Broken Neon Arabesque (16(2)/17?)
This is the second half of this part. It may help to read the first half to avoid confusion.
“Pete! Thought you’d got lost!” A smiling face waves to me, beckoning over. I breathe a sigh of relief, cos this is the fourth pub I’ve tried on this street, and grin.
“’Course not. It’s an easy place to find.” There’s faces around the bloke’s…Drew’s, he’s not just substitute, after all- but they’re all a blur, melting in to one another. I step towards Drew, he smiles warmly, and I see Carl, yielding and submissive as that man’s tongue rapes his mouth. I reach out, pull Carl… no, Drew, towards me. His shirt crinkles under my touch, and I can feel his shocked breath skate out across my skin before our lips press together. There’s softness, slow unwinding of tension… nothing wrong, absolutely nothing. I notice the exact, slightly chapped texture of his lips, breathe in the combination of smoke and aftershave, taste the beer he’s been drinking. My senses are sharp, I notice everything. I feel nothing. I pull away, tears filling my eyes. Carl, you bastard.
Drew coughs, and then he’s looking at me eyes alive, mouth curled into a devilish smile. “Well, that was quite the greeting.” He doesn’t seem angry. He should be… probably will be when he knows I’ve led him on. I wish I could want him, he seems so nice, not at all like the kind of bloke to dally with others while your back is turned. I shake my head, prepare for his hatred.
“I’m sorry, so sorry. That was a mistake, I should never have-“ Drew waves my words to a stop. “Don’t worry about it. ‘kay, I wasn’t expecting it...” he smiles again, face lit up from within “…but hey, I can think of worse experiences. You could’ve punched me.” He winks, takes a gulp of his pint, and my heart sinks further in my chest. The more he proves himself to be a thoroughly decent individual, the more clearly I can see that he just isn’t Carl. What hope for me is there, if I can’t even feel any attraction towards Drew? Christ, I’m fated to be celibate for life. Carl might as well have turned me into a sodding eunuch.
I smile waveringly at Drew, but I’m seeing Carl over and over in my head. Different slideshows, each one ending with his fucking broken expression, right before I’d left. Will he bruise, where I’d hit him? Do I want him to?
“Pete? You alright?” Drew sounds worried. He must think me a complete arse, I would. I nod, since I’m biting my lip, trying to stop loud sobs. I think I need to leave, although I’ve got no idea where on earth I can go.
“Hey, come on. I’m really not pissed off in the slightest. It’s all right.” Fuck, I’m properly crying, When did I become such a state? Drew looks guilty, frozen in place, but at this point a young woman stands up all of a sudden from behind him, shoving him aside and there’s suddenly a reassuring touch to my shoulder. “It’s okay love… what’s wrong? Come on, here, sit down.” I’m led slowly over to the seat she’s just vacated. Dark, almost black eyes lend gentle reassurance, only departing for a second to shoot Drew an exasperated glare. “It’s obvious that’s not what he’s upset about, you tit. I know kissing you is enough to make most grown men cry, but really…”
Drew blushes, mumbles ‘Sorry Lisa’ at her, eyes wide and innocent. She sighs, and turns back to me, gentle face creased with concern, chocolate brown fringe falling into her eyes slightly as she kneels before me. My breath is coming in gasping, choking sobs, and I can’t quite believe all of this is happening in a crowded pub, in front of two people I don’t even know, but I can’t quite bring myself to care.
There’s a delicate thumb wiping tears from under my eyes, a soft voice murmuring at me. “Come on… what’s wrong?” I open my mouth, and a strange hitching sound comes out, but really, I need to tell someone, and it doesn’t matter that I don’t know them, it all comes spewing out, a tangled, near indecipherable mess. The whole fucking story, albeit skipping over a few of the more explicit moments, but it’s all there, and even more incredibly, the two of them listen until I come to a stop. Drew looks slightly hurt at the first mention of Carl, half opens his mouth before Lisa gives him a ‘get over yourself’ look, and at some moments one of them will nod, or gasp slightly, or give a small show of encouragement, but for the most part, they just listen and when I’m finished, I’m surprised to find that I actually feel a whole lot better.
Lisa shakes her head, she looks almost scary… I can see how she’s got Drew so firmly under control. “Fucking prick.” she exclaims vehemently, patting my knee. “You’re better off without him, Pete.” I nod, slightly doubtfully, because, although my feelings of betrayal agree with her, I still can’t quite face the possibility.
“No.” We both look up at Drew in one synchronized motion. He looks confused, like he spoke without meaning to, but after a moment of our bewildered scrutiny, he rubs one hand along the back of his neck before continuing. “Well… I might be wrong...” Lisa rolls her eyes in obvious agreement, and Drew blushes, but doesn’t stop. “…it’s just. This bloke, this Carl, well… after everything… it seems a bit off that he’d just invite a guy round, when it’s bloody likely that Pete’s gonna come back and catch them.” He shrugs, looks straight at me. “I mean, why bother helping you through cold turkey, and everything else if he was just going to throw it all away?” Frowning, he concludes “Just doesn’t seem right, ‘s all.”
