“Thanks, Bluebird,” he replies, looking at me for a long moment as he stands by the door. Then he opens it and walks right out. When I hear him leave the house, I sit up in bed and try to gather myself.
I’m not going to obsess over that one little sentence. I can’t. It will drive me crazy. My gaze wanders to the small calendar I’ve tacked to the side of my wardrobe. Scanning to today’s date, I let out a little surprised gasp. There’s a big blue circle around the day. It’s the anniversary of my sobriety, and I’m not sure how it managed to creep up on me like this. Normally I’m so aware of each day as it passes, but since I met Shane my head has been completely preoccupied.
It’s six years today since I last had a drink. More to the point, it’s time for a new tattoo. I’m actually glad for the distraction as I get out of bed and get dressed. I’m not due to be at work until three o’clock, which leaves me with lots of time to add another sparrow to my arm. I take care of a bit of housework and then set off for the parlour.
Just before I leave I catch a weather report that says it could snow later on, so I make sure to wrap up well. I’m actually glad for the cold weather. Somebody told me years ago that it’s better to get tattoos when it’s cold, because that way you don’t sweat any of the ink out. It could be an urban legend, but I’ve always found myself following that rule anyway.
When I reach the parlour, a short walk into the city centre, it’s mostly empty. There’s just one guy sitting getting a piece done on his leg. Unlike a lot of tattoo parlours, this one has an open-plan setting, so unless you’re getting something done in a place you don’t want anyone to see, they tattoo you right out in the open.
It’s daunting but liberating at the same time.
The place is decorated in a unique fashion, with kooky lopsided mirrors hanging on the walls alongside surrealist paintings. I talk for a while with the receptionist, and then the artist I always see, a tall guy called Stew with a septum piercing and wearing a tight black muscle T, comes out.
The buzzing sound of the needle and the smell of antiseptic fills me with a sense of anticipation rather than fear. It’s always strangely relieving for me to add another bird to my collection, a symbol that I’ve survived another year. The more years I survive, the easier it becomes.
As I sit down and Stew makes his preparations, somebody turns off the prog rock music that had been playing and switches it over to a radio station. My new sparrow is going to go just past my elbow on my upper arm. Only another couple of years before I reach the top. I vaguely remember telling Shane I’d stop once I’d gotten to year ten, but maybe I won’t. Perhaps I’ll just keep getting these sparrows under my skin until they start calling me the Bird Lady instead of the Blue Lady.
Stew settles himself in a comfortable position, and then the needle is burrowing into my arm. I suck in a breath at the initial sting, but it’s a manageable sort of pain. My attention goes to the radio and I hear the DJ speak, introducing his special guest of the day, violinist Shane Arthur.
I call to the receptionist, who’s typing into a laptop close by, and ask her if she could turn the radio up. She nods, and then Shane’s gorgeously masculine voice is filling the parlour. I close my eyes and allow it to wash over me, hearing his words from this morning in my head again.
The DJ asks him a couple of the usual interview questions, nothing too personal, and then invites Shane to play something for the listeners.
“This song is for my Bluebird,” Shane says before he starts to play.
It’s the song from yesterday, the one he’d played for me as I was waking up in his bed. My heart starts to fizz with giddiness. By the time he’s finished the song and the DJ is thanking him for coming in, I glance down to see that Stew is almost done with my sparrow. Looking around the parlour, I see that it’s still empty enough, with only two teenage girls waiting to have their noses pierced.
“Do you have any appointments after me?” I ask Stew, his face a blank picture of concentration as he pauses and uses some tissue to wipe away the blood on my arm.
“No, not until late afternoon,” he replies, looking up from his work with one eyebrow raised. “You got something else in mind?”
My smile is barely there, the edges of my lips ever so slightly curved up. “I might have.”
“Big or small?” he asks.
“Somewhere in between. I’m guessing it’ll take you about an hour. What do you think?”
He shrugs. “You’re the one paying. I’ll do whatever you want.”
