Heart of Glass

by Dale, Lindy

  Yet, after he’d read the poem, Mark had begun to avoid me. It was subtle at first. He stopped calling me at all hours. He began to talk to other girls. Then his sporadic absences increased until he was hardly around at all. He still invited me to his gigs, of course, and the sex was great but it was almost as if our relationship had never happened. It was okay, I justified, he’d found the things he’d read hard to accept. I could understand why he’d be afraid. Still, seeing him on the stage, I knew things hadn’t changed at all. He growled and made me want him. I was still his slave. I was just doing it with a clear head.

  After the gig, I waited at the bar. He’d told me to meet him but he was nowhere to be seen in the jam of bodies. The rest of the band was drinking in a far corner.

  “Have you seen Mark?” I asked, over the din of the crowd, “He said to meet him here.”

  The barman gestured to the stairs. There was a private area, but everybody knew I was with Mark; I came and went as I pleased. “Thanks, I’ll go up.”

  The stairwell was dark and I held onto the rail, my feet hesitant on the treads. A crack of light was peeping from one of the doors at the top and I assumed he must be there. Sometimes he liked to wind down, have a quiet time after a gig, just sit and chill alone. I tapped on the door and poked my head into the room. The lights were off; a lighted candle on the table the only glow. I stood waiting for my eyes to adjust to the darkness, an unaccustomed dread swelling in my head. I could feel my heart pumping, a hammering motion in my chest as I frowned at the sight of two glasses on the table, a fit and some empty foils. Someone had been shooting up. I prayed it wasn’t Mark, he’d worked so hard to get off heroin, to stop the hold it had over his life. I prayed this wasn’t the reason for the distance he had put between us.

  “Mark?” I whispered.

  Silence.

  I wandered over to the table, picking up a silver foil, examining the contents. It looked like speed. Then, I heard a muffled sound from the sofa near the fireplace. I couldn’t see over its back but I could hear groaning. Please let him be okay, I thought.

  Crossing to the sofa, I looked down. He was there, in all his naked glory, rutting like an animal. He was stoned, the girl was stoned and they seemed oblivious to my presence.

  “Holy shit.”

  He raised his head, his glazed eyes registering my proximity. “Bella. Come join us for a little three way action.”

  “No thanks.”

  “Sure?”

  “I’ve been waiting for you in the bar for half and hour, Mark. I don’t want sex. Especially not now.”

  His face was devoid of emotion as he pulled his jeans up to his slim hips and did up the fly. Suddenly, he was no longer stoned. “Yeah, sorry about that. Guess I forgot you were coming.”

  “Were you doing H?”

  He looked over to the table. “Looks like it, doesn’t it. Once a junkie, always a junkie.”

  “But why? You could’ve come to me.”

  “You don’t understand. You never did. You’re just a baby doing some speed for a few kicks. You think you’re grown up but you’re not.”

  “But I’m your friend.”

  “No. You’re a girl to fuck and I’m a junkie. Now piss off, I’m busy.” He went to the table and began snort some of the powder up his nose.

  My eyes filled with tears. “Is this because of the poem? It’s only words, feelings…”

  “Don’t be so naïve Bella, the whole world isn’t about you, you’re such a fucking princess.”

  “What about all those things you said, what about the song? Didn’t it mean anything?”

  “Not really. I like you but you’re not my type, you know.”

  I could feel my hand trembling as the realisation surged through me. Mark had used me. I’d known it all along and I’d let it happen. “But why?”

  “It was a bet. We saw you at the pub. The boys reckoned I could never get any girl as straight as you to go for it, to do anything I wanted. You were good though. You played that innocent chick thing to the hilt.”

  “I was innocent. I knew almost nothing before I met you.”

  “Jesus, you’d never know.” He fished into his jeans pocket and pulled out a Polaroid.

  “Did you take my photo?”

  “You write poems, I take photos. We all keep our memories somehow.” He threw the grubby instant photo across the table at me. I stared in morbid fascination. I had no recollection of the photo ever being taken. It was disgusting. What else had I done when I was too stoned to know better?