Lisa opens her mouth to argue, but stops when I shake my head. “No… he’s right. It’s why I can’t hate him… I wish I could, but I just don’t understand.”
Drew nods, smiles, gaining confidence in his own judgment now that he’s not been shot down in flames. “Exactly. You need to go back there, get him to explain. If, once you’ve heard him out, it turns out that he is a prick, then by all means, set Lisa on him…” Lisa looks affronted for a moment, then shrugs as if to say ‘fair enough’. “…but you might as well find out, ‘ey?”
I nod slowly, it makes sense. Fuck, it makes so much sense. Lisa stands up abruptly, ruffles my hair. “Right… okay, go interrogate him then. I still say he’s a prick.”
* * * * *
I’ve got three cigarettes left. John left a near full pack. I don’t figure he meant to, but I’m pretty sure he won’t be back so I’ve been smoking them, lighting a new one as soon as the ashes of the last crumble into the saucer I’m using as an ashtray. My hope that Peter will return is slowly dwindling. If he’s not here by the end of the pack, he’s not coming back. I take another look… still three left. My fingers tap on the table top, and I suck more smoke into my lungs.
The noise of the door opening and I’m on my feet instantly. Peter. He’s there, looking unsure as to whether he wants to enter or not, hovering on the threshold like a spirit. I almost walk towards him, but his eyes stop me in my tracks. They’re deep, pained, the spark that usually resides there all but dulled over. Did I do that? His voice falls over his lips, I can barely hear it, but despite this, there’s strength in the words.
“You’re going to explain, okay Carl? Please explain so I know what to feel.” The last few words crack and shatter, and maybe it’s that that makes me nod almost without hesitation. He comes closer, sits at the opposite side of the table from me. I light another cigarette, hand it to him and begin…
* * * * *
Carl sucks hard on the end of his fag, once, twice, stubs it out, goes to light another before I pass over the one he just gave me. He smiles, even if it comes out more like a grimace, takes a long drag as if pulling some kind of nicotine based strength into himself, passes the ciggie back and starts to speak, tracing a ragged nail against the table top as he does so. He’s speaking quietly, into himself, and I have to lean over to catch the words.
“’kay… have to go right back to the start here, ‘cos if I don’t, it won’t make sense. Doesn’t anyway… fucking bastard waste of skin that I am…” He trails off, looks up quickly, and I meet his gaze. He swallows, continues. “Well… I’ve always been pretty sodding useless. Start of secondary I was already stoned half the time, and absent for the rest of it. Could have blamed it on my mum, all her hippy nonsense, but no…’cos my sister, Lucie, she wasn’t a fucking waster. She was great, hardworking, decent to everyone, even me, and I sure as hell didn’t deserve it. Anyway, she was a living example that I wasn’t my parents fault, just a natural fuck-up.”
Carl’s shoulders move forwards, and I frown at the gaps between the words. I can’t stop him though, not now that he’s finally talking. Although I’m still not entirely sure how this all links in with the events of earlier. I’d expected him just to tell me what was going on with John, to give me enough information to decide whether to stay or go. But no, instead he’s giving me everything…
“Anyway, was about fourteen, fifteen maybe… ” I’ve got the funny feeling that he knows exactly how old he was, probably remembers the exact date, but it’s easier sometimes to keep the details at arms length.
* * * * *
I can remember every inch, every sight, smell, sound of those few fateful days. At least, I should be able to. Perhaps that’s the problem, I don’t remember any of it. Wasn’t around until the aftermath, after all… the crowded, grieving faces, the eyes… lips mouthing forgotten words, but the eyes were speaking more clearly ‘Why the fuck wasn’t it you, not her?’. I don’t even really know the full story, not really. She hadn’t even been sick… well, yeah, she had been… but it had just been the flu, regular fucking flu, propped up in bed with hot lemon and a huge fuck-off pile of tissues I’d had to laugh at. She’d had enough tissues to keep a GP’s office stocked for weeks, I can remember that. But she wasn’t sick, sick… I would have noticed. Peter looks at me, and I’m not certain that I like the pity in his eyes. He’s meant to be fucked off with me, isn’t he? Don’t deserve pity, especially not now.
“I’m sure you would have, if you could.” His voice is soft, placating. I would have what? Was I speaking? I didn’t realise… am I speaking now? Of course, I’m meant to be telling him everything. But he’d be better off getting the story from someone else. I wasn’t there. I did the damage and then I was gone.
* * * * *
Carl looks confused for a moment, a thin line forming between his brows before he repeats himself.
“She didn’t seem that ill, right?”
It’s as if he’s pleading his innocence. And I want him to be guiltless, so I nod. I’m not sure if he even notices though, all tied up in his own memories, continuing on as if automatically.
“Well, she’d been cooped up indoors for weeks, and I was going out that night. Just the party of some girl in her year that had taken a bit of a shine to me. Lucie knew them, y’see, said she wanted to come along. Couldn’t blame her, she just wanted to get out for a bit, live a little, y’know?”
