Still Life with Strings (13 page)

“He doesn’t show up?” I
ask in alarm. “But the school never contacted me about any absences. Aren’t
they supposed to do that?”

Mr Hegarty sighs and
rubs at the crease in between his eyebrows. “The new attendance swipe cards
they’ve brought in make things harder for us to tell when a student is absent.
It’s a ridiculous system, in my opinion. The students are supposed to swipe
them through the scanner once in the morning and then again after lunch. So we
get a lot of kids having their friends swipe their cards for them, or else they
come in, swipe them themselves, and then leave the school. It’s a big problem.”

“Right,” I say with a
disgruntled heavy breath. “So this is clearly what Pete has been doing. He’s
seriously in for it when I get home.”

“Miss Lennon, I’ve had
kids like Pete coming through my doors for years. If they don’t want to be
here, then there’s not a lot you can do beyond supervising their every move.”

“Yeah, and I definitely
don’t have the time for that.”

“I suggest you have a
talk with him, try to get him to understand that neglecting his education isn’t
going to benefit him in the long run.”

I talk with Mr Hegarty
for another few minutes while Shane sits quietly by my side. I wonder what he
thinks of all this. The next couple of teachers pretty much tell me the same
thing, and a few of them don’t even know Pete since he’s absent so often. It’s
all a big old slap in the face, really. I knew Pete wasn’t exactly the most
functional of teenagers, but I didn’t think it was this bad. And I’m also
wondering why he even told me about the parent teacher night at all. Was it a
cry for help, or simply a big fat middle finger?

It’s only when we go to
visit his music teacher that I get some good news, a little trickle of hope.
His teacher is a thirty-something balding guy wearing a paisley shirt, and he
tells me that Pete’s been doing some amazing things in class when he bothers to
show up. I’m getting that this guy is more into teaching modern music than
taking the classical approach. I mean, it’s pretty obvious, since he didn’t
recognise Shane when I introduced him.

So, apparently Pete’s
got a whole bunch of music creator apps on his smart phone and has been
creating his own tracks. Other than when he blasts all this trance and dance
stuff from his bedroom, I didn’t even know he was that into music. Just goes to
show that teenagers tell their parents (and guardians) sweet fuck-all.

I thank the music
teacher and then get up to leave. When I reach the corridor, which is full of
parents going from classroom to classroom, I slump back against the wall for a
minute, wracking my brain for ideas. I need to think of something to get Pete
back on the straight and narrow, but it can’t be all the obvious stuff like
grounding him and taking away his PlayStation. That kind of aggressiveness
never works for long. I need to take a softly, softly approach. Something less
all guns blazing and more intelligent.

I only realise that
Shane’s still with me when suddenly he’s folding me into his arms in a hug. I
exhale against the smooth fabric of his shirt, and the tension in my body falls
away. It’s amazing the things a hug from another human being can do.

“You’ll sort him out,
don’t worry,” he says, his chin resting on my hair.

“Yeah, but how?” I ask,
not really expecting any kind of answer.

A minute of silence
passes before Shane suggests, “I could talk to him, teach him some stuff about
music, if you like?”

I pull away slightly
and eye him. “I’m not sure how much you could teach a kid who creates dance
songs on a smart phone app, Shane. You’re a world away from that.”

“All music is music,
Jade. I’ve been classically trained. I can teach him some important basics, and
if he has something to focus on, then maybe everything else in his life will
fall in line.”

“He has been hanging
out with a bad crowd. Perhaps some music lessons will keep him occupied and off
the streets,” I say, coming around to the idea.

Shane smiles.
“Exactly.”

I smile back. “Okay,
we’ll give it a try.”

He pulls my hand up
between our touching chests and squeezes, something meaningful in his
expression. Letting out a long breath, he pulls away, and we walk out of the
school back to my place. It’s late when we get there, given that there were
queues outside some of the classrooms with parents all waiting to see the same
teachers. Mostly Shane and I sat and chatted while he would intermittently give
me these heated stares and I’d try to ignore the way it made me feel all hot
and bothered.

As I look at Shane now,
he seems tired, so without thinking I reach over and run my hand affectionately
over his cheek. He practically melts under my touch, and I pull away
immediately, asking myself what the fuck I think I’m doing. He’s such a wonderful
person, and I have no right to lead him on.

“I’m just going to put
the kettle on for a brew,” I say, clearing my throat and handing Shane the key
for my bedroom. “You can go get your things upstairs if you like.”

Silently he goes, and
I’m left alone with my guilty thoughts and the whistling of the kettle as it
boils. The steam rises up into the air in the small kitchen, shaping itself
into disappointed faces. I swipe my hand through them, annoyed at their
presence. Leaning one hand against the counter, I rub the creases from my brow
with the other.

“I called for a cab,”
says Shane, entering the room from behind me. “It should be here any minute.”

“Oh, good. Well, thanks
again for offering to spend some time with Pete. I’ll talk to him about it
tomorrow, see what he thinks.”

Shane dips his head and
looks around the room like he can’t bring himself to keep staring at me, and I
don’t even have to ask myself why. My stupid body language can be a bitch, and
just now she offered Shane something I can’t give him and then a second later
snatched it away.

“I’m sorry if…” I trail
off, the fire burning in my chest preventing me from continuing.

“You’re sorry?” Shane
asks.

I scratch my head and
practically whisper, “Yeah, I’m sorry if I’ve been giving you mixed signals.”

His mouth flattens out
as he reaches up and runs a hand through his hair. “Jade, I don’t see why we
can’t just explore where things go between us. I understand you’ve had a bad
experience in the past, but so have I. I think that’s a good thing — it means
we both know what it’s like to be hurt, and we’ll do whatever we can not to
make another person feel that way.”

