Familiar music drifts into my consciousness, dragging me from sleep. I turn over in the bed, naked but all wrapped in blankets. I discover the music is real when I blink open my eyes and see Shane sitting in a chair by the large window, topless. The blinds have been pulled, bright light streaming in, and he’s holding his violin. I love how the muscles in his arms move when he plays.

I know I’ve heard this song before, but I can’t seem to put my finger on what it is. I smile at him sleepily and he smiles back, continuing to play. Glancing to the side, I see a big glass of orange juice on the dresser alongside a plate with grapes, cheese, and crackers.

“Is this my breakfast?” I ask softly, and he only nods, smiling again.

My heart does a somersault in my chest. I’ve never been brought breakfast in bed by a man before. Picking up the juice, I take a long gulp, those butterflies wreaking havoc with my insides as his beautiful playing penetrates something deep in me. I put the juice down and pop a couple of grapes in my mouth before starting in on the crackers and cheese. I feel like the most special girl on the planet right now, being entertained by a world-class musician while I do something as mundane as eat breakfast.

A couple of minutes later Shane’s piece comes to an end, and he puts his violin down. I have a sheet wrapped around my chest to cover my modesty. He steps over to the bed, bow still in his hand, and uses it to lower the sheet. I’m too busy eating to stop him, and the sheet falls free. He sucks in a breath, his eyes drinking me in. I’m struck with a memory of fantasising about him stroking my body with his bow, as though playing me like an instrument.

“That was a sneaky move, Mr Arthur,” I say, attempting a scolding tone as I set down the plate and pull the sheet back up and around my body.

He gives me a hot look. “I’m not going to apologise.”

“Yeah, I didn’t think you would.”

He perches on the edge of the bed and runs his hand from my collarbone and over to rest on my nape. “I ran you a bath,” he says low, leaning forward to nip my earlobe.

“Oh, and I suppose you showered already?” I ask back teasingly.

His grin is evil. “Nope. I was hoping we could share.”

“Hmm, that depends.”

“On?”

“How big is your tub?”

He lets out a loud bellow of a laugh that makes my sex clench. Yeah, I definitely want to share my bath with him. He stands, shucking off the trousers he’d been wearing before holding his hand out to me. I take it and he leads me into the large bathroom, the tub filled with warm water and bubbles. I step in and sink under, sighing in pleasure at the sensation.

A moment later Shane climbs in behind me, pulling my back flush with his chest. His entire body is wrapped around mine, and I can feel his erection pressing against my lower back. He runs his hands up and down my arms for a long time and I stay still, eyes closed, enjoying being touched just for the sake of it.

His hands move to the upper part of my chest then, before sliding slowly down to my breasts. I moan softly, and he grunts. When he reaches my nipples, he pinches them lightly, and then his hands continue their descent below the water. They get to my belly and still, his thumbs rubbing small circles into my skin. Then one hand lowers between my legs, which have fallen open. He strokes my throbbing lips and then fingers the petals of my sex.

He keeps stroking me for so long that I feel like I might burst. Finally, he moves lightning fast as he plunges two fingers inside me. I let out a sigh of relief, rubbing my bottom against his cock, which is now rock hard. We continue to play this game. I swivel my hips in circles and he groans, clearly enjoying the friction. He keeps his fingers inside me, moving slowly in and out, all lazily sexual, as his other hand moves to my aching clit. He rubs as slowly as he possibly can, and I feel an intense orgasm coming on.

I want him to come, too, so I keep swivelling my hips. I move my own hands to my breasts, moulding them and pinching my nipples, letting out a long, erotic sigh of pleasure. Shane practically hisses when he sees me touching myself.

“Fuck,” he mutters, breath heavy and humid against the side of my neck. “Come,” he goes on. “I want to feel you come all over my hand.”

“Please,” I beg, needing him to rub me faster, but he continues at his slow pace, building an inferno inside me. I tug on my nipples hard, causing pleasure to ripple right down between my legs, where both his hands are hard at work.

“Oh, shit, I’m gonna come,” I pant, my muscles clenching.

I feel him spurt all over my lower back as I orgasm hard, crying out wildly with the release of it. Once I’ve ridden out all the waves, my body melts back into his and I shut my eyes. I’m glad we’re not facing each other, because if we had been, he would’ve seen something scary on my face just now. Something far too serious for what’s supposed to be casual sex.

We stay there in that exact position for a long while. He whispers sweet things in my ear and I try not to let them get to me, but they do. I need this man far more than I care to admit. After a time Shane turns on the tap and lets in some fresh water before he washes every part of me clean. I’m too shaken by my own emotions to stay and do the same for him, so I climb out of the bath once he’s rinsed my hair and wrap up in a towel. I need distance.

But I don’t want it.

In his bedroom, I gather my clothes and start to get dressed. I’ve just finished when I hear my phone ringing in my bag. Pulling it out, I see it’s Ben calling and hit the “answer” button.

“Hey, Ben, how are you?”

“Heya, honey, I’m as good as gold. And you?”

I cough. “As well as can be expected.”

“Have you fucked that sexy beast of a man yet?” he questions blatantly. Typical Ben. I swear he doesn’t get embarrassed about anything.

“That’s none of your business, you nosy bitch,” I respond with a laugh, and he makes a delighted sound of surprise.

“Oh, my God, you have! Spill the beans — what’s he like?”