  “So I meant nothing to you?”

  “I don’t love you, if that’s what you mean. It was all lies to get into your pants. I never had an affair with Teresa Goddard. I knew her but she wouldn’t give me the time of day. She was a stuck up bitch, like you. You’re nothing but a little private school girl who thought she’d do a bit of slumming with the lower classes.”

  I fingered the edge of the table; the tears were dripping down my nose and falling into a pool next to my hand. “There was no baby?”

  “That was a nice touch, don’t you think?”

  I looked at the shadow of Mark. I’d been an idiot to trust him. They’d been laughing at me, playing me for the fool. When would I learn?

  Swallowing, I picked up the photo, sliding the small packet that lay next to it underneath and stuffing them both into my pocket. I pushed my fingers across my eyes, wiping the tears away, and my eyeliner to a dark smudge across my temple.

  “You arsehole.”

  He laughed; an uncontrollable neurotic laugh. Well, let him laugh, I had his drugs. Wait till he found that out.

  Taking the stairs two at a time, I stumbled into the bar. The pain inside me felt as big as a melon as the sobs wracked my body. Why? Why had he done it? If he didn’t want to see me anymore why didn’t he just say? A line of girls blocked the way to the toilet but unseeing, I pushed past them into a cubicle and, as a spray of abuse followed in my wake, I locked the door and collapsed, heartbroken, to the floor. Twice, it had happened. I’d given my heart and had it stomped on.

  Pulling the photo from my pocket, I stared at the picture. I looked like a whore, my naked body bruised and my eyes half closed. How could I not have known? How could I have let it happen? Sniffing the tears away, I picked up the plastic baggy I’d taken from the table. I turned it in my fingers. A little snort was sure make me feel better. I held up the bag to the light and shook it. What did it matter anyway? I was kidding myself to think I was ever good enough; I was worthless. I didn’t deserve to be loved, look at the way I treated my friends. Pushing the plastic zipper to the side, I tapped some of the powder onto the back of my hand. The rush was intense, blinding and instant. It was fantastic. I snorted some more.

  The last thing I remember was the sound of girls screaming on the other side of the door.

  ***

  In my dream, I was floating above my body in a strange room. My eyes were closed as if in sleep and there were tubes attached to my mouth and forearm. My skin was deathly pale but my breathing, at least, was even. My hair splayed out, fanlike, over the pillow. It’s odd to see yourself as others do. From this view I saw clearly what people had said about me all my life. My face looked younger than my years and cherubic, Ben always said I was an angel. Maybe his words had been spoken truly.

  In my dream I could hear them. I could see them, even though my eyes were closed. Ben was standing over me, a frightened look on his face. I suppose, he’d never experienced anything so close to death and it showed in his eyes. Tenderly, he picked up my hand and held it to his cheek. I could see in his face that he wanted to cry at the way I looked - so thin, a twig that he could snap with a touch of his hand, a fragile bird. The blue tinge of shadow under my eyes only added to his perception. Then he spoke, and I wondered, was I dead? Was this my end and not some strange dream?

  “Oh Bella, what’ve you done? Why were you so sad that you’d do this to yourself?”

  It was only later in the dream th
at I heard they had found me clinging to a thread of life, with a stream of frothing spittle dribbling from the side of my mouth after taking the overdose of heroin.

  “It’s such a waste.”

  I saw Ben’s eyes fill with tears from where I floated, and I wanted to cry too. He did love me, as I loved him. After all the things we’d said and done, after all the years, he still loved me.

  Then I saw Mum, standing next to him, her hand on his arm. “She’s been calling for you.”

  That was funny, even as the angel I was now, I didn’t remember calling his name, but maybe I had. I couldn’t remember half the stuff I’d done with Mark, so why would I remember that.

  “She’s been in and out of consciousness,” Mum’s voice choked on the words. “We don’t know if the damage is permanent or if she’ll make it through.”

  “What happened?”

  “She took something. The doctors seem to think it was an extremely pure dose of heroin. It was too much for her body to handle. She’s so frail these days.”

