeah, I’ll bet. Eddie’s good like that. All part of his excellent customer service.’
‘Yeah. I don’t know what I did while I was using. It’s a blur of...’ He looks down at the gravel between his boots. ‘Well, stuff I’d like to forget.’
‘Like that woman I saw you with. She seemed overly friendly.’
Tate grimaces and nods at the ground.
‘Forgive my bluntness but you did get checked... you know... down there?’
Tate frowns at him then catches on. ‘Oh Jesus, Gregg. Yes.’
‘What? It was a perfectly reasonable question.’
‘Cheers for the concern but that was all part of the series of humiliating tests I had to take. Anyway, I didn’t plan to overdose. Not that anyone does, but I wasn’t trying to kill myself. It was an accident. I mean that.’
‘I believe you.’
Tate turns to look at Gregg. ‘You do?’
‘Of course. I knew that all along. About the accident part. Thanks for telling me though.’
‘You were going to piss me off until I did.’
‘Too right. So, what now?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘What are you going to about these letters?’
Tate shrugs. ‘Fuck all I can do. You know that as well as anyone.’
‘Are they still coming?’
‘They’ve stopped. Last one I got was just before I put myself in hospital.’
‘You think it could be someone close to you?’
‘I honestly haven’t got a clue who it could be but they’ve seriously fucked with my head.’
‘Enough for you to be tempted to use again?’
Tate shakes his head as he looks at Gregg. ‘No. I just dealt with it badly the last time. The letters have stopped, and I can deal with the dreams. There’s no way I’m going back to that, Gregg. Well, I’m not planning on going there again.’
‘Do you have any of the letters?’
Tate knows exactly what his friend is hinting at. Gregg spent a little over a decade as a Garda before he joined the band. That was part of the reason they all tried to cut down on their drug use when he signed up. ‘No, Gregg. You’re not taking this further. I told my mate about this, not an ex-Guard. Drop it.’
‘Sorry, but this is an ex-Guard matter. C’mon, Tate. This is fucking serious.’
‘It’s probably just some fucked up fan getting carried away.’
Gregg snorts. ‘If we have fans like that, I’m picking a new career.’
‘I’ve had hate mail before.’
‘This is a teeny bit more than some jealous boyfriend whose nose is out of joint because his girl has you plastered over her wall. You need to take this seriously, Tate. It’s private stuff about a kid. It’s fucking serious. I have contacts who could look into it for you without the press getting wind of it.’
‘There’s nothing they can do. They’ll end up in a file with all the other ‘I hate Tate’ letters. There isn’t enough to go on.’
‘I’m not saying there’s anything they can do about it but let me at least check for you. And even if they can’t find out who sent them, at least the letters will be on file. Please mate. Let me get someone to look into it.’
Tate turns the ring on his thumb as he thinks about what Gregg said. ‘There’s... it’s not something I want out there.’
‘Hey, I get it. We all have private shit we’d prefer stayed that way. And you’re right, it’ll probably come to nothing, but at least if they check
it out you’ll know for sure. Can’t hurt, mate.’
A part of him wants to agree, but he’d just be opening up a Pandora’s Box of shit he’s not sure he wants to deal with. There’s nothing on the letters to hint at where they came from. The only thing that will happen by handing them over is more spotlight on him. Whatever happened is in the past and he’d give anything for it to stay there. If they go digging and find out his nightmares are based on fact, find out he’s actually responsible for his mother’s death...
‘No.’
‘Tate—’
‘I said no. It’s done. Leave it. And I don’t want my parents to know, I don’t want my family to know, and I don’t want Ellen to know. Keep your fucking mouth shut, Gregg. I mean it.’
‘Fine! Jeez, drop the death glare. I won’t say a word. If you change your mind just let me know. It won’t get out there.’
‘My stint in rehab got out. Things always find a way out, Gregg. Drop it, please.’
Gregg blows out a long and exaggerated breath then nods. ‘Whatever you say. You’ve got an appointment in the morning with your sponsor from the clinic, right?’
‘Amazing way to change the subject. Thanks.’
‘What I meant was that I’ll drop you to your appointment, take your truck back to yours and load up your bike, then race back to pick you up.’
‘First, no racing in my truck. Second, I don’t need a babysitter to make sure I go to my meetings. Third, why get my bike?’
‘First, I wasn’t going to actually race. Figure of speech. Okay stop looking at me like that. I really wasn’t... well not anymore. Moving on. Second, I wasn’t insinuating for one second that you needed a babysitter, but now I’m thinking maybe you do.’
‘Gregg...’
‘Joking. What number are we on now? Oh yeah. Third, I’m getting your bike because it’s about time you get back to yourself. That fucker who sent the letters is not going to do this to you. And you’re not going to let him or her - whoever they are. And because I’m your oldest, dearest, and wisest friend I am going to insist you take this girl of yours out tomorrow afternoon on aforementioned bike. Show her a bit of the real you. It’s still there underneath. You just need to give it a chance to come out. This whole feeling sorry for yourself look... it’s not doing it for me.’