“Uh, I can’t really talk right now,” I hedge just as Shane walks into the room, a navy towel wrapped low around his waist. My eyes travel over his abs before I focus back on the phone call.

“Ah, you’re with him as we speak, aren’t you?” he says, all hushed intrigue.

“I might be. Listen, I’ll call you back later.”

“Yes, you fucking will, biatch. But wait, I have to ask you something. A friend of Clark’s has a holiday home in Kerry, and we’re driving down to stay there next weekend. It’s a long weekend, so we can chillax, have a little mini break from life. You know, the usual. Lara’s mum’s going to take care of Mia for a few days, so she’s coming, too. What do you think?”

“Well, it sounds great, but I’ll have to check the rota at work. If I have shifts, I can probably get someone to cover for me.”

“Excellente! Would you like to bring the sexy beast along as well?” Ben asks hopefully.

My eyes shift to Shane. He’s put on some boxer briefs and is rubbing his hair dry with a towel. “I’ll ask him. See what he thinks.”

“Cool. Talk to you later, babes,” says Ben, making a smacking kissy noise with his lips.

I hang up the phone and turn to find Shane watching me.

“So, what do you have to ask me?” he says with a grin.

I narrow my eyes, trying not to grin back. “How did you know I was talking about you?”

He shrugs. “Lucky guess.”

I search for my hairbrush in my bag and quickly fill him in on Ben’s offer. He tells me he doesn’t have any shows that weekend, as there’s a traditional Irish group playing a string of concerts, so he’s all in. I feel slightly breathless at the idea of spending an entire weekend with Shane in the same house. If we do this, we’d definitely be breaking one of my rules.

I vaguely remember wanting to do away with all the rules last night, but the memory makes me too nervous to keep thinking about it. I start to comb my hair, preparing to style it into a braid, and Shane sits back down in the chair he’d been in when I woke up this morning. He’s dressed now in a T-shirt and lounge pants. He picks up his violin and bow, and starts to play another song.

I recognise this one as well, and finally I figure out where I know them from. Both pieces are on the Bohemia Quartet record I have. The one that lulls me to sleep most nights. I can’t believe it took me this long to recognise the music. It sounds a little different when it’s just the violin and not the whole quartet. There’s something vital about the stripped-down version, like a person singing a capella.

I’ve always thought that if there was one instrument that’s most like a human voice, it would be the violin.

I want to ask him who he wrote the album for. It’s called Songs for Her. I looked up who the composer was and discovered Shane’s name. He continues to play as I take out some mascara and lip gloss, applying a little before putting both away again. Oh, hell, if you don’t ask, you won’t receive, so I might as well ask.

“I have that album, you know,” I admit somewhat shyly.

He pauses playing and glances at me. “You do?”

“Yeah. I actually downloaded it that first night you walked me home. I was curious.”

A pleased expression comes over him. “And have you listened to it?”

I give him a sheepish look and sigh. “Too many times, Shane.”

“Really?”

I nod and turn back to the mirror, tucking a stray piece of hair behind my ear. Then I speak up. “I know you wrote all the songs, but who are they for?”

He gets a faraway look in his eye and turns to stare out the window. “The answer to that question is a little weird, actually. I wrote them for a girl I never met.”

“Huh?”

“I was in my late teens and had just started playing with the quartet. Our manager had gotten us a couple of gigs over in the States, and I was packing up all my stuff, preparing for the long stint away. There’d been this story in the news for ages, about a girl who’d gone missing. I can’t even remember her name, but I was watching the news when her body had been found buried close to the Dublin Mountains.”

I’m hardly breathing as I listen to him speak. My heart is pounding. I can’t function enough to form words as he continues, “People had been talking about the girl for weeks. It was a huge deal for someone to disappear back then, probably because the population was smaller. She was blonde. She actually looked a lot like you, Jade, which is why I was so struck by you when we first met and you took off your wig. You had all this pale blonde hair, just like she did.”

Finally I find my voice, but it’s barely a whisper, “So you wrote the album for her? The missing girl?”

Shane shakes his head. “No. When her body was found, it was all over the television stations. Reporters were trying to get an interview with her family. There was a clip of her mother talking to one of them, and her sister was there. At one point the camera focused in on the sister, and I couldn’t look away. She wasn’t talking, just crying silently beside her mum. She had all this crazy purple hair and a tonne of eyeliner on, so it was all running down her face like a mask of sadness. I’d never seen someone in so much pain as that girl. It made me want to cry for her, made me feel so much, like I’d lost something as big as she had.”

He stops speaking, and I can’t move. I just keep staring into the mirror at my own face, watching as tears slowly begin to fill my eyes.

“That night I composed so much new music I felt like my hand might fall off. It was all for her. In the morning I had to fly out, but I continued composing the songs over the next few weeks. Up until then the quartet had only ever recorded covers. Songs for Her was our first and only original album, and our most popular one, too. I was so busy travelling to ever find out if they caught the person who killed the girl. In a way I didn’t want to know. Even if they found her murderer, there’s no happy ending to a story like that.”

My eyes meet his through the mirror. “No, there isn’t,” I reply, no tone to my voice at all.

I can’t get my head around what’s happening. First the painting he’d had of me, and now this. Is this like some fucked-up version of serendipity or just a complete and total coincidence? A consequence of living in a tiny city where lives can become so strangely intertwined? I stand up and straighten out my clothes, picking up my bag and throwing it over my shoulder. I might not have wanted distance before, but I do now.

