Set Me Free

by Jennifer Collin

  They were well into their second when Cassie snuck up on them, slipping her arm around Craig’s shoulders.

  ‘Oh hello, Emily,’ she said. ‘What are you doing here?’

  Emily spluttered into her beer and Craig whacked her on the back to stop her from choking. She looked at him.

  ‘Does she really expect me to answer that?’ she asked.

  Craig shrugged, but not loosely. Oops. How did he let this happen?

  ‘Excuse me,’ said Cassie. ‘I’m right here.’

  ‘Fuck off, Cassette,’ said Charlotte, appearing out of nowhere.

  Cassie huffed. ‘You pair of rude, sanctimonious bitches. How dare you speak to me like that?’

  ‘How dare you sleep with Emily’s husband?’ Charlotte retorted.

  Emily was staring at her beer. Her cheeks were flushed and her shoulders hunched.

  ‘C’mon, Cass,’ said Craig. ‘Let’s not do this, huh? Remember what I said earlier?’

  Cassie looked at him scornfully. ‘Go for it then, macho-man.’

  Craig stood up and steered her away from the bar.

  ‘You really want to do this?’ he asked, gripping a handful of her hair.

  ‘You wouldn’t dare.' She batted his hand away. ‘Fine, I’ll leave. I’m hooking up with a guy in the mosh pit anyway. You know, you ought to stop chasing that skirt. You’re making a fool out of yourself.’

  ‘I’m not sure I should be taking dating advice from you, Cass,’ he said.

  ‘Fuck you,’ she said, though cordially. ‘I’ll see you later.’

  At the bar, he found Emily had emptied both their beers and replaced them with a line of shots. Charlotte had drifted off again.

  Now that Cassie was gone, he could keep a better eye on her. He excused himself and used the trip to the gents to case the club.

  She was with Emily when he returned.

  ‘No way,’ Emily slurred, ‘I’m having fun.’

  Charlotte’s hands were on her hips. ‘Emily…,’ she began, her tone carrying a warning.

  Emily was defiant. ‘No, Charlotte,’ she said firmly. ‘I am not coming. It’s barely even midnight.’

  ‘Yes, but…’

  ‘Stop mothering me, Charlotte!' Emily snapped, drawing the attention of the punters around them. ‘I will go home when I am ready!’

  Stunned, Charlotte glared at her sister, anger and embarrassment clouding her eyes. Craig kept his distance and watched warily.

  ‘Fine,’ Charlotte said, through gritted teeth. ‘Andy has the spare keys so you can come home with him.'

  Passing Craig as she stormed out of the club, she paused momentarily, threw him a steaming scowl and then continued on without looking back.

  He followed her on the sly, to be sure she got a cab, and then went back inside to check on her sister.

  Several hours later, Craig hoisted a limp Emily under his arm and knocked on Charlotte’s front door. It was 3am and he wasn’t expecting a warm welcome, but the lights were on, and that gave him some comfort.

  Emily was sliding back down his hip by the time Charlotte wrenched open her door. She looked ready to explode. She was wearing a baby blue satin slip that was far too distracting and her hair was wildly tussled, as though she'd recently woken up.

  Or had been making love. He’d seen her hair like that before. Given he’d seen her leave the club alone, he guessed it was the former. Hoped desperately it was the former.

  As she took stock of who stood on her doorstep she paused, puzzled, until her attention turned to the limp figure under Craig’s arm. And then she looked terrified.

  ‘What is it?’ she demanded, snatching her sister off him. ‘What’s wrong with her? Emily! Emily!' Charlotte started to shake Emily before Craig laid a steadying hand on her arm. ‘I wouldn’t do that,’ he cautioned. ‘She’s drunk, Charlotte. Really drunk. You might regret what you shake out of her.’

  Charlotte looked at him, searching his face for the truth in his words and then nodded.

  Something was amiss. And not just that he was on her doorstep with her comatose sister on the wrong side of midnight. Charlotte was freaked out. Why?