I nod again, feeling like a nodding dog in the middle of his question filled rhetoric. It’s as if every detail needs to be verified, checked. Not by me, really, I’m not stupid enough to think that, how would I know anyway? No, he’s questioning his own conscience most probably. I’ve been there… seen every detail turn into a question swimming about your noggin’. If I hadn’t taken that turning, if I hadn’t gone to that party, if he hadn’t offered, if I hadn’t said yes… but you have to give up in the end. It’ll drive you fucking insane if not. I don’t know if Carl’s learned that yet, I think he’s still trying to find a way out. Like if he questions it for long enough, he’ll finally identify that one detail that made the difference. But even if he did… what would it change? It’s not like you can go back, it’s today that matters. Now.
“Anyway, managed to sneak her out, not that it was hard.’ Carl’s lips curl into a kind of bitter half-smile, and again I glimpse more to be said in the gaps between his words, a slight suggestion shimmering there for a moment. But he doesn’t explain… maybe he doesn’t think it relevant, or perhaps he just can’t leave the well trod path in his mind, can’t let down any of the walls that are enabling him to relay this all to me.
“So she came with, I meant to keep an eye out, I really did.” Carl looks at me straight in the eye, and I know he thinks he’s being honest, at the very least. He sighs. “Fucking didn’t though, did I? Pissed off as soon as I got a few drinks down me… just out for a smoke…then a bloke had a car…..can’t really remember much. Woke up the next morning on top of a climbing frame in the local park, with a black eye, one shoe and lovebites fucking everywhere.”
I manage to hold back the teasing “Everywhere, eh?” but can’t help but let one side of my mouth tilt into a half grin at the image of a young Carl waking up, befuddled and shoeless. Carl sees, shakes his head “Not like it was the first time.” I first properly kissed a girl when I was fourteen (and a boy two years later), innocent and awkward… although not described that way to my mates, of course. I’d filled out a reputation for myself as a bit of a Casanova by then, after all, founded purely on tall tales of foreign girls… I’d moved about that much, it wasn’t like they could call me out or check the facts with Estelle, Bella, Adelina… But in reality, I’d been more interested in footie at that age….kickabouts in the park, not waking up in them. I wonder what I would have thought of Carl, if I’d met him back then? He probably would have terrified me, good little boy that I was.
“Lucie was ill, turns out. Properly ill. I dunno what happened really… no one was very clear.” He laughs bitterly “Teenage parties…one of the only fucking places where throwing up and passing out are pretty much the norm. Friends just thought she was pissed. And how were they to know? People all around and it didn’t make a fucking difference.” I don’t want to hear anymore, Carl’s voice is already cracking… a stained glass window, ready to burst into shards. I know how this turns out….Lucie’s fate has already been told though blue eyes and torn pages. This is the tale of Carl’s guilt, not her death. And he looks like he’s poised on top of a building, ready to take that final step. I can save him from this, he doesn’t need to. I catch his gaze, speak softly, slowly, no question in the words.
“She died.”
* * * * *
I can see that Peter’s offering me a way out, feel a burst of compassion for him break though the walls of memory building up brick by brick, fucking wonderful man. I take it, nodding once. I don’t suppose the details matter, really, save to fuel the whispering voices in my head. Sometimes I’m angry at my family, my Mother’s aversion of doctors, my Father’s slap-dash diagnosis of everything more serious than a sniffle as the flu… and occasionally I resent Lucie, because surely, she must have known. Must have realised it was more serious than we thought, but she still let me sneak her out. At times it feels as if she set things up to pull me down with her. Yeah… I think this about my dead sister, the person who, in my childhood, was closest to me in the whole world…that’s exactly how fucking twisted my mind is. Of course, I know that she would never have thought that anything was going to happen. She didn’t have a death wish, and it never happens to you, does it? Until it does, that is.
“When did you find out?” Peter’s voice is gently inquiring, pulling me up from my thoughts. His hand is stretched out across the table towards me, palm up, and I take it, warm hope fluttering, keeping me afloat.
“Went home the next day… neighbours took me to the hospital.” Can remember walking in, eyes turning my way. Identical expressions… why wasn’t it him? “I had about twenty missed calls on my phone.” I’m not sure why that matters, my brain is throwing in useless details so as not to have to focus on the big picture. Peter nods, eyes still quietly understanding. Why doesn’t he hate me? He saw me with John, I saw his expression, I might as well have stabbed him right in the heart… but he’s here. I rip my hand away from his. Hasn’t he been listening? Does he not understand what I did? I fucking killed her.
Peter’s face is shocked. I think I shouted that last bit.
* * * * *
It’s all scrambled, he’s all mixed up, carrying guilt that’s no-one’s rightly, certainly not his, distilling it into anger and self hate. His eyes are bright, fierce, challenging me to walk away, to agree with him. But I can’t, won’t. If I thought I could earlier today, betrayed with sorrow pooling, then I now know how wrong I was. I hope for both of our sakes that his betrayal wasn’t what it appeared, because if it was then it will kill me. And I know, I know… I’ve got a bit of a habit for melodrama… but fuck it, I’m sticking by this one, okay?