And then he goes back to finishing my sparrow. I sit back, and my smile spreads wide as I picture my first tattoo that has nothing to do with the birds on my arm.
***
As I stand at the reception and pay for the two pieces I had Stew do for me today, I glance out the window and see small flecks of white falling from the sky. The weather report was right; it is snowing. I thank Stew one more time for yet another great job and for all the work he did looking up what I needed online. Then I leave the parlour.
I button my coat right up to my chin and pull up my hood. There aren’t many people on the street, because aside from excited children, nobody really likes to be outside when it’s snowing. A fleck lands on my nose, and I look down to see it isn’t snow at all, but a tiny clear diamond.
The ground is glittering with them as they fall from the dark, heavy sheet of clouds in the sky. When they hit the pavement, they make a little pinging sound, like broken glass. My chest fills with wonder as I turn back and stare down at the street behind me; every surface is glittering with diamonds, and I gasp at the beauty of it.
My back stings with my new tattoo, but it’s a good kind of stinging. The meaning behind the piece makes me feel complete, like I’m no longer alone in this life.
And no, I didn’t get a tramp stamp, thank you very much.
I walk home, trying to avoid crushing the precious stones beneath my plimsoll-clad feet. Right now the world is a diamond-encrusted tiara, shimmering and bright.
At my house I gather my things for work, and by the time I’m leaving again the snow has stopped. Some thief stole all the diamonds, because all that’s left on the ground is cold, wet sludge.
When I get to the concert hall, I’m greeted by Lara in the staff room. She’s in top form, telling me about how delighted Mia was when she took her for a walk in the snow. I think of how much more delighted little Mia would have been if she’d seen all those diamonds.
For tonight’s show Lara and I are both working side by side in the box office at the front of the house. We have a giggle as we watch people enter the foyer, making up stories for them as they pass us by. I love these blah blah blah chats we have. It’s like yoga for the brain — gives it a nice good stretch but never overtaxes it.
A group of young people in their late teens enter, and we talk about how when we were their age we wouldn’t be caught dead in a place like this. They’re all dressed in formal wear and probably attend some fancy college where going to see the symphony is what constitutes a night out on the tiles.
Lara mentions how they all look like little right-wing conservatives in the making, and I quote Winston Churchill, saying, “If you’re not a liberal at twenty you have no heart; if you’re not a conservative at forty, you have no brain.”
“So all those kiddos out there have no hearts?” Lara asks.
I shrug. “At least they have brains.”
“Damn,” she chuckles, “that means I’ve only got a couple more years before I have to throw away my liberalism. I’d better start attending some wild left-wing protests before I run out of time.”
“Yeah, get burning those bras,” I quip as a couple approaches my window, having heard what I just said. I cough to clear my throat as I sell them two tickets. The very second they walk away Lara bursts out laughing, and I give her a half-hearted scowl before succumbing to her laughter.
A minute later I have more customers and my laugh dies on my lips, leaving nothing but a straight sober
line in its wake. In front of me are two people I recognise well, but they don’t know me at all. There’s an air of tension to Mona and Justin as they request two tickets, in the stalls preferably. I note how Justin’s voice is all mannerly and urbane.
For a second I don’t know what to do, and I certainly don’t know how to interpret the flirty wink Justin gives me when Mona isn’t looking. I have a crazy thought of asking them what the hell they think they’re doing here, because Shane clearly wouldn’t be pleased about it. But I don’t. Instead, I silently sell them their tickets.
As I’m punching the command in on my screen, Justin leans closer. Mona has taken her phone out and steps back to scroll through her messages.
“I don’t remember there being such hot employees the last time I was here,” he says to me in a low voice, and I have a momentary daydream of punching him in the face, my fist miraculously breaking right through the pane of glass in front of me, shards flying into the air in slow motion.
I slide his tickets through the slot and shoot back, “Yeah, well, I don’t remember the last time I had such a sleazy customer, so that makes us even.”