  He looked past her wrestling with Emily into her living room. He appraised two dopey rockstars, shifting on their feet and sucking hard on cigarettes. Then he spotted a third, Charlotte’s brother, slumped on the couch, rubbing his hand over his inflamed cheeks, unfocused eyes on the coffee table in front of him. His hair and t-shirt were soaking wet. Craig followed Andy’s gaze to the coffee table. Then he looked back to Charlotte and saw she was watching him assess the scene in front of him. And he saw the tears she was desperately trying to hold back as she wrestled to keep her sister upright.

  The little shits.

  ‘I’m coming in,’ he told Charlotte, and she nodded again. He reclaimed Emily and carried her into the apartment, his stride determined.

  ‘Good evening, gentlemen,’ he said as he lowered Emily onto the couch next to her brother.

  Too late he realised it wasn’t just Andrew that was wet, the couch was soaking too. The empty bucket discarded on the rug appeared to be the culprit.

  He put his hand under Andy’s chin and tipped his head so he could see his pin-prick pupils. Confirming he would stay conscious, he grabbed the offending bucket.

  Silent, Charlotte watched him from the kitchen, letting him take charge. She was shaking as she propped herself up against the kitchen bench and wrapped her arms around herself.

  ‘Hey, man, he’s okay,’ mumbled one of the rockstars.

  ‘Well, no, he’s not. But he will be. Which is more than I can say for you two. Get your shit – all of your shit,’ he gestured towards the drugs on the table, ‘and get out.' He thrust the bucket at the one with a voice. ‘You can put it in this.’

  The little punk took it because he gave him no choice, but not without whining.

  ‘Hey, man, you can’t kick us out. This is Charlotte’s pad. She’s cool with us crashing here, hey. Aren’t you, Charlotte?' He added the last bit as an afterthought, as though he’d just remembered she was there.

  ‘Not any more, Wazza,’ she answered. Her voice was hard and cold.

  ‘Ahh come on, Charlotte. It’s cool. Andy always bounces back, hey.’

  She straightened. ‘What do you mean he always bounces back?’

  ‘You know, when he has a bit too much.’

  ‘How often are you guys doing this, Wazza?’

  ‘Ah, you know, it takes the edge off after a show, hey.’

  Without pause, she pointed to the front door and commanded, ‘Get the fuck out.’

  Wazza opened his mouth to whine some more, so Craig opted to fill the bucket for them. He snatched it back and carefully swept his arm across the table, collecting everything in its path and funnelling it into the bucket. He picked up some empty beer bottles off the floor and threw them in. All the while Wazza and his mate cursed him feebly, too stoned to even protest effectively. Andy was still silent on the couch, and Emily had started to snore. Lastly, Craig upended the vintage bowl they’d been using as an ashtray into the bucket and thrust it at Wazza. He escorted them one by one to the door and resisted the temptation to throw them down the stairs. ‘Go trash a hotel room,’ he suggested as he closed the door behind them. Their whiny protests fell on deaf ears. His were roaring with fury.

  He found Charlotte watching her siblings. Emily’s head was thrown back and she was snoring loudly. Andy was on the nod, every now and then his head would jerk up and then slump back down again.

  Certain the grumbling rockstars were securely locked out, Craig moved closer to Charlotte, succumbing to the force he couldn’t resist. He did quell the urge to pull her into his arms; he wasn’t sure what he would do once she was there and now wasn’t the time for complications.

  Clearly in need of a hug, she tightened her arms around herself. ‘We’re such a train wreck,’ she murmured, and Craig caught sight of an escaping tear tracing a forlorn path down her cheek.

&nb
sp; Screw it. He pulled her to him and wrapped his arms around her shoulders. He felt her arms encircle his waist and he held her while she cried the silent tears of fear and disappointment. The satin of her slip shifted between them, making him acutely aware it barely covered her body. Her shoulders were almost naked beneath his hands. Warm, soft and delicate. He’d never thought of her as fragile before, but right now, holding her tightly, he wanted to enfold her inside him where he could protect her.

  He breathed her in and held on for dear life.

  Here he was again. Touching her, needing her; when he should be staying the hell away from her. Talk about clouded judgment. What the hell had happened to his good sense? Or his self-preservation for that matter?

  Eventually, she stopped weeping and pulled back. Reluctantly, he let go.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, wiping limply at his damp shirt with her hand. Flimsy fingers light against his chest.