He must see it in my expression, he stands up abruptly, stalks across the room to sit against the wall, all tight lines and darkened features. I remove the last cigarette from the pack, go over to sit beside him, wary, unsure… I feel as if I’m settling myself down under his shadow, can feel the tension through the air between us. I take a deep breath, turn the fag over and over in my hands, waiting. Eventually, after minutes stretching long, he turns to face me, unreadable stare glancing into my soul. I light the cigarette, inhale and pass it over. His gaze lessens in intensity.
“Thanks.”
I shrug. “Was your fags anyway.”
“Right.” A corner of his mouth quirks up, before it’s lost as lips part to let smoke escape, careless, just breathing. There’s a long moment, the silence more comfortable now, contemplative.
“You know it wasn’t your fault, not really.” The cigarette is back in my hand, tension falling away and we’ve moved closer, now there’s just heat passing through clothes, more reassuring than it should be. I think it was him, not me, that closed the gap, but I don’t suppose it matters. I feel, hear, see him sigh.
“I used to think that too.” He’s looking at me as he speaks, thick, laden voice, and I feel less as if he resents me for not blaming him. His fingers gently jostle mine as he removes the half-burned down fag I’d almost forgotten that I was holding, but he clearly hadn’t, and I can see his lashes dark against his skin, his head bent down slightly. So that wasn’t the full story…there’s still more. It’s not for tonight though, I can tell, nerves and emotions tattered enough as it is. We both need a reprieve. I incline my head towards Carl, watch as he leans up, stubbing out the cigarette, catch his gaze. “Tomorrow, yeah?”
Something lightens in him, a load unburdened. It’s nice to see, even if it’s only temporary. He nods. “Tomorrow.” The promise lies between us for a moment, settling into the air, and then we’re free. Until tomorrow.
* * * * *
How can something be completely natural, yet totally uncertain all in the same moment? It should be impossible, but apparently it isn’t. There’s an old horror flick on the telly, black and white, with a werewolf that looks more like a gorilla, to be honest. I just put it on as background noise, really, or perhaps to cover for any awkwardness between us. For a while, I was trying not to look at Peter, not wanting to see his face as his opinion of me shifted and twisted with the new information provided. But my eyes seem trained to return to him ever few moments, regardless of my intent. He shuffles beside me, opens his mouth several times only to close it again, looking worried.
“What’s the matter?” Fucking stupid question. He’s probably just figured out what a mistake he made, coming back here, wants to leave but is too scared to say. Fuck.
His voice is quiet, embarrassed sounding. “Eh… could you turn off the telly?” Oh… right. I can feel myself grinning as I reach forward, doing as he says. My heart starts back up again, slow rhythmic thuds. I smile at him as I sit back down, but it slowly falls from place at the expression on his face. Oh no… he just wanted it off so he could say that he’s going…or so I wouldn’t pick it up, throw it or something. He picks at the carpet….a habit of his whenever something’s causing him particular turmoil…I’m sure there’s bare patches developed since he first got here. I swallow, and it sounds incredibly loud in my ears, almost drowning out his soft spoken words.
“You know the name of that film?”
I don’t, shake my head. He laughs to himself, a soft exhalation of breath. “I’m ashamed of you, Carlos. It’s a classic. Lon Chaney Jr as ‘The Wolf Man’. “ He places particular emphasis on the title, as if it should mean something, but it’s just words to me, nothing more. “I went to see him today, you know. But he wasn’t there.”
Went to see who? What is he on about? Went to see Lon Chaney Junior? I’m pretty sure he died a while back. No… fuck…The Wolf Man… Peter Wolfe. My eyes shoot up, and Peter must see the realisation on my face as he nods sadly. “Thought you might have had something to do with it. What did you do, contact the police? Have them look up the phone number?”
I nod slowly. Exactly that. Pete looks at me for a long moment, before leaning in, smudging “thanks.” in small letters against my neck, breath tickling slightly. I move my hand through his hair, slowly, as if that will stretch out the contact. I can’t help but feel relieved… but why did he go there in the first place? I thought he was done with all of that... the drugs. Is he not? Does he not want to be? Peter backs away slightly as my chest rises and falls with a sigh, and my hand falls away. “I don’t… don’t want to take it anymore, well, obviously I want to. But I don’t want to want to.” He makes a face, oddly endearing. “I think I realised… I thought it, the need, had gone away… but it won’t ever, I don’t think.” Brown eyes flash with determination. “I needed to know that. Need to know so that I won’t ever give in again.”
* * * * *
Carl’s grinning, properly happy for a moment, and optimism floods into my bones, propping up my resolve with its strength. He’s proud of me, affection showing clear, and for a moment it’s as if today never happened, or as if it’s pulled us closer together. But then he moves to kiss me, and again the image of him and that other bloke flashes up in my mind, and I tilt my face away almost without realizing, Carl’s lips falling on one cheek, a small chaste contact. But maybe he doesn’t mind, thinks it was an accident, cos he’s still smiling, and there’s nothing hidden there, or in the words that follow it, warm and honest. “I’m glad you came back.” He looks at me, and the words don’t seem like much, but they seem to say a lot, in that moment. I briefly think about telling him about Drew, Lisa, their part in my return, but that can wait… we can buy them both a pint… someday. For now, I just wind my fingers through his, lean further against him and exhale words that I’m sure he’ll catch.