  “Can I sit with her a while?”

  “Stay as long as you like. Talk to her, I know she can hear us….I think I’ll go and get some air.” She smiled and then I knew it was a dream. Mum had never been so friendly with Ben in real life.

  Ben pulled a chair around and sat down beside me, studying my quiet face. His hand was warm and comforting as he took mine, turning it to kiss the transparent skin of my wrist.

  Even in my dream, I could feel the touch of his lips on my skin. I could feel the blood coursing through my veins, shifting my tenuous hold on life.

  He looked over at my face, peaceful in the drug-induced sleep, and touched my hair with his finger. “You still look like a child, an innocent girl, the way you did when we first met. Do you remember that day Bella; do you remember our first kiss?” he whispered to my sleeping form. “Í should’ve been here to protect you. I should’ve looked after you, like I promised. Oh God, Bella, please don’t die. I love you too much.”

  Then, I saw my eyelids flutter. My skin tingled and I struggled to lift my lids a fraction. It was a blur but I could see his grief stricken face changing and I smiled.

  “Ben?”

  “I’m here.”

  Was this still the dream? Was he really there or was it only a subconscious yearning? He’d always said if I needed him and thought of him he would come for me.

  “I’m glad,” I said, “I missed you. I searched everywhere but I couldn’t find you.”

  My eyes closed and as I drifted back into sleep I could hear him talking to me, whispering his tenderness into my ear. “I’ll always be here for you, Bella. I’ll always love you but I can’t come back unless you ask me. I won’t chase you any more. The decision has to be yours.”

  ***

  It was eight days before my eyes opened for the first time and I looked around the hospital room wondering where I was and how I’d got there. I choked on the tube in my throat and the nurses bustled around me to remove it. Mum and dad cried as I smiled groggily at them. I couldn’t understand the reason for the fuss. My brow fell to a quizzical frown as I tried to remember. It was no good, the memories were gone. Except for one.

  I had dreamed the most beautiful dream. In my dream, Ben had held my hand and kissed my forehead as he whispered that he loved me. It had been so real, I’d expected to find him sitting there next to the bed but he wasn’t. Coops was, and his eyes were filled with sadness and love. Ben had only been a dream. But dreams could come true.

  Chapter 20

  1987 - WHAT’S NEW PUSSYCAT?

  Pussycat, Pussycat

  You’re delicious

  And if my wishes

  Can all come true

  I’ll soon be kissing your sweet little pussycat lips

  Tom Jones

  So, here we were, ‘back to the future’ as the movie title went. My mind was racing as I stood there like some gawking teenager, gaping at the man who was staring at me. Was this some sort of divine punishment for my years of bad girl behaviour? If so, it was bound to prove far more effective than anything Mother Imelda had ever dished out at school. I never imagined that I’d see Ben again and I had no idea how to cope.

  I eyed him over the rim of my glass. Who was I kidding? I had imagined it…. but the meeting didn’t involve me wearing a tailored Country Road suit and sipping white wine. It’d gone something along the lines of me wearing nothing but some slinky underwear and him only a smile. ‘In the Flesh’ would of course be playing over and over in the background and all that had passed between us when I was young and foolish would swept away by the passion in his eyes. Yet, there he was, standing in front of me looking cool in a white open neck shirt and designer jeans, as if a stylist had dressed him before he left the house. My heart, fickle and unrepentant, skipped all the way into my throat, ready any minute to jump out and perch itself on my sleeve like some token of longing.

  Taking a quick swig of my drink, I tried to compose myself, and determined not to let him see how shaken I was, my gaze fell into those piercing blue eyes. His lashes rest upon his chiselled cheek, caressing it with their softness as I already longed to. I cursed and tried to surround myself with thoughts of the horrid things he’d done to me when I was too stupid to know better. Armed and ready, a cynical smile played on my lips.

  “Ben. Never expected you’d be the new flatmate Justin told me about.”