Justin’s eyes narrow as he swipes up the tickets, gives me a look that’s half-annoyed, half-disgusted, and then leads Mona away. As soon as they’re gone, I fumble for my phone in my pocket and rapidly type out a text to Shane.
Jade: Don’t freak but Mona and Justin are here.
Lara watches me, clearly having heard what I said to Justin, so I quickly explain to her who he was. She remembers Shane’s story from that night at my house, so she understands why I was so rude. Then I get a text back from Shane.
Shane: I know. Mum came to the radio station today and told me she’s been in contact with Mona. She wants to mend her bridges since we have to play this concert next week. Apparently, that’s why she’d been calling. Not gonna happen.
Jade: You okay?
Shane: I’ll survive. Come to me when your shift is done?
Jade: I will. x.
When the show starts I’m tempted to go inside the hall and make sure Shane’s all right. For some reason I have this vision of him seeing Mona and Justin in the audience and having a breakdown. I know he’s stronger than that, though.
When my shift ends, I go to the staff changing rooms and put on the cream blouse and navy jeans I brought, since I didn’t want to wear my work uniform when I go to see Shane. I let my hair down out of its bun and run my fingers through the waves. Applying some reddish lip gloss, I study myself in the mirror and decide I’ll do, slipping on my ankle boots to complete the outfit.
I’m on my way to the dressing room, walking down a corridor close to the stage entrance, when I stop in my tracks. Shane is standing there, talking to both Mona and Justin. He looks fine on the surface, but just beneath it he doesn’t look fine at all.
For a second I hesitate, not knowing if I should approach or wait until Mona and Justin leave. It’s a terrible thought, but I wonder if Shane would be ashamed of being associated with someone like me. After all, Justin will surely recognise me from the box office earlier.
Deciding not to let my insecurities get to me, I keep walking. Mona frowns when I step up beside Shane and slip my hand in his, squeezing it ever so slightly.
Mustering my most sultry voice, I say, “Hey, baby, who are your friends?”
I press my lips to his mouth for a moment, meaning for it to be a quick greeting, but Shane sinks into the kiss, deepening it as though it’s giving him strength. Tingles scurry all down my spine. Then he pulls away. “Hey, you look great,” he breathes, squeezing my hand and turning back to Justin and Mona.
Justin’s got a cynical look on his face, and Mona is still frowning.
“This is Jade,” says Shane. “My girlfriend.”
A quick swoosh of excitement goes through me at his words, and I have no intention of correcting him. Am I his girlfriend? I’m definitely more than just a friend with a particular benefit now. At least, that’s the way it feels.
Mona purses her lips, and she smiles smugly. Clearly, she just remembered where she saw me before. “I know you. Weren’t you working out the front earlier?”
“That’s right,” I reply, nodding. I’m not going to bother to shake her hand.
“Ah, so how long have you two been together?” she asks.
“A while,” I answer before Shane has the chance. She isn’t getting any details because I know that’s what she’s after.
Justin is giving me this knowing look, like when he flirted with me earlier I was actually receptive to it, instead of cutting him down like I did. I raise an eyebrow at him, and his face immediately sobers. I should tell Mona what he said to me. I bet he’s been cheating on her all over the place in the exact same way she cheated on Shane. I also bet she doesn’t like the taste of her own medicine one tiny bit.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Jade,” says Justin, stepping closer and taking my hand in his to kiss it. Shane immediately bristles, and I quickly pull my hand away like there might be venom in his saliva. “Hey, why don’t we all go out for a few drinks? Catch up on old times?” he continues.
“I’m sorry, but no,” says Shane sharply. “We have plans.”
“And I don’t drink,” I add for good measure.
“Okay, no problem. Perhaps another time.”
Shane gives him a look like he’s got his shit in bucketfuls, and Justin’s face loses some of its cocky confidence. “I don’t think so,” Shane tells him, voice low and defensive.