“Yeah, me too Carl. Me too.”
“Pete! Thought you’d got lost!” A smiling face waves to me, beckoning over. I breathe a sigh of relief, cos this is the fourth pub I’ve tried on this street, and grin.
“’Course not. It’s an easy place to find.” There’s faces around the bloke’s…Drew’s, he’s not just substitute, after all- but they’re all a blur, melting in to one another. I step towards Drew, he smiles warmly, and I see Carl, yielding and submissive as that man’s tongue rapes his mouth. I reach out, pull Carl… no, Drew, towards me. His shirt crinkles under my touch, and I can feel his shocked breath skate out across my skin before our lips press together. There’s softness, slow unwinding of tension… nothing wrong, absolutely nothing. I notice the exact, slightly chapped texture of his lips, breathe in the combination of smoke and aftershave, taste the beer he’s been drinking. My senses are sharp, I notice everything. I feel nothing. I pull away, tears filling my eyes. Carl, you bastard.
Drew coughs, and then he’s looking at me eyes alive, mouth curled into a devilish smile. “Well, that was quite the greeting.” He doesn’t seem angry. He should be… probably will be when he knows I’ve led him on. I wish I could want him, he seems so nice, not at all like the kind of bloke to dally with others while your back is turned. I shake my head, prepare for his hatred.
“I’m sorry, so sorry. That was a mistake, I should never have-“ Drew waves my words to a stop. “Don’t worry about it. ‘kay, I wasn’t expecting it...” he smiles again, face lit up from within “…but hey, I can think of worse experiences. You could’ve punched me.” He winks, takes a gulp of his pint, and my heart sinks further in my chest. The more he proves himself to be a thoroughly decent individual, the more clearly I can see that he just isn’t Carl. What hope for me is there, if I can’t even feel any attraction towards Drew? Christ, I’m fated to be celibate for life. Carl might as well have turned me into a sodding eunuch.
I smile waveringly at Drew, but I’m seeing Carl over and over in my head. Different slideshows, each one ending with his fucking broken expression, right before I’d left. Will he bruise, where I’d hit him? Do I want him to?
“Pete? You alright?” Drew sounds worried. He must think me a complete arse, I would. I nod, since I’m biting my lip, trying to stop loud sobs. I think I need to leave, although I’ve got no idea where on earth I can go.
“Hey, come on. I’m really not pissed off in the slightest. It’s all right.” Fuck, I’m properly crying, When did I become such a state? Drew looks guilty, frozen in place, but at this point a young woman stands up all of a sudden from behind him, shoving him aside and there’s suddenly a reassuring touch to my shoulder. “It’s okay love… what’s wrong? Come on, here, sit down.” I’m led slowly over to the seat she’s just vacated. Dark, almost black eyes lend gentle reassurance, only departing for a second to shoot Drew an exasperated glare. “It’s obvious that’s not what he’s upset about, you tit. I know kissing you is enough to make most grown men cry, but really…”
Drew blushes, mumbles ‘Sorry Lisa’ at her, eyes wide and innocent. She sighs, and turns back to me, gentle face creased with concern, chocolate brown fringe falling into her eyes slightly as she kneels before me. My breath is coming in gasping, choking sobs, and I can’t quite believe all of this is happening in a crowded pub, in front of two people I don’t even know, but I can’t quite bring myself to care.
There’s a delicate thumb wiping tears from under my eyes, a soft voice murmuring at me. “Come on… what’s wrong?” I open my mouth, and a strange hitching sound comes out, but really, I need to tell someone, and it doesn’t matter that I don’t know them, it all comes spewing out, a tangled, near indecipherable mess. The whole fucking story, albeit skipping over a few of the more explicit moments, but it’s all there, and even more incredibly, the two of them listen until I come to a stop. Drew looks slightly hurt at the first mention of Carl, half opens his mouth before Lisa gives him a ‘get over yourself’ look, and at some moments one of them will nod, or gasp slightly, or give a small show of encouragement, but for the most part, they just listen and when I’m finished, I’m surprised to find that I actually feel a whole lot better.
Lisa shakes her head, she looks almost scary… I can see how she’s got Drew so firmly under control. “Fucking prick.” she exclaims vehemently, patting my knee. “You’re better off without him, Pete.” I nod, slightly doubtfully, because, although my feelings of betrayal agree with her, I still can’t quite face the possibility.
“No.” We both look up at Drew in one synchronized motion. He looks confused, like he spoke without meaning to, but after a moment of our bewildered scrutiny, he rubs one hand along the back of his neck before continuing. “Well… I might be wrong...” Lisa rolls her eyes in obvious agreement, and Drew blushes, but doesn’t stop. “…it’s just. This bloke, this Carl, well… after everything… it seems a bit off that he’d just invite a guy round, when it’s bloody likely that Pete’s gonna come back and catch them.” He shrugs, looks straight at me. “I mean, why bother helping you through cold turkey, and everything else if he was just going to throw it all away?” Frowning, he concludes “Just doesn’t seem right, ‘s all.”
Lisa opens her mouth to argue, but stops when I shake my head. “No… he’s right. It’s why I can’t hate him… I wish I could, but I just don’t understand.”