  ‘Forget it,’ he replied, stepping back to clear his head. ‘Why don’t you make a cup of tea while I finish cleaning up this mess?' Something, anything, to keep his hands busy and his mind off her breasts shifting beneath the satin, and the panty line tracing her hips.

  ‘I hate tea,’ she murmured but moved into the kitchen and went through the motions. He set his mind to the task of cleaning up the living room, gathering up the clothes and half empty backpacks on the floor. He threw them out of the front door and over the balcony by the armful.

  ‘I think some of Andy’s things might have been among that lot,’ Charlotte commented as he returned for a second load. She was smiling wryly, so he took that to mean it didn’t matter.

  ‘Maybe he’ll be lucky enough to find them in the morning.’

  He found another vintage bowl full of cigarette butts and emptied it in the bin.

  Dipping teabags in two china cups, Charlotte watched him as he very thoroughly cleaned her living room, skirting around the two warm bodies lying comatose on the couch.

  Tea ready, she laid the cups on the dining table and eased herself into a chair. Satisfied the smell of disinfectant had finally overpowered the cigarette smoke, Craig put the cleaning products away and sat across from her, keeping his distance.

  She was watching her siblings again. Emily was still snoring, but Andy had found a remote control, and was watching music videos on mute, as though he was afraid to draw attention to himself.

  ‘Do you want to talk about it?’ Craig asked her.

  Charlotte looked at him, truly looked at him, her grey eyes full of need. She was assessing whether she could trust him. Evidently it cost her a lot to let him in tonight. Was she willing to pay more?

  ‘No.’

  She paused.

  ‘Yes,’ she countered and words weighed down by her sorrow began to tumble out, gathering momentum until she was rambling and unable to stop.

  ‘I went straight to bed when I came home. I heard them come in about an hour ago. They were quiet, just talking. I figured they might watch TV for a while before they went to sleep, so I just dozed off again. I woke up again when I heard them slapping him. It was so loud. And so familiar.' She paused and sucked in a huge breath.

  ‘I didn’t really comprehend what was happening until they threw the water over him. When I came out of my room, he was completely out of it on the couch. Soaking wet and still completely out of it. I grabbed him, and I shook him and I slapped him until he came to. And then I shook him some more and then you knocked on the door.’

  She looked up at him and bit her bottom lip. ‘He looked just like Dad.'

  Her tears started to fall again, and Craig forced himself to give her space.

  ‘Did you hear that, Andy,’ she asked her brother. ‘You looked just like Dad.' Andy, staring blindly at the television, refused to look at his sister, but he squirmed in his seat.

  ‘My dad was a junkie,’ she confessed, watching her brother. ‘I never knew him as anything else. I have such vivid memories of waking up to the sound of my Mum slapping him out of an overdose. It probably happened half a dozen times, and to me, as a little kid…well, it had a pretty big impact. The first time I climbed out of bed and peeked out of my bedroom door to find Mum hitting him, I didn’t know what was happening, so I ran at her and tried to stop her. She pushed me away until he came to and then she kicked him in the shins and took me back to bed. I can’t remember what she said, but somehow she convinced me she wasn’t trying to hurt him. From then on, I would just peek out my door until I knew he was okay. Sometimes it was just him and Mum, other times there were others; the guys from his band and other friends.’

  ‘He was in a band?’

  ‘Yeah. They were kind of famous. They were called Liquid Courage. They broke up after Dad overdosed.’

  Craig was surprised. ‘I remember them. My dad had one of their albums.' He remembered the cassette tape his dad often played in the car because his mum wouldn’t have it in the house. The irony of that cassette had always amused him: his corporate father listening to punk music.

  ‘What about your mum?’ he asked. ‘Did she use?’

  ‘No, not Mum. She never touched it as far as I know. I suppose it would be naïve of me to think she never experimented, but I think she really hated it for what it did to Dad. She loved him so much she couldn’t let him go despite how much it killed her to see him self-destructing.'

  Craig didn’t know what to say. Dealing with disappointing fathers was not his forte.

