He doesn’t even know it, but he’s making me love him.
***
When Sunday comes I have to work, so I can’t make it to Ladybirds like I promised Shane and Avery. They agree to put it off until another week, since they both have a concert to play anyway. A week and a half passes by, and somehow every time I’m busking on the street Shane manages to show up to play me a song.
Sometimes it’s hours before he makes an appearance. Other times it’s only minutes.
I’m beginning to think he must be psychic because I busk on different days each week, but he always knows when I’m going to be there. I guess he figures it out by checking to see if I’m working. When I’m not working I’m almost always busking, unless April or Pete need me. Mostly though, they need me less and less these days. There’s something quite heart-breaking about watching the kids you’ve cared for transform into adults.
I’m smiling from ear to ear as I stroll home on a Wednesday afternoon. Shane came and played “Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy” to me by finger-plucking the strings; the whole time my belly was fizzy with emotion. The grey street was transformed into a glowing forest awash with mischievous winged creatures. One night he came and played “Clair de Lune,” and I paid a visit to my friend the moon, sitting on his round white head while I listened. Another time he played “Estrellita” and I was sufficiently seduced. Of course, he didn’t know that.
I don’t know what I’d do if I couldn’t hear him play again.
Dropping into a nearby newsagents, I grab some milk, bread, and other necessities, paying for it all with a whole bunch of coins because it’s the last of my money until I get paid on Friday. One downside of relying on the money people give to you on the street to buy stuff is that you end up having to pay for everything with small change. The girl at the checkout lets out a sigh when she sees me coming. I shop in here quite a bit, so she knows I’m the chick with the coins.
Sometimes I go to the bank and get it changed to notes, but I don’t always have the time for that. It seems to me that banks open some of the shortest hours of all businesses. I mean, unless I want to spend my entire lunch hour queuing, I’m not going to make it there between ten and four.
When I reach my street, pulling my box along on its wheels with one hand and carrying my shopping bag in the other, I spot Barry in the tiny patch of grass that makes up his front garden. Local authority housing in the city centre doesn’t exactly allow for large garden spaces.
Anyway, back to Barry.
It’s an unseasonably warm day, and he’s brought an armchair out from his living room and placed it in a nice sunny spot. Beside him is a plastic foldaway table on which sits a radio streaming commentary for a football game, alongside a bottle of Budweiser.
He’s lounging back in his chair, his hands clasped behind his head, eyes closed as he soaks up a few rays. The picture of contentment. I have to admire him for how much he doesn’t give a shit about being weird. I think that’s the main reason why he’s the only neighbour I actually get along with.
I suppose that once you reach fifty, have worked your arse off all your adult life to support a family and have lost half your hair, you’re entitled to do as you please. The commentators get riled up as one of the teams scores a goal, and I’m guessing it was Barry’s team because he jumps up from his armchair and pumps his fist into the air, letting out a bellow of triumph.
I laugh as I walk to my house.
“I see you’re making the most of the sun while it lasts,” I call out to him.
“Yes, yes I am,” he replies, grinning and reaching for his beer bottle. “And I’m not the only one, it seems.”
He nods in the direction of an apartment block that overshadows our street. It’s got those metal frames on the windows that aren’t quite a balcony and aren’t quite a window box. One of the windows has been thrown wide open, and there are two shirtless teenage guys sitting on the ledge with their legs dangling out, sunning themselves.
“You do it better,” I tell him. “And safer. I can see one of them falling from that window if they aren’t careful.”
“Feckin’ eegits,” Barry agrees, and returns his attention to the radio.
Just as I’m stepping out of the shower a half hour later, my phone starts to ring, the number of an agency I sometimes work for flashing on the screen.
“Hello,” I answer, multi-tasking talking on the phone and rubbing my hair dry with a towel.
“Hey, Jade,” Jonathan, the HR guy who used to get me regular temp gigs before I started working at the concert hall, greets me. “Please tell me you’re free tonight.”