He’s talking a lot of
sense, but still, I’m scared. “Friends” is comfortable; “lovers” is an unknown
hole in the sky where anything could happen.

I can’t start drinking
again.

With that thought in my
head, my perseverance returns. “I’m sorry, Shane, but a friendship is all I
have to offer you.”

His optimistic
expression falls, and his hands drops to his sides. “Then I guess I’ll take
what you have to offer, Bluebird.”

“Thank you,” I whisper
as I watch him pick up his violin case and walk out the door.

At seven the next morning I get up,
dress, have some breakfast, and then go to Pete’s room, where he’s still fast
asleep. I sit on the edge of his bed and study him, his child’s face that’s
slowly transforming into an adult. I’ve been a mother to him since our own one
died, since he was just eleven years old.

I can’t help but wonder
if I’ve somehow fucked up the job.

He wakes up then and
startles when he sees me sitting at the foot of his bed.

Rubbing at his eyes, he
rasps, “Uh, what the hell, Jade?”

“Why did you even
bother to tell me about the parent teacher evening?” I reply abruptly, folding
my arms across my chest. So much for the softly, softly approach.

He speculates over what
to say for a minute as he eyes me. Finally he says, “If you didn’t go, they
would have contacted you, so you would have found out about everything anyway.”

“I don’t get it, Pete.
You’re a clever kid, yet you’re just barely passing by the skin of your teeth,
and if you don’t start attending again soon you’re going to be failing.”

“School is pointless,”
he sighs. “There are so many better ways for me to spend my time.”

“School isn’t
pointless. If you keep at it, you’ll get to go to college.”

“How many people from
around here do you know who went to college, Jade? Yeah, that’s right, a big
fat zero.”

“Well, somebody always
has to be the first. And what do you mean, there are much better ways for you
to spend your time?”

He just shrugs.

“Does it have something
to do with the fact that you have those brand-new Nikes under your bed, not to
mention a new iPod? Where did you get the money for those?”

He just looks at me
now. “Where do you think?”

“I swear to God, Pete, this
better not be drugs.”

Storming out of the
bed, he answers, “So what if it is?”

“‘So what’? Are you
fucking joking me? Are you telling me you’re dealing?”

His face transforms
with anger, and it actually surprises me. I’ve never seen him so enraged. “Yes,
I am dealing, Jade, and you’d better get used to it because it isn’t going to
stop any time soon.”

Oh, he’s so not getting
away with this. “Yes, it is going to stop, even if I have to chain you up in
this bedroom until you see sense. And just you wait until Alec hears about
this.”

“Ha! As if he wasn’t
doing the exact same thing at my age.”

“Alec did it for a very
short time before he realised how stupid he was being, and he got out before he
was in too deep. And that’s exactly what you need to do.”

“I’m not quitting,” he
seethes.

“Yes, you are. Now get
dressed for school. I’m walking you.”

“Fuck off.”

“Swear one more time,
Pete. Go on, see what happens,” I warn him, and I must have a scary look in my
eye because he backs down.

When I leave the room,
I find both April and Alec standing outside with identical looks of horror on
their faces.

“Did I hear all that
right?” Alec asks, working his jaw.

I sigh and slump back
against the wall. “Unfortunately, yes.”

“I’ll talk to him,” he
replies in a soothing voice, and comes to rub my shoulders. “You go and have a
lie-down. You’re all worked up.”

“Could you take him to
school, too?”

“Sure, I’ll even wait
to make sure he doesn’t try to sneak back out.”

“Thank you,” I whisper,
and April looks at me sympathetically.

I didn’t even get the
chance to ask Pete if he’ll take music lessons from Shane.

Mustering my strength,
I pull my sister into my room and ask how she’s getting along with Mia. We talk
for a little while, and then she has to go and get ready for work. At least one
of my siblings is doing okay. My shift doesn’t start until the afternoon, so I
decide to don my costume and go busking for a while.

Standing in front of my
mirror, I hold my tub of white face paint in my hand, using a sponge to rub it
over my skin until it erases all of my features. When I’m done I feel like a
blank canvas waiting for an artist to come and paint on some lips, a nose, and
a pair of green eyes.

It used to take me
forever to become “The Blue Lady.” Now it takes me a grand total of ten minutes.
I have it down to a fine art. I step outside my house in my full costume, blue
wig, wings, and all, locking up before I set off. My neighbour Linda who lives
across the street is standing at her door in her pyjamas, a cigarette in one
hand and a mug of coffee in the other.

She sucks in a long
drag of her smoke, watching me like I’m a flying pig that just sailed into her
mundane little world. Most of the people in my area are well used to my antics
by now, but still, I doubt they like what I do. I’m the local freak. If it
weren’t for what they all know happened to my family eleven years ago, then I’m
sure they wouldn’t be so accepting of my eccentricities.

Normally, in a place
like this you can’t be different. Everyone has to be the same. I once read about
an experiment where they put an albino turkey in with a bunch of regular
turkeys, and because the regular turkeys couldn’t understand why the albino was
different, they killed it.

In this particular
case, I’m the albino turkey.

But because of the tragedy
that befell me, nobody is going to kill me. It’s sort of the same way nobody
wants to be seen to be cruel to a blind girl or a girl in a wheelchair. So I
get a free pass to be as different as I like.

Ten minutes later I’ve
reached my usual busking spot on Grafton Street. I wave hello to Marcus, who’s
setting up a couple of shops down. He’s a flamenco guitarist who plays mostly
on weekday mornings. You make more money on the weekend, but I think he’s a bit
frightened of the bigger crowds. They can become rowdy sometimes.