“I have to go,” I say, not looking directly at him.

He seems to be lost in thought, running his fingers over the body of his violin, like he’s trying really hard to remember the lost girl’s name. He glances up at me then, about to protest me leaving, but then he sees the look on my face and falls silent.

“Sparrow,” I whisper.

“What?”

“Her name was Sparrow,” I finish, just before I turn on my heel and walk out the door.

***

I catch a bus back to my house, and it’s still early when I get there. I hurry up the stairs to my room and pull out my costume. After the morning I shared with Shane, I need to become someone else for a while. Putting the white paint on my face, I feel like I’m erasing it all. Erasing my confusion that we were somehow in each other’s lives years before we ever actually met.

He wrote an entire album about me, an album I’ve been listening to on “repeat” for nights on end. As I put on my wings, I consider opening up my window and flying away, like Mary Poppins with her umbrella. I leave the house in full costume, walking down the street, receiving the usual curious glances from people who don’t know me or my story.

They know nothing about Jade Lennon. The girl whose twin got killed by a sick psychopath. Let her dress up like fucking Santa Claus if it makes her happy.

I reach my regular spot and set up as usual. As I stand on my box, I feel better because I don’t have to be me. I can focus only on my breathing, focus on it so hard that no thoughts enter my head. Not a single one. I can listen only to the sounds of footsteps on the path, forever passing me by, and no thoughts enter my head. Not a single one.

There’s no violin music this time. No sweet melodies to transport me into a scene that exists only in my own mind. I look across the street, and he’s standing there alone, outside the very same shop from the first night we met. He doesn’t have his violin. He’s frowning at me, studying me so intensely he looks like he might burst a blood vessel.

I never move. Not once.

After a long time of me not moving, Shane buttons up his coat because it’s getting cold, and walks away. I stand there for many more hours, until the day darkens to evening. When I step off my box, I feel like I might need a chiropractor, because not moving has given me a pain that runs down my spine.

I walk home.

A few teenage boys and girls shout some obscenities at me. You tend to garner negative attention when you’re wearing something as bizarre as I am. I stop in front of them, twirling in a massive circle and bowing down while raising my middle finger in a silent “fuck you.” I continue on my way. Opening my front door, I hear talking coming from the living room and immediately recognise Shane’s voice.

What’s he doing here?

I walk into the room to find him sitting across from Pete on the couch. He has his violin and Pete’s got the laptop I managed to scrape together the money to buy him last Christmas open, some sort of application running on the screen that looks like a virtual recording studio.

“Hey,” I say, glancing between the two of them, my voice more air than sound. “What’s going on?”

Pete raises an eyebrow. “Shane’s giving me music lessons, remember?”

“Oh, right,” I mutter, and then look to Shane.

His expression is indecipherable. A long moment of silence passes between us, a dozen questions hanging in the air. Finally I clear my throat and ask him softly, “Would you like to stay for dinner?”

Some sort of tension leaves his body as a breath escapes him. “Yeah, I’d love to.”

“Uh, Jade you’re getting that white crap all over the door,” Pete interrupts.

I glance to the side to find I’ve got my hand pressed against the wooden frame, white makeup smeared all over it. I drop my hand and take another step into the room.

“How’s everything going? Have you seen Damo around at all?” I ask my brother.

Pete lets out a snort as he types furiously on his laptop. “He’s shitting himself over Alec. He came to me after school, telling me to let my brother know he doesn’t want any trouble.”

I sigh in relief. “That’s good. Is school okay?”

“It’s all right. A few of the teachers practically tore me a new one over all my absences, but I can handle it.”

I smile. I want to reach over and ruffle his hair, but I can’t because I’m still in my costume. The wings are so big they hardly fit inside our tiny living room. I quickly duck out and go upstairs to change, using a makeup wipe to get the face paint off. I throw on some comfy yoga pants and a baggy jumper before going back downstairs to the kitchen. I find a note on the counter from Alec telling me that he fed and walked Specky this morning, but that he’s got a date with Avery tonight, so he won’t be home until late.

I look over the ingredients in the fridge and decide I’ve got everything I need to throw together a chicken curry with rice. About twenty minutes later, as I’m standing by the cooker stirring the sauce, the door opens and somebody comes inside.

Two arms wrap around my waist, and a chin rests on my shoulder. “Smells good,” Shane says, voice low. “You okay, Bluebird?”

I nod, not saying anything. He holds me there for a few seconds longer and then goes to sit down. The food is just about ready, so I start dishing it onto plates. Pete comes in and grabs his, bringing it into the living room to eat, leaving me and Shane alone. April is out with her friends, so there aren’t going to be any interruptions. I’m still in turmoil over whether or not I should tell him that I’m the girl he wrote all those songs for. Will he be freaked out, or think it’s romantic?

We eat quietly, and I thank him for starting those music lessons with Pete. He shrugs it off, telling me he enjoyed spending time with my brother. He says that Pete taught him almost as much as he taught Pete. Shane was pretty much in the dark about all the new technological stuff that’s out there.

When we’re finished eating, we wash up together, and I ask him if he wants to hang out in my room for a while. I don’t have sex in mind. I plan on telling him the truth. All about the strange coincidence I suddenly became aware of this morning.

In my room, I turn some relaxing music on low and then sit down on the bed. Shane slips off his shoes and does the same.

“Why did you freak out and rush off earlier?” he asks after a long while.