“Free as a bird. Have you got some work for me?” I ask with interest. Last-minute agency jobs usually pay decent money, and I could do with a little cash injection. I’m expecting my electricity and gas bills any day now.
“I might. You’ve got silver service experience, haven’t you?”
“I do indeed. I’ve been a server in a couple of hotels over the years.”
“Yes, I thought I saw that on your resume. Right, well, we’re providing the manpower for a charity event tonight. It’s a dinner-auction affair, and one of our servers has had to pull out. Can you fill in for her? It pays one-fifty for the whole evening.”
“I’ll be there with bells on. Where’s it being held?”
Jonathan fills me in on the details, and I memorise them before hanging up and throwing a sandwich together for lunch. I’m not scheduled to be at the concert hall until tomorrow evening, so I can afford to work late tonight. There’s a knock at the door, and since I’m the only one home I go to answer it.
Pete’s scumbag “friend” Damo and two other boys in their late teens stand on the doorstep.
“Pete’s at school,” I tell them, and go to close the door. Damo sticks his foot out to stop me.
“You’ll tell him we’ve been looking for him, yeah?”
The aggression in his voice raises my hackles, so I kick his foot away from the door. “Aren’t you a little old to be hanging around with Pete?” I ask, because sometimes I can’t help myself but to invite trouble.
Damo narrows his eyes to slits, looking outraged that I just kicked his foot. “You ever do that again, and I’ll put a brick through your window,” he threatens me.
Okay, now it’s on. I step forward, and all three boys back up a bit. Yeah, I can be scary when I want to be, and there’s something about the mother hen in me that makes me get all protective when it comes to my younger siblings. People harming my family is a big trigger for me.
“You break my window, and I’ll break your face. Now fuck off, and don’t call here again.”
Damo’s threatening stance falters for a split second, but he quickly puts it back in place before his two friends notice. “Just tell Pete we were looking for him,” he spits, and then nods to the others to follow him before stomping away.
Yep, I definitely won that round. I’ll keep that drug-dealing piece of shit away from my brother if it’s the last thing I do.
A couple of hours later Pete arrives home just as I’m placing a lasagne and salad on the table for his dinner. He looks exhausted and, if I’m not mistaken, a little bit haunted. It concerns me. Dropping down into a seat, he lets out a long sigh and then starts silently eating. I lean against the side of the fridge, studying him.
“Damo and two of his friends came knocking for you earlier,” I say, and watch his reaction.
His eyes widen, and he seems flustered when he responds, “Did they say what they wanted?”
“Nope.”
“Okay.”
“Has something happened?”
He swallows a mouthful of food. “Uh, not really.”
“Are you in trouble?”
“Nah.” He’s quiet for a long time before he says, “I might have seen something that freaked me out.”
“Like…?”
He scratches the spot below his ear. “This guy Damo was dealing to wouldn’t pay up, said he gave
him shit coke, so Damo beat him.”
“And you were freaked? This is the world you said you wanted to live in, Pete.”
“I’m not talking about a few slaps, Jade. He beat him so badly he had to be hospitalised. Fucking hell, I can still see the lad’s face…all bloody, all wrong.” His voice starts to choke up, and then tears are running down his cheeks. Shit. I hurry to his side and throw my arms around his shoulders. Sometimes it feels like he’s growing up so fast, but really, he’s still just a kid.
“It’s okay, it’s okay,” I murmur as I hold him to me. “I’ll get Alec to have a word with Damo, tell him to stay away from you.”
Pete’s head comes up as he wipes at his tears. “You think he’ll listen?”
I grin. “Have you seen your brother these days? Of course that skinny little shit will listen.”
Pete nods and seems to calm down. Then he gets embarrassed when he realises he’d just been crying in front of his big sister. He pulls away, clearing his throat, and then finishes his food. I go upstairs to get ready for the agency gig, a feeling of relief washing over me. Pete is finally seeing sense that Damo is bad news.