  There. Cool and calm. I sounded so cool I could have been the lead skater in the Torville and Dean Ice Show. I gave myself a quiet pat on the back, for right about then, my knees were threatening to give way from under me and images of the night at my house, eight years ago danced in front of my eyes. It was happening all over again. I felt like that awkward girl who had worried so much about her lipgloss.

  “Justin told me his best friend was called Bella. I should’ve put two and two together.”

  He leant over and kissed my cheek and my heart danced out onto my sleeve, baring itself.

  “You haven’t changed a bit, that smile is still the same.”

  “Maybe so, but the girl inside has changed.”

  Oh boy had I changed.

  “We’ll see.”

  A lazy grin stretched across his face. My heart sprang to attention even though I tried to stop it.

  We stood in an uncomfortable silence, with me glaring at him as if I would like nothing better than to toss my wine in his arrogant face and he openly leering right back until Justin started to laugh.

  “If I’d known I’d get this reaction, I’d have got you together sooner.”

  I fixed him with a glacial stare and he sank into his drink. Then turning, I smiled and braced myself, “So, Ben, drink? What’s your preference?”

  I hoped I sounded like the sophisticated career girl that I was but he continued to stare as if he was seeing me in some new light. “Beer’s fine, thanks.”

  I put my empty glass on the bar and pulled out a ten-dollar note, waving it. Nick sidled along the bar, his trademark grin lighting up the room.

  “Cara, Bella. Ravishing…. As always. What would you like?” he winked. Sexual banter had remained a major component of our friendship, though we had not been lovers for years. I bent further over the bar and kissed his mouth fondly, my hand grazing his stubbled cheek in a caress. My nostrils flared at the crispness of his aftershave. Since the first night we met, it had never changed.

  “Um, a beer for Justin and another for Ben, please.”

  Nick reached across the bar. “Nick Edwards, I’m the owner, pleased to meet you.”

  True to his word, Nick had spent the past five years, working and saving hard. For his effort, he’d been able to buy the bar he’d spoken of owning when we’d first met.

  “Ben James.”

  “The footballer?”

  “Not any more.”

  Nick winked at me again. “The usual for you, too, Cara?”

  “Surprise me.”

  “Ah, Cara, you know I’d like nothing m
ore.” With a touch of my hand, he went to make the drinks.

  “Why does he call you that?” Ben asked.

  “When we first met, Nick had come back from two years in Europe. He used to call me Cara cause it means ‘beautiful’ in Italian, you know, like ‘Bella’. I guess it sort of stuck.”

  “You know him well, then?”

  “We’ve been friends for ages, isn’t that right, Nick?”

  “Mmm and sometimes more. Here you go…”

  I reached across and gave Ben his beer. Our fingers touched on the icy glass but I didn’t feel the cold. His fingers had melted it. Ben looked down at his hand and then back to me and for a second the spark flashed, recognition of our shared history, our past love. The blush flooded my cheeks with the intensity of his gaze. The chemistry was still there.

  ***

  Everywhere I went, Ben was the hot topic of conversation. It made me uneasy. Okay, so he was a celebrity ex-footballer. He was good looking. He’d been on TV and won awards. Okay. Okay. I didn’t want to hear it. All I wanted was to get on with life. It seemed my friends were determined to hamper to my efforts.

  “So, you know Ben James? How come you never told me you hung out with celebs?” Coops asked, as we hopped into the lift, holding hands. He’d come to pick me up from work, and we were to head out to Mac’s Bistro for a romantic dinner for two, though how sitting down to a kilo of New York cut eye fillet and a beer could be romantic was beyond me. I was happy to be alone with him. We were always with the gang.

  “You’ve met him, then?”

  “The other night. Seems like a good bloke.”

  “Hmm. I’ve known him since I was in Year 10 but I haven’t seen him since Jen’s wedding in first year Uni.”

  Coops looked ahead of him, at the door. It was a strange sort of etiquette, the one that dictated people never look at each other while in the lift. “Is he any different?”

  “He didn’t have facial hair when I knew him but apart from that he looks the same. All the girls at school used to drool over his hair.”