I turn to him, hugging a pillow to my chest as he lounges back against the headboard. “It was the story you told me, about the missing girl and her sister.”

He leans forward, curious. “That freaked you out? Why?”

I bite on my lip, clasping my hands together to keep them from shaking, and meet his gaze. “Because the missing girl was my twin. I’m the sister, the one you saw on the news.”

Shane’s eyes flicker back and forth between mine numerous times, a dozen emotions crossing his features. He moves closer to me then, taking my shaking hands into his still ones. “Wow,” he breathes.

“Yeah,” I say. “First you have that painting of me, long before you ever knew who I was, and now it seems you’ve actually written an album for me. It’s downright spooky.”

Not to mention it makes my heart to do a backflip and then try to turn itself inside out.

Shane seems to be more focused on my history than anything else. The need to know my story is practically humming from him. “What happened to her?” he whispers. “I mean, did you ever find out?”

I stare at my wallpaper, at my golden sparrows, my mind wandering to a dark place. “Yeah, we found out. I knew all along who it was, but the police never released the information to the press until after her body was found. They were afraid it would compromise the investigation.” I stop for a second, then tell him, “I was there when she was taken.”

Shane inhales sharply and stares at me empathetically. “You don’t have to talk about this if you don’t want to.”

I let out a small breath. “Well, it seems I’m in a storytelling mood, so you might as well sit back and listen. I never talk about her. And I mean never. I pay tribute to her in so many ways every day — she’s constantly present in my world, but I find it hard to actually speak about her. Her name was Sparrow. We weren’t identical, but we had the same colouring and looked a lot alike.”

“Sparrow? Is that why you got those tattoos?” he asks, eyes going to my arm.

I nod. “And my wallpaper. I’m always drawing those damn birds, too. I can’t get them out of my head sometimes. They’re a symbol of her. She was an artist just like my mother, the good twin. I was the moody one, always trying to change my appearance so that people would see us as two different people rather than one. That’s why I had the purple hair and the makeup. Sparrow never deviated from her natural blonde roots. She was so pretty. It brought her attention from people and was probably why her abductor took an interest. They always go for the pretty, innocent types, right?”

Shane just stares at me silently, empathy streaming from his every pore.

“Anyway, we were walking home from school one day, and it started to rain. We were getting soaked and began running, holding our bags over our heads to keep from getting wet. Then a car pulled up by the side of the road. It was our geography teacher, Mr Francis. He offered us both a ride home, but I’d always had a bad feeling about him, so I said no. Sparrow, being as trusting as she was, wanted to accept the offer, but I told her not to and began dragging her away. We got into a fight because she didn’t want to walk the rest of the way home in the rain. We shouted at each other. In the end I gave up and let her get in the car. I should never have let her get in the car.”

“Fuck,” Shane swears under his breath. “You couldn’t have known.”

I take a deep breath and continue, “I walked the rest of the way home, expecting Sparrow to be there already, but she wasn’t. I didn’t get too worried at first because she’d often have dinner at her friend’s house down the street, so I thought that was where she’d gone. Mum was out doing groceries, and she had Pete and April with her. The evening progressed and everybody started to arrive home, but still there was no sign of Sparrow.

“Mum and I sat up half the night calling her friends, calling everyone we knew and asking if they’d seen her. We didn’t get a wink of sleep, and finally in the morning we called the police. It took about a day before they began searching for her properly. I told them she’d gotten into Mr Francis’ car, so they went to his house to ask him questions. He told them he’d given her a lift because it was raining but that he’d left her off at her street and driven home to his wife and kids. His wife gave him an alibi, but she must have been lying. The police could find no evidence, no CCTV footage of him taking her, no proof at all. So it was the word of some Goth teenager over that of an upstanding citizen, a local schoolteacher who’d never had any trouble with the law.

“About a week passed, and still there was no sign of her, no leads. I was so angry I felt like going to his house and threatening him until he confessed. Instead I went to school early one morning and thrashed his classroom, scrawling the word ‘paedophile’ across the blackboard. I got a week’s suspension, but Mum was too busy worrying about Sparrow to be mad at me. She believed me about Mr Francis, and I think she might have even been a tiny bit proud of what I’d done. Two months passed by. I rallied all the students together to boycott his classes, and in the end he resigned, stating he couldn’t work under such conditions, said he was being demonised. What a joke.

“It was almost three months exactly that she’d been missing when a couple walking their dog near the mountains found a suspicious-looking patch of freshly dug-up earth in an under-populated area. They called the police. The police came, and that was the day they found Sparrow buried three feet below the ground. I knew she was dead all along. I could feel it, like a part of me had been ripped out of my chest. Two days later, Mr Francis shot himself in the head. A week after that, the results came back from the tests they’d run on Sparrow’s remains. She’d been raped and then strangled to death. Mr Francis’ DNA was all over her. I wanted to die, thinking of the suffering she must have gone through, all because I couldn’t stop her from getting in that car.”

I pause for breath, wiping at the tears leaking down my face. Shane wraps his arms around me, pulling me into him.

“Jesus,” he whispers.

“I was so full of guilt. The only thing that could numb it was alcohol, and that’s where my drinking started.”

“You were so fucking young. No one should have to go through what you did,” Shane says, his mouth on my hair, his nose breathing me in.