Drew nods, smiles, gaining confidence in his own judgment now that he’s not been shot down in flames. “Exactly. You need to go back there, get him to explain. If, once you’ve heard him out, it turns out that he is a prick, then by all means, set Lisa on him…” Lisa looks affronted for a moment, then shrugs as if to say ‘fair enough’. “…but you might as well find out, ‘ey?”
I nod slowly, it makes sense. Fuck, it makes so much sense. Lisa stands up abruptly, ruffles my hair. “Right… okay, go interrogate him then. I still say he’s a prick.”
* * * * *
I’ve got three cigarettes left. John left a near full pack. I don’t figure he meant to, but I’m pretty sure he won’t be back so I’ve been smoking them, lighting a new one as soon as the ashes of the last crumble into the saucer I’m using as an ashtray. My hope that Peter will return is slowly dwindling. If he’s not here by the end of the pack, he’s not coming back. I take another look… still three left. My fingers tap on the table top, and I suck more smoke into my lungs.
The noise of the door opening and I’m on my feet instantly. Peter. He’s there, looking unsure as to whether he wants to enter or not, hovering on the threshold like a spirit. I almost walk towards him, but his eyes stop me in my tracks. They’re deep, pained, the spark that usually resides there all but dulled over. Did I do that? His voice falls over his lips, I can barely hear it, but despite this, there’s strength in the words.
“You’re going to explain, okay Carl? Please explain so I know what to feel.” The last few words crack and shatter, and maybe it’s that that makes me nod almost without hesitation. He comes closer, sits at the opposite side of the table from me. I light another cigarette, hand it to him and begin…
* * * * *
Carl sucks hard on the end of his fag, once, twice, stubs it out, goes to light another before I pass over the one he just gave me. He smiles, even if it comes out more like a grimace, takes a long drag as if pulling some kind of nicotine based strength into himself, passes the ciggie back and starts to speak, tracing a ragged nail against the table top as he does so. He’s speaking quietly, into himself, and I have to lean over to catch the words.
“’kay… have to go right back to the start here, ‘cos if I don’t, it won’t make sense. Doesn’t anyway… fucking bastard waste of skin that I am…” He trails off, looks up quickly, and I meet his gaze. He swallows, continues. “Well… I’ve always been pretty sodding useless. Start of secondary I was already stoned half the time, and absent for the rest of it. Could have blamed it on my mum, all her hippy nonsense, but no…’cos my sister, Lucie, she wasn’t a fucking waster. She was great, hardworking, decent to everyone, even me, and I sure as hell didn’t deserve it. Anyway, she was a living example that I wasn’t my parents fault, just a natural fuck-up.”
Carl’s shoulders move forwards, and I frown at the gaps between the words. I can’t stop him though, not now that he’s finally talking. Although I’m still not entirely sure how this all links in with the events of earlier. I’d expected him just to tell me what was going on with John, to give me enough information to decide whether to stay or go. But no, instead he’s giving me everything…
“Anyway, was about fourteen, fifteen maybe… ” I’ve got the funny feeling that he knows exactly how old he was, probably remembers the exact date, but it’s easier sometimes to keep the details at arms length.
* * * * *
I can remember every inch, every sight, smell, sound of those few fateful days. At least, I should be able to. Perhaps that’s the problem, I don’t remember any of it. Wasn’t around until the aftermath, after all… the crowded, grieving faces, the eyes… lips mouthing forgotten words, but the eyes were speaking more clearly ‘Why the fuck wasn’t it you, not her?’. I don’t even really know the full story, not really. She hadn’t even been sick… well, yeah, she had been… but it had just been the flu, regular fucking flu, propped up in bed with hot lemon and a huge fuck-off pile of tissues I’d had to laugh at. She’d had enough tissues to keep a GP’s office stocked for weeks, I can remember that. But she wasn’t sick, sick… I would have noticed. Peter looks at me, and I’m not certain that I like the pity in his eyes. He’s meant to be fucked off with me, isn’t he? Don’t deserve pity, especially not now.
“I’m sure you would have, if you could.” His voice is soft, placating. I would have what? Was I speaking? I didn’t realise… am I speaking now? Of course, I’m meant to be telling him everything. But he’d be better off getting the story from someone else. I wasn’t there. I did the damage and then I was gone.
* * * * *
Carl looks confused for a moment, a thin line forming between his brows before he repeats himself.
“She didn’t seem that ill, right?”
It’s as if he’s pleading his innocence. And I want him to be guiltless, so I nod. I’m not sure if he even notices though, all tied up in his own memories, continuing on as if automatically.
“Well, she’d been cooped up indoors for weeks, and I was going out that night. Just the party of some girl in her year that had taken a bit of a shine to me. Lucie knew them, y’see, said she wanted to come along. Couldn’t blame her, she just wanted to get out for a bit, live a little, y’know?”