The charity event is in the Convention Centre on the quays. I’ve always thought it was a strange-looking building, kind of like a gigantic glass cylinder tilted on an axis. Or a gigantic glass cock tilted on an axis. Whatever architect designed it must have been smoking some strong shit at the time.
When I arrive I’m immediately handed a uniform consisting of a white blouse, tight black trousers, and a black waistcoat. The guy who gives it to me quickly runs me through the proceedings for the night, which will consist of a three-course meal for a thousand people and a jewellery auction with pieces donated from a well-known Irish designer to raise money for breast cancer. There’ll also be some high-profile bands playing on stage.
Normally when I work on these sorts of events I’m put in charge of a couple of tables, but since this is all so high-end there’s a server for each one. Mine is close to the stage and seats eight people. Before any of the food is served, we have to bring out the drinks. There’s a choice of red or white wine, pink Prosecco, or champagne.
Back in my drinking days pink Prosecco was my celebratory tipple for birthdays and such. Now it holds absolutely no appeal.
My heart stutters when I’m carrying the first tray to my assigned table and I clock a handsome profile and a dark head of hair. Shane. He’s sitting with his mother and a few others. His dad’s not there, though.
Of all the awkward coincidences.
It suddenly makes sense. The charity Mirin runs must be the one holding this event.
Shane doesn’t seem happy to be here. In fact, he appears downright miserable. He looks up as I approach and is taken aback when he sees me, but then a big warm smile shapes his perfect lips. That smile is what gives me the courage to keep going.
He doesn’t say anything while I place the drinks on the table, and Mirin is caught up chatting with an older man beside her so she doesn’t notice me. Women like her rarely take note of the people who serve them.
Shane selects a glass of champagne and knocks back a long gulp. For whatever reason, he looks like he needs it. I stand close to him, and his voice is low when he asks in amusement, “Just how many jobs do you actually have?”
My mouth curves in a barely there smile when I reply just as low, “I work events like these occasionally.”
Subtly he reaches for my hand out of sight of everyone else and gives it a quick squeeze. “You don’t know how glad I am that you’re here. Someone must have taken pity on me, because I really needed to see a friendly face.”
I give him a curious look, not understanding what’s going on with him. It’s only as I’m stepping away to return to the kitchen that I recognise the couple sitting at a table one row down and everything clicks into place.
She’s even prettier in real life, Mona Campbell, perched beside Justin, her new husband-to-be.
I can’t believe Shane’s mother invited them, knowing how they went behind Shane’s back. I wonder if she even told him they were going to be here, or if she just sprang it on him when he arrived. What a thorough-going bitch.
I almost gasp when Mona rises from her seat in her floor-length evening gown, a gown that is doing nothing to disguise her small rounded baby bump. Ah, shit. That’s not something Shane needed to see. Not only is his ex-fiancée moving on with his ex-best friend, but she’s also very much pregnant with Justin’s baby.
I feel like putting aside all my professionalism, running to him, and giving him a massive hug in front of everyone. But I don’t do that. Perhaps I’ll be able to catch him in private at some point. Twenty minutes later the starter is served, consisting of seared scallops and a fancy pear sauce. When I put Shane’s plate in front of him I allow my body to brush off his, a small token of my moral support. Then I’m back in the kitchen, rushing around the massive, humid room helping to get everything ready for the next course.
The one thing I don’t like about these kinds of events is that there isn’t much camaraderie among the staff, since not everyone knows each other and we’re all in such a frazzle to get things done on time.
With the starter finished, I collect the empty plates and realise just how self-absorbed Mirin is because she still hasn’t recognised me. Shane’s on what must be his third or fourth glass of champagne already. I put my hand to his shoulder for a second, leaning down and murmuring, “I know why you’re miserable, but getting drunk isn’t going to help. Don’t let the bitch get to you.” I pause and amend, “Either of them.” Because his mother is just as much of a “see you next Tuesday” for inviting Mona as Mona is for cheating.