I stare at my wallpaper for a long time, then draw away from him, going to my wardrobe and pulling out the sketch pad sitting at the bottom of it. Bringing it back over to the bed, I sit down beside him again, placing it on his lap. He hesitates a moment, then opens it up.

“Sparrow wanted to be an illustrator when she grew up. She was always drawing these little sketches, creating characters,” I tell him as he flicks through the pages.

“She was talented,” says Shane as he stops on a page, his mouth falling open.

“That was her favourite character,” I explain. “The one she drew the most. She called her Evangeline Spectrum — don’t ask where she came up with the name. She thought it sounded cool, like a futuristic angel.” I get up and go back to the wardrobe, pulling out a big canvas, the only large-scale picture Sparrow had ever had the chance to complete. I set it on the edge of the mattress for Shane to look at. It shows Evangeline Spectrum, her blue wings spread out wide as she sits on the moon, staring down at a world full of people.

“But this is you,” he whispers, his eyes taking it all in.

I shake my head. “It’s not me. I re-created Evangeline as a living statue. I’d been playing around with the idea for a long time, and after a while I gathered everything I needed for the costume. Somehow dressing up as one of her characters made me feel closer to Sparrow. That’s how I cope with missing her. I put her in my life in little ways, like tattooing birds on my arm or drawing a sparrow randomly on a wall in a house full of artists. It feels better than crying into my pillow or drinking myself half to death.”

Shane picks up the canvas, his gaze eating it up. “You’re amazing.”

I let out a surprised laugh. “That’s a nice way of putting it. Most people call me crazy.”

He sets the picture down and looks at me dead-on. “Those people don’t know what they’re talking about.”

A second later he’s pulling me back into his arms and stroking my hair. We stay like that for a while, and then I start talking again.

“Before Sparrow died, I didn’t believe in anything. I was a complete and total nihilist, thinking the world had no meaning. It just was. I had never lost anyone, so it was easy for me to believe that when people died, that was it. They were gone. Dust on the wind. There was no good place they were headed. Then my twin was dead, and I found myself believing in everything if only it would mean that this wasn’t the end. It was completely hypocritical, but I was desperate for the light at the end of the tunnel to be true. I needed to hold onto the hope that I’d get to see her again, that she’d get to live on somewhere wonderful after the horror she endured. So now I let myself see the impossible in the mundane. I let myself believe that things can happen that defy explanation. That I can fly with my fake wings or that I can be standing listening to music on the street, and suddenly I’m in a grand ballroom full of dancers. It’s the only way I know how to survive without her, the only way I can convince myself we’ll meet again.”

Shane looks at me for a long time. His hand on my hair pauses as he dips down to kiss me on the temple. “We all have to believe in something to keep going, Bluebird,” he murmurs, and then drags me down to a lying position. Somewhere along the way he pulled the blanket over us, and the music I put on earlier isn’t playing anymore. It’s so quiet. His thumb brushes the edge of my forehead, pushing my hair away from my face.

“Us being here together right now could be a sign, you know,” he says then.

“What do you mean?”

“You want proof of the impossible, and you have it right in front of you. I saw you crying on the news eleven years ago and wrote an album of songs for you like I was possessed by music. Then years later I find myself staying in a room where a picture of you is hanging. A couple of months after that, I’m walking down the street one night, and the woman from my painting is standing in front of me in the exact same pose from the painting. If there’s magic in the world, then we’ve both experienced it for ourselves.”

For what seems like the millionth time today, tears fill my eyes. Something stabs at my heart, and I love him for every word he just spoke, even if none of it is true, even if it’s all just coincidence. I look between his beautiful eyes, barely breathing, and then finally I whisper, “Thank you.”

Nothing more needs to be said. He made my entire world right just now, and I’m clutching onto his words.

I’ll never let them go.

It was just an ordinary night.

He didn’t think anything extraordinary would happen.

Until it did.

Turning a corner onto the bustling night time street, he saw her all in blue.

The woman from his painting was a living, breathing thing…and she was so completely still.

 

 

I wake up early the next morning wrapped around Shane. We’re both in my bed, fully clothed from the night before. My face feels stingy from tears, but there’s a lightness in my chest, like getting everything out lifted a weight I didn’t even know was there.

My body is half on top of his and I lie still, admiring how handsome his face looks when he’s sleeping, how his dark lashes create shadows over his cheekbones. He stirs a little then and wakes up, blinking his eyes a few times. When he realises where he is and who’s on top of him, I feel his body spring to life. His cock hardens against my inner thigh.

Suddenly he flips us over so that I’m flat on my back on the mattress and he’s hovering above me. He does it so instinctively that it sets my nerve endings alight, like it’s so natural for him to want to fuck me.

“How did you sleep, Bluebird?” he asks huskily as he runs his knuckles down one side of my face.

“Good,” I answer, quiet. “And you?”

“Good, too. I always sleep well when you’re with me.” He moves his hips a little then, rubbing his erection against the centre of my thighs. A quick breath escapes me. Then he seems to think of something and pauses, squeezing his eyes shut.

“Crap, what time is it?”

I glance to the clock on my nightstand. “Eight-thirty. Why?”

“I have a radio interview at lunch, and they want me to play live on the air. I need to go home and practice, but I really don’t want to leave.”

There’s a sort of agony in his eyes. I understand that he wants to get busy, judging from his current state of arousal, but…and then I get it. He thinks that if he goes now he won’t be able to see me again for another three days.

“You can come over tonight,” I offer hesitantly. “Or I could come to yours?”