“We’re trying to be civil,” Mona cuts in. “Why throw away years of friendship over something so stupid? Justin has missed you, Shane. All of the guys have. Even Dad says he wishes you’d come back and play with the quartet again.”
Shane’s body goes ramrod straight with tension. “‘Something so stupid’?” He spits her own words back at her. “Are you for real? You’re fucking delusional if you think I’d ever want any of you in my life after how you lied to me. And I know the only reason you’re bending over backward to gain my friendship is because ticket sales for the group’s concerts have fallen dramatically since I left. This all boils down to money.”
Justin’s expression grows angry. “Our sales are doing just fine. We’re here because we want to make up for what we did to you. It was awful, I know. I hate to think I’ve lost you as a friend.”
“Fucking hell, those lies drip so easily off your tongue, don’t they? I’ll never be your friend again, Justin, because you were never a friend to me.”
Shane tugs on my hand and leads me away from them, down the hall toward the dressing rooms. When he get around the corner, he stops and leans back against the wall, closing his eyes firmly and taking deep breaths as though trying to keep from going back there and punching Justin in the face. Yeah, it seems I’m not the only one who’s had that fantasy tonight.
I bring my arms up around his neck and pull him close, resting my face in my favourite spot just below his jaw. I rub soothing circles into his nape with my thumb, and some of the tension falls away from him.
“I’m so glad you got there when you did,” he murmurs, his lips grazing my cheek. “I was on the verge of breaking his hand so he’d never be able to play again.”
“You wouldn’t do that,” I whisper, because I know it’s true. Shane doesn’t have a malicious bone in his body. A minute or so passes in silence.
“I just can’t believe they both had the gall to come here. When Mum came to see me today, she let it slip that she’d been in contact with Mona’s dad, my old manager. Apparently he’s eager to meet up with me and discuss some things. The quartet hasn’t been doing as well as it used to because a lot of my fans have heard rumours about Mona and Justin, and aren’t going to the shows anymore. I imagine he wants me to re-join so they can win those fans back.”
I pull away and look at him. “You’d never go back,” I say. It isn’t a question. I can see it in his eyes that re-joining the group is never going to happen, no matter how much
they might plead.
“No,” says Shane. “I wouldn’t. Mona’s father has clearly given her and Justin the push to come see me. I wouldn’t be surprised if he was behind this whole deal with us playing a duet together. He probably thinks I’ll fall for her charms and do anything she asks of me. It’s kind of insulting.”
The idea of Shane falling for Mona again makes my lungs hurt. Is that a possibility? Some insecure corner of my heart wonders.
“You want to get out of here now?” I ask, kissing his jaw and allowing my hand to wander suggestively down his chest and over his abs.
He swallows visibly, and a small smile shapes his lips. “Sure. What do you have in mind?”
I bring my mouth to his ear and whisper, “Your place. Your bed.”
I don’t think I’ve ever seen him move faster as he goes to collect his things and then leads me out to his car. On the drive I text Alec to make sure he’s home tonight. When we get to Shane’s house, he pulls two boxes of pre-made meals from the fridge and sets them on the counter where I’m perched on a stool.
“Are these courtesy of your gourmet delivery service?” I ask teasingly as I open the box and fork up some of the chicken salad.
Shane gives me a sheepish grin. “You know I never get the chance to cook.”
By the time we’ve finished eating and have eye-fucked each other half to death, Shane prowls around the counter to me and positions himself between my legs. I gasp as his rock-hard erection hits me right at my core. He grinds it against me, and I wrap my legs around his waist. Then his mouth is on mine, kissing me hot and deep. I have a small notion in my head that I’m going to need to keep my new tattoo hidden from him. Not the sparrow, the other one. I’m definitely not ready to show it to him yet, and I kind of want to wait until it’s healed.
I put some antiseptic cream on both of them before I left for work today, but I can feel the skin tightening now, getting ready to form a scab. Yeah, tattoos aren’t all smooth and sexy right away. It takes weeks for them to heal, and while they do they itch like a bastard.
Still Life with Strings Page 24