  Charlotte continued. ‘He kind of came and went in our lives. Sometimes he would be around for months, sometimes just days or weeks, but he would always disappear again, either to go on the road or just stay with his junkie friends for a binge session. Mum always welcomed him back and told us if you love someone you should let them go blah, blah, blah. She has always been incredibly independent and free spirited. I don’t think she wanted to be tied down by a conventional relationship, so she accepted Dad’s coming and going because in her own way, she still needed him.'

  Craig wondered how Charlotte felt about conventional relationships and concluded that given the chance, he wouldn’t be able to come and go from her life. If he could be in it, he would be, whole-heartedly.

  Charlotte continued. ‘I was twelve when he died. Andy was only seven, so maybe he was too young for Dad’s addiction to leave its mark. He died in a stranger’s house. I think he died alone, or with people who barely knew him.’

  She went quiet and waited for Andy to look at her. When he finally did, and found her watching him, he quickly looked away in shame. Craig reached across the table and covered her hand with his own.

  ‘I’m so sorry, Charlotte,’ he said quietly.

  She looked at him and smiled weakly, faintly caressing his fingertips with her own. ‘I’m sorry. You didn’t need to know all that.’

  True, he didn’t need to, but he was glad he now did.

  He looked at Emily and checked his watch. The crack of dawn was beginning to show outside Charlotte’s windows. ‘Can I put her in your bed?’ he asked, nodding towards her.

  Charlotte agreed. ‘It’s just through…’ She stopped, blushing slightly.

  Smiling to himself, Craig scooped Emily up, carried her to the bedroom and laid her gently but hastily on Charlotte’s bed. He didn’t want to linger in her room lest memories resurface. Oops, too late. He turned to exit and crashed into Charlotte, who was following him with another bucket.

  ‘She might need this when she wakes up,’ she said.

  Craig took it off her and set it down next to the bed.

  Charlotte was staring at the bed, blocking his escape route. ‘I didn’t know what was wrong with her when I opened the door. What happened?’

  Forcing himself to ignore the fact they were in her bedroom, and she was dressed to be undressed…slowly, Craig recounted his night with Emily. ‘She was pretty toasted already when you left. After that, she just kept hooking in. I couldn’t leave her – who knows what kind of trouble she would've gotten herself into.’
>
  ‘Who was that girl there tonight? The one with your friend from work and his partner.’

  So she hadn’t been ignoring him entirely. Craig fought hard against a smug grin.

  ‘She’s no one,’ he told her. ‘We dated almost a year ago and haven’t seen each other since.’

  Charlotte bit her lip, looking like she wanted to ask more questions. Craig took a punt.

  ‘I think I saw her leave as soon as the band finished. We didn’t have much to say to each other.’

  Was that a smile she was trying to hide? Unrestrained, they’d be grinning at each other like idiots.

  ‘Come on,’ he said, even more determined to get out of her boudoir, ‘I doubt you’ll get any more sleep tonight. You can tell me all about the guy who was fawning all over you. The one you claimed to be your ex a few weeks back. The one with the roving hands.’

  She looked momentarily surprised. ‘Dancers can be overly tactile,’ she told him. ‘But he’s still very firmly an ex.’

  Ex or not, we need to get you a new dance partner.

  Craig got tactile with her himself by placing a hand on her lower back and steering her back to the living room. He shooed Andy across the couch to sit in the wet patch. He pulled Charlotte down into the seat, keeping himself between her and her brother. It was a tight squeeze for the three of them, and the length of her was pressed against him, satin slip and all. Very tactile indeed.

  ‘Did you know about Cassette and Geoff?' The question wasn’t a surprise. If anything, it was a long time coming.

  ‘Not at first. She told me she was seeing a married man, but I didn’t meet him until that night at the swing club. If it makes you feel any better, he’s mercilessly dumped her.’

  ‘Hmm…’ Charlotte contemplated, then relaxed against him, her temple resting on his shoulder. ‘Nope, it doesn’t,’ she said.

  Wanting to be the source of something that did make her feel better, he shifted to pull her into his arms and steer her head to his chest.

  ‘What were you doing there tonight, Craig? I thought you didn’t go out much.’

  ‘I don’t. I owed Cass a favour. That your brother’s band isn’t too bad, made it bearable.’