He narrows his gaze. “But what about the rules?”

“Fuck the rules,” I tell him brashly and he laughs, bending down and sucking on my lower lip. Damn, I really wish he didn’t have to go now, either.

Pulling back, he stares at me, his gaze roaming from one part of my face to the next, his eyes glittering. His thumb brushes back and forth over my collarbone, and I keep on staring back at him, unable to break the connection.

“I feel like I’m falling,” he whispers, bringing his mouth to my lips for a soft, barely there kiss.

All my words get stuck in my throat as he draws away from me and slides off the bed. I watch as he straightens out the clothes he slept in and pulls on his shoes. Why did he say that? More to the point, what does he mean? I refuse to allow myself to draw fanciful conclusions, but it seems fairly obvious what he was trying to tell me. It feels like a lifetime has gone by when I find my voice at last.

“I’ll call you later. Good luck with today,” I tell him softly.

“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.

“Not here,” I murmur against Shane’s mouth. “Upstairs.”

He follows my lead as I pull him to his room, his mouth nibbling at my neck, his hand pulling my blouse over to expose my collarbone. Hmm, it’s actually going to be difficult to keep those wandering hands of his away from my back.

“I want you on top,” I tell him, my head foggy with desire as his deft fingers undo the fly of my jeans and pull them down my thighs.

He smiles against my lips. “I think I can manage that.”

Slowly, he lowers me down to his bed, the fresh, clean smell of his sheets hitting my nose. He runs his hands along my abdomen, inching my blouse up little by little, kissing my belly playfully. When he finally removes my top, his eyes zone in on the new sparrow on my arm, his fingers brushing over it tenderly.

“When did you get this?” he breathes.

“Today. Happy anniversary to me,” I answer in a singsong voice.

“So pretty,” he purrs, kissing each sparrow before continuing his way over my chest to my collarbone. I let out little mewling noises of pleasure as his hand drifts between my legs and cups me. Then he does one long stroke, pressing hard over my clit and sinking past the fabric of my underwear. When three of his fingers slide inside of me all at once, filling me up, I realise how wet I am.

“You’re so ready for me,” Shane says huskily, arousal dripping from his words.

“Oh, God,” I moan as he pumps me good and hard.

He rids himself of his clothes in short order, and then he’s sliding his cock over my entrance, teasing me before thrusting all the way in. The entire time his eyes never leave mine. I bring my hands up to his face, marvelling at how his hot gaze peruses me so possessively.

Suddenly, I’m struck with the thought that I could never handle losing him.

His hips move as his desire builds.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers, one hand drifting through my hair, which is spread out over his pillow. It’s strange, because I was thinking the exact same thing about him. I lose myself in a haze of sex and need, his hard body working itself into mine, and when he comes, I come with him. He doesn’t pull out as his sweat-soaked chest falls against mine and his breathing slows as he falls asleep.

 

The following week my belly is a bundle of nerves. Not only am I going to be spending an entire weekend with Shane come Friday, but this is also the week that Mona comes to play at the concert hall. Shane and I have been with each other every chance we can get, stolen moments at work and late night visits. I haven’t mentioned Shane’s pseudo declaration in my room last week, and neither has he.

I’ve also managed to avoid having him see the tattoo on my shoulders, which was some feat, given that he has this way of ridding me of my clothes before I even realise it’s happening.

Catching sight of his driver’s licence one evening, I saw that his thirtieth birthday is this weekend, so I make a note to do something special for him.

Right now I’m walking down a corridor at work, returning to the bar after delivering a tray of drinks to a group of businessmen having a meeting in one of the conference rooms. My heart skips a beat when I see Shane walking toward me from the other direction. He’s looking casual in jeans and a dark grey T-shirt. We stop a foot apart, not saying anything but drinking each other in with our eyes.

“Hey, what are you doing here so early?” I ask while he brings his hands to my shoulders, then lets them drift down my arms. At the same time he’s manoeuvring me back against the wall and sucking in a harsh breath.

“I have a rehearsal to get to, but you, babe, are a welcome distraction,” he purrs, and bends his mouth to my neck.

“Shane,” I gasp, making an effort to push him off but not trying nearly hard enough. “We can’t do this here. My supervisor could come by.”

Both his hands move up to my neck, his thumbs rubbing circles into the exposed skin at my throat. “Oh, yeah,” he murmurs, his mouth curved in a wicked smirk. “Tell me more.”

“I could get the sack,” I go on, my protest weak.

“No man would dare sack a face this beautiful,” he disagrees, kissing both my cheeks and then moving in for my mouth. He nibbles on my lips, and I feel myself tremble against the wall.

“It’s a pity my supervisor today is a woman, now, isn’t it?” I finally respond, and he chuckles against my lips.

“I’ve missed your smell,” he murmurs, one hand moulding my hip, pushing up the hem of my work shirt.

“You saw me last night.”

“I know,” he replies with a sullen little expression before capturing my mouth in a deep, wet kiss. My knees practically buckle out from under me when his tongue plunges inside, caressing my tongue in long, languid strokes. I come alive, growing wet between my legs as I clench my thighs together tight. His mouth is like heaven, and he’s kissing me like he does when we’re having sex. There’s no manners to it, just hot, fevered passion. I can feel my cheeks getting warm with a blush. Before I met this man I think I probably blushed about three times in my entire life. Now it’s become a constant look for me.