I nod again, feeling like a nodding dog in the middle of his question filled rhetoric. It’s as if every detail needs to be verified, checked. Not by me, really, I’m not stupid enough to think that, how would I know anyway? No, he’s questioning his own conscience most probably. I’ve been there… seen every detail turn into a question swimming about your noggin’. If I hadn’t taken that turning, if I hadn’t gone to that party, if he hadn’t offered, if I hadn’t said yes… but you have to give up in the end. It’ll drive you fucking insane if not. I don’t know if Carl’s learned that yet, I think he’s still trying to find a way out. Like if he questions it for long enough, he’ll finally identify that one detail that made the difference. But even if he did… what would it change? It’s not like you can go back, it’s today that matters. Now.
“Anyway, managed to sneak her out, not that it was hard.’ Carl’s lips curl into a kind of bitter half-smile, and again I glimpse more to be said in the gaps between his words, a slight suggestion shimmering there for a moment. But he doesn’t explain… maybe he doesn’t think it relevant, or perhaps he just can’t leave the well trod path in his mind, can’t let down any of the walls that are enabling him to relay this all to me.
“So she came with, I meant to keep an eye out, I really did.” Carl looks at me straight in the eye, and I know he thinks he’s being honest, at the very least. He sighs. “Fucking didn’t though, did I? Pissed off as soon as I got a few drinks down me… just out for a smoke…then a bloke had a car…..can’t really remember much. Woke up the next morning on top of a climbing frame in the local park, with a black eye, one shoe and lovebites fucking everywhere.”
I manage to hold back the teasing “Everywhere, eh?” but can’t help but let one side of my mouth tilt into a half grin at the image of a young Carl waking up, befuddled and shoeless. Carl sees, shakes his head “Not like it was the first time.” I first properly kissed a girl when I was fourteen (and a boy two years later), innocent and awkward… although not described that way to my mates, of course. I’d filled out a reputation for myself as a bit of a Casanova by then, after all, founded purely on tall tales of foreign girls… I’d moved about that much, it wasn’t like they could call me out or check the facts with Estelle, Bella, Adelina… But in reality, I’d been more interested in footie at that age….kickabouts in the park, not waking up in them. I wonder what I would have thought of Carl, if I’d met him back then? He probably would have terrified me, good little boy that I was.
“Lucie was ill, turns out. Properly ill. I dunno what happened really… no one was very clear.” He laughs bitterly “Teenage parties…one of the only fucking places where throwing up and passing out are pretty much the norm. Friends just thought she was pissed. And how were they to know? People all around and it didn’t make a fucking difference.” I don’t want to hear anymore, Carl’s voice is already cracking… a stained glass window, ready to burst into shards. I know how this turns out….Lucie’s fate has already been told though blue eyes and torn pages. This is the tale of Carl’s guilt, not her death. And he looks like he’s poised on top of a building, ready to take that final step. I can save him from this, he doesn’t need to. I catch his gaze, speak softly, slowly, no question in the words.
“She died.”
* * * * *
I can see that Peter’s offering me a way out, feel a burst of compassion for him break though the walls of memory building up brick by brick, fucking wonderful man. I take it, nodding once. I don’t suppose the details matter, really, save to fuel the whispering voices in my head. Sometimes I’m angry at my family, my Mother’s aversion of doctors, my Father’s slap-dash diagnosis of everything more serious than a sniffle as the flu… and occasionally I resent Lucie, because surely, she must have known. Must have realised it was more serious than we thought, but she still let me sneak her out. At times it feels as if she set things up to pull me down with her. Yeah… I think this about my dead sister, the person who, in my childhood, was closest to me in the whole world…that’s exactly how fucking twisted my mind is. Of course, I know that she would never have thought that anything was going to happen. She didn’t have a death wish, and it never happens to you, does it? Until it does, that is.
“When did you find out?” Peter’s voice is gently inquiring, pulling me up from my thoughts. His hand is stretched out across the table towards me, palm up, and I take it, warm hope fluttering, keeping me afloat.
“Went home the next day… neighbours took me to the hospital.” Can remember walking in, eyes turning my way. Identical expressions… why wasn’t it him? “I had about twenty missed calls on my phone.” I’m not sure why that matters, my brain is throwing in useless details so as not to have to focus on the big picture. Peter nods, eyes still quietly understanding. Why doesn’t he hate me? He saw me with John, I saw his expression, I might as well have stabbed him right in the heart… but he’s here. I rip my hand away from his. Hasn’t he been listening? Does he not understand what I did? I fucking killed her.
Peter’s face is shocked. I think I shouted that last bit.
* * * * *
It’s all scrambled, he’s all mixed up, carrying guilt that’s no-one’s rightly, certainly not his, distilling it into anger and self hate. His eyes are bright, fierce, challenging me to walk away, to agree with him. But I can’t, won’t. If I thought I could earlier today, betrayed with sorrow pooling, then I now know how wrong I was. I hope for both of our sakes that his betrayal wasn’t what it appeared, because if it was then it will kill me. And I know, I know… I’ve got a bit of a habit for melodrama… but fuck it, I’m sticking by this one, okay?
He must see it in my expression, he stands up abruptly, stalks across the room to sit against the wall, all tight lines and darkened features. I remove the last cigarette from the pack, go over to sit beside him, wary, unsure… I feel as if I’m settling myself down under his shadow, can feel the tension through the air between us. I take a deep breath, turn the fag over and over in my hands, waiting. Eventually, after minutes stretching long, he turns to face me, unreadable stare glancing into my soul. I light the cigarette, inhale and pass it over. His gaze lessens in intensity.