I’m just about to move on when Shane catches my hand to stop me. “I’m leaving once the meal is done. My dad’s out of town on business so I told Mum I’d be her escort, but I can’t take much more of this. Come home with me?”
Looking into his pained eyes, I’m not sure what he’s asking, but his expression is so agonised that I find myself nodding and whispering, “Okay.” I probably won’t get paid the full amount if I leave early, but Shane needs me, and I find myself unable to refuse him right now.
A few minutes after I serve the dessert, a chocolate fondant that makes my mouth water just looking at it, I make a quick run to the bathroom. After doing my business, I return to my post just in time to see Shane standing so abruptly from his chair it falls over behind him, making a loud clatter in the process. Then with an angry look on his face he marches right out of the room. Not knowing what else to do, I follow him.
When I reach him he’s pacing back and forth in a quiet corridor. He looks up at my approach and his expression is agonised. A moment later he lets out a long sigh.
“Are you okay?” I ask, stepping up to him and putting a hand on his shoulder. He stops pacing and raises his lowered head to me. His eyes are full of stark emotion.
Startled, I take his hand and lead him to the end of the corridor, where we won’t be disturbed. Then I pull him into a hug and whisper, “What’s wrong?”
“She’s fucking pregnant,” he grits out, his face nestled in the crook of my neck.
“I know,” I murmur, rubbing soothing circles into his back to comfort him.
What he says next almost knocks me off my feet. “She aborted our baby, and now she’s having one with him.” His words are so choked that I’m not sure I heard them at first. Jesus, no wonder he’s so fucked up.
I put both my hands on either side of his face so that his sad eyes meet mine. “Hey, do you want to get out of here?”
His quick, fervent nod is all the answer I need. Keeping a hold of his hand, I take him with me as I go to get my things from the temporary locker I was given when I arrived.
The locker room is empty, since all the staff are busy working the event, so I manage to slip out of my uniform and back into my own clothes quickly. I’ll probably get an angry phone call from the agency tomorrow for my disappearing act, but Sh
ane needs me.
We leave through the back exit so as to avoid his mother and then catch a cab back to his place. His house is quiet when we get there, and I sit him on the couch in the living room before going to make some tea.
When life kicks you upside the head, a hot beverage is always a much-welcome comfort.
Returning to the living room, I place two steaming mugs on the coffee table and sit down beside Shane.
“That’s what messed my head up the most, you know,” he says quietly. He didn’t speak a word the whole journey here, almost like he was stuck in a trance since he told me about Mona having an abortion in the empty corridor. “For months I could feel her drifting away from me, so when I found her with Justin I was angry, but I wasn’t exactly surprised. A few days later I found a crumpled receipt in her coat pocket for a cheque made out to an abortion clinic. I confronted her, and she admitted to being pregnant with my kid several months previously. She said she wasn’t ready for a baby and knew I’d never agree to getting rid of it, so she kept it a secret.” He stops and lets out a joyless laugh. “She had the gall to tell me that what I didn’t know couldn’t hurt me.”
Bringing my hand up, I brush his hair away from his forehead in an affectionate gesture. “People are shit. The day you stop expecting decency from them is the day you’ll free yourself from getting hurt.”
He shakes his head and turns his body, shifting closer to me. His anger has long since dried up, but I can tell seeing Mona tonight is still affecting him. “Not all people are shit. You’re not. You’re the opposite of shit.”
I grin at him and make a joke. “Why, thanks, Shane. That’s one of the nicest things anybody’s ever said to me.”
A full, throaty laugh escapes him, and my heart lifts to see him smiling. “You’re so fucking cool, you know that?” he says, running his hand through my ponytail.
“Ah, so many compliments tonight. Stop, or I’ll get a big head.”
“You’re like a salve to all the crap I’ve been through. I sit and have a conversation with you, and poof, all the pain is gone.”
“Well, I’m happy to be able to help.”