He draws back an inch and stares at me, his face so close I can feel his breath on my skin. My eyelids are at half-mast, and I’m clenching his shirt with my fist.

“Fuck, you’re all heated up, and now I have to go,” he swears, his eyes consuming me.

My breaths come out quick and heavy. “I told you we couldn’t do this here.”

“Yeah, well, I have a hard time listening to logic when you’re around me.” He pauses and bends close to my ear to whisper, “A real fucking hard time.”

Shivers dance along my skin, and I can’t keep my eyes from quickly glancing at his crotch. Yeah, he isn’t lying.

“You’d better get to your rehearsal,” I tell him, my breathing slowing down a bit.

He lets out a little petulant sigh. “I bet you’re soaking wet right now.”

“Shane,” I say, giving him a small push. “You’ve got to go.”

“I know,” he sighs again, and comes in for a kiss goodbye, this one not nearly as hot as the last, and yet it still speeds up my pulse. With one final stroke of his hand down my cheek, he turns on his heel and continues his way down the corridor.

I gather myself and get back to work, wondering if his practice today is with Mona or if the entire orchestra will be there. As I do a stock take, I try to quell the desire to slip inside the auditorium and find out. After another five minutes of stock-taking, my curiosity gets the better of me, and I go upstairs to the balcony entrance. That way nobody below will notice me come in.

As quietly as I can manage, I push open the door and walk down the aisle, taking a seat in the first row. I look down to the main part of the auditorium to find that my suspicions were right. It is just him and Mona today. The conductor, Henry White, and two other men are sitting a few rows down from the stage. They’re all chatting back and forth to each other while Mona sits at a piano and Shane looks to be tuning his violin.

He seems to have it in tune when he steps forward and calls down to the three men, “What would you like to hear first?”

“Hungarian Dance No. 1,” Henry replies after corresponding with his neighbours.

Shane nods and walks back to the piano, standing only a foot away. I can’t help hating seeing him so close to a woman he was once in love with. It makes me ferociously jealous, and I’ve never had a jealous bone in my body up until now.

I wonder how he proposed to her.

It was probably beautiful, and the bitch didn’t deserve a single second of it. God, these thoughts really frighten me, and I can say without a doubt that this very moment is the closest I’ll come to hitting the bottle again.

Mona seems to be trying to make eye contact with Shane, but he won’t look at her. At least that’s something. A moment later he starts to play; it’s a fast, passionate tune, full of fire and fury. So appropriate for these two. Mona accompanies him on the piano, her part like a trickling stream of water to his hot, angry inferno. It’s almost like they’re fighting through music. Shane is accusatory, pained, while she is supplicant, trying to win him back.

Is that what this is about?

I know I wasn’t imagining things last week when I’d met her and Justin for the first time. They didn’t strike me as two people in love about to tie the knot and have a baby. They struck as a couple who has come to the realisation that all they ever had was lust and secret thrills. And that lust and those thrills have long grown stale.

Shane walks across the stage as he plays before turning back to the piano. He looks at Mona now, and there’s so much emotion in his eyes that I’m not sure I can continue watching. Does he still have feelings for her, or is it only hate he’s trying to communicate?

The piece comes to a dramatic, swift end and I’m glad those three awful minutes are over. I stand up from my seat and am turning to leave when I stop in my tracks. Standing just inside the door is Mirin, a look on her face like the cat that got the cream. I keep walking. I have no idea what she’s doing there, watching me as I watched Shane and Mona, but I have no desire to engage her in conversation.

Just as I’m passing her by, she starts to speak. “They have so much chemistry on the stage, don’t you think?”

I give her my most nonchalant expression and shrug before muttering a reply, “I’m not sure that’s what I’d call it.”

I shouldn’t have taken the bait, but I couldn’t seem to help myself. What can I say, there’s something about being around a woman who thinks I’m no better than the dirt on her overpriced shoes that rubs me up the wrong way. My “rubbed up the wrong way” metre is cranked right up to eleven.

“They’ll get back together sooner or later,” she says, glancing down at her nails.

“Uh, I hate to break it to you, but Mona’s engaged to Justin and pregnant with his kid.”

Mirin’s eyes gleam now, like she’s been keeping the secret of the century. “She’s going to leave him. She’s confided in me that she’s unhappy and the biggest mistake she ever made was breaking up with my son. I found it in myself to forgive her and gave her my blessing in her efforts to win him back.”

I give her an astounded look. “You do know what she did to him?”

Mirin purses her lips. “All water under the bridge. Mona is right for my son. She’s the most talented pianist to come out of this country in years, and Shane’s star is shining bright. They’re ideal for one another.”

Rolling my eyes, I deadpan, “Oh, well, don’t I just feel so unworthy. Your work here is done, Mommie Dearest.”

“Don’t you dare talk to me like that, or make insinuations…”

I laugh. “That you’re Joan Crawford? I hate to break it to you, Mirin, but you’re not nearly that interesting.”

And with that I stride right by her and out of the auditorium, feeling triumphant at the sound of outrage she makes upon my departure. That right there was probably the finest last word I’ve ever gotten. Unfortunately, my satisfaction doesn’t last very long, as I hurry to the staff bathroom, lock myself in a cubicle, and take several long, deep breaths.

Shit, I’m not sure I can handle this anymore.

It’s one thing for Mona to be trying to convince Shane to return to the Bohemia Quartet because her dad’s making her do it. It’s another entirely for her to be here trying to win him back. Perhaps Mirin was lying to make me feel insecure so I’d break things off with Shane before they’ve even begun.