“Thanks.”
I shrug. “Was your fags anyway.”
“Right.” A corner of his mouth quirks up, before it’s lost as lips part to let smoke escape, careless, just breathing. There’s a long moment, the silence more comfortable now, contemplative.
“You know it wasn’t your fault, not really.” The cigarette is back in my hand, tension falling away and we’ve moved closer, now there’s just heat passing through clothes, more reassuring than it should be. I think it was him, not me, that closed the gap, but I don’t suppose it matters. I feel, hear, see him sigh.
“I used to think that too.” He’s looking at me as he speaks, thick, laden voice, and I feel less as if he resents me for not blaming him. His fingers gently jostle mine as he removes the half-burned down fag I’d almost forgotten that I was holding, but he clearly hadn’t, and I can see his lashes dark against his skin, his head bent down slightly. So that wasn’t the full story…there’s still more. It’s not for tonight though, I can tell, nerves and emotions tattered enough as it is. We both need a reprieve. I incline my head towards Carl, watch as he leans up, stubbing out the cigarette, catch his gaze. “Tomorrow, yeah?”
Something lightens in him, a load unburdened. It’s nice to see, even if it’s only temporary. He nods. “Tomorrow.” The promise lies between us for a moment, settling into the air, and then we’re free. Until tomorrow.
* * * * *
How can something be completely natural, yet totally uncertain all in the same moment? It should be impossible, but apparently it isn’t. There’s an old horror flick on the telly, black and white, with a werewolf that looks more like a gorilla, to be honest. I just put it on as background noise, really, or perhaps to cover for any awkwardness between us. For a while, I was trying not to look at Peter, not wanting to see his face as his opinion of me shifted and twisted with the new information provided. But my eyes seem trained to return to him ever few moments, regardless of my intent. He shuffles beside me, opens his mouth several times only to close it again, looking worried.
“What’s the matter?” Fucking stupid question. He’s probably just figured out what a mistake he made, coming back here, wants to leave but is too scared to say. Fuck.
His voice is quiet, embarrassed sounding. “Eh… could you turn off the telly?” Oh… right. I can feel myself grinning as I reach forward, doing as he says. My heart starts back up again, slow rhythmic thuds. I smile at him as I sit back down, but it slowly falls from place at the expression on his face. Oh no… he just wanted it off so he could say that he’s going…or so I wouldn’t pick it up, throw it or something. He picks at the carpet….a habit of his whenever something’s causing him particular turmoil…I’m sure there’s bare patches developed since he first got here. I swallow, and it sounds incredibly loud in my ears, almost drowning out his soft spoken words.
“You know the name of that film?”
I don’t, shake my head. He laughs to himself, a soft exhalation of breath. “I’m ashamed of you, Carlos. It’s a classic. Lon Chaney Jr as ‘The Wolf Man’. “ He places particular emphasis on the title, as if it should mean something, but it’s just words to me, nothing more. “I went to see him today, you know. But he wasn’t there.”
Went to see who? What is he on about? Went to see Lon Chaney Junior? I’m pretty sure he died a while back. No… fuck…The Wolf Man… Peter Wolfe. My eyes shoot up, and Peter must see the realisation on my face as he nods sadly. “Thought you might have had something to do with it. What did you do, contact the police? Have them look up the phone number?”
I nod slowly. Exactly that. Pete looks at me for a long moment, before leaning in, smudging “thanks.” in small letters against my neck, breath tickling slightly. I move my hand through his hair, slowly, as if that will stretch out the contact. I can’t help but feel relieved… but why did he go there in the first place? I thought he was done with all of that... the drugs. Is he not? Does he not want to be? Peter backs away slightly as my chest rises and falls with a sigh, and my hand falls away. “I don’t… don’t want to take it anymore, well, obviously I want to. But I don’t want to want to.” He makes a face, oddly endearing. “I think I realised… I thought it, the need, had gone away… but it won’t ever, I don’t think.” Brown eyes flash with determination. “I needed to know that. Need to know so that I won’t ever give in again.”
* * * * *
Carl’s grinning, properly happy for a moment, and optimism floods into my bones, propping up my resolve with its strength. He’s proud of me, affection showing clear, and for a moment it’s as if today never happened, or as if it’s pulled us closer together. But then he moves to kiss me, and again the image of him and that other bloke flashes up in my mind, and I tilt my face away almost without realizing, Carl’s lips falling on one cheek, a small chaste contact. But maybe he doesn’t mind, thinks it was an accident, cos he’s still smiling, and there’s nothing hidden there, or in the words that follow it, warm and honest. “I’m glad you came back.” He looks at me, and the words don’t seem like much, but they seem to say a lot, in that moment. I briefly think about telling him about Drew, Lisa, their part in my return, but that can wait… we can buy them both a pint… someday. For now, I just wind my fingers through his, lean further against him and exhale words that I’m sure he’ll catch.
“Yeah, me too Carl. Me too.”