God, I hope she was lying. I mean, I can understand why she doesn’t like me. I’m so far from her idea of an approvable girlfriend for her son I might as well be sitting on Mars roasting my bottom. What I don’t get is her continuing support of Mona, a woman who has treated her son so horribly she could be in the running for a worst fiancée of the year award.

I mean, the woman drove him to suicide for God’s sake.

I guess these people will overlook many, many flaws in favour of good breeding and a sophisticated background. Mona is the lesser of two evils in Mirin’s eyes.

After a few minutes, I finally gather my nerve to return to work. Thankfully, this evening’s event won’t be featuring the symphony, so I can avoid Shane, his ex, and his manipulative witch of a mother for the night.

When I arrive home after my shift, I’m surprised to discover Alec and Avery in the living room watching a movie together, the lights turned low. If my estimations are correct, this must be their third or fourth date, and I’ve never known my brother to see a woman more than twice. I smile to myself. Perhaps he’s turned over a new leaf. I take in the sight of them sitting close on the couch before quickly apologising for interrupting and ducking out of the room.

In the kitchen Specky’s bent over her food bowl, eating a few doggie biscuits. I pet her head and sigh. She makes a little rumbling noise and abandons her food to come and hop up on my lap. I love dogs. They never have any shame about letting you know just how much they’ve missed you.

“Oh, Specky, you should have seen the drama I’ve dealt with today.”

She makes a sound that’s too tame to be a bark, sort of like a questioning noise. Before I can continue being pathetic and telling my problems to my dog, my phone buzzes loudly from where I set it on the table. I pick it up to find a message from Shane.

Shane: You coming over tonight? xxx

Jade: Too tired. Tomorrow?

Shane: I could come to you.

Jade: The walls in this house are paper thin.

I’m hoping he gets what I mean by that, because no way are we having sex here within hearing distance of all three of my siblings. That would just be too weird. Plus, after what I saw transpire between him and Mona today, I need some time to myself to think. They might not have actually spoken to each other during their practice, but the multitude of emotions that were flying around the auditorium was enough to make me dizzy.

It feels like there’s still so much that’s unresolved between the two of them.

Shane: I can be really quiet…

Jade: Unfortunately, I can’t. How’d your practice go?

I can’t believe I just asked that question, but I needed to change the subject and couldn’t think of anything else on the spot.

Shane: It was with Mona. More painful than getting a tooth pulled minus the anaesthetic.

I smile at his creative description. At least he didn’t lie about Mona being there.

Jade: Did you two get the chance to talk?

It takes a few minutes longer than usual for him to reply.

Shane: I don’t have anything to discuss with that woman.

Jade: You sure about that?

Shane: Positive. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to talk about what underwear you have on.

Hmm, that was a crafty change of subject. I laugh out loud.

Jade: Are you trying to sext me, Mr Arthur?

Shane: Of course. Underwear?

Jade: Black lace.

Shane: I like you in black. Are you alone?

I stand up from the table and Specky hops off my lap, returning to her bowl of doggie biscuits. Walking upstairs to my room, I shut the door and text him back.

Jade: I am now.

Shane: Where?

Jade: My room.

Shane: Lie down on your bed.

Jade: Okay…

Shane: Fuck, I’m hard just picturing you. Take off your top and pull down your bra.

Before I get the chance to take my top off completely, April shrieks loudly from her room, yelling something about hurting her hand when trying to move her bed. Shit. I shrug back into my top and type out a quick text to Shane.

Jade: Got to go. There’s an April emergency.

Shane: Babe.

Jade: I know, I’m sorry. Go get some sleep. You’ve got a big show tomorrow.

Shane: Okay. I hope April’s all right. xxx

With that I hurry to April’s room to find she was trying to rearrange her furniture and got stabbed with a rusty nail when she was lifting one end of her bed. Tears are streaming down her face, and there’s a nasty wound in the centre of her palm. Too nasty to be sorted with a bit of Savlon and a Band-Aid. I wrap my arm around her and give her a squeezy hug before making arrangements to head to A&E.

My neighbour Barry drives us, and we don’t get home until the early hours of the morning. I drop onto my bed, exhausted, and have just enough time to set my alarm before I conk out.

The next day I arrive at work around lunchtime, yawning all the while since I didn’t get as much sleep as usual. April’s been complaining nonstop about having to wear an unsightly bandage on her hand, so I’m happy to be out of the house, even if it does mean dealing with the stress of Shane and Mona’s concert.

Apparently, every last ticket has been sold. Never let it be said that people don’t enjoy a good scandal. If it’s true that Shane’s fans have been boycotting his old group’s concerts, then it must be common knowledge that Mona cheated on him, despite the fact that Shane himself denies it when asked.

I kind of respect him for that. He could have played up the sympathy card, but he didn’t. In fact, I’ve been doing a bit of covert Googling on my phone during my break period, and have discovered that before Shane came to play with the symphony no one had heard anything from him for more than a year. I’m guessing a good deal of that time was spent recovering from his suicide attempt, but still, for such a well-known musician that’s a long time to be out of the spotlight.

I wouldn’t normally be so determined to delve into his life before we met, but Mirin’s words from yesterday are still affecting me. Still making me question what would happen if Mona broke things off completely with Justin and laid herself at Shane’s feet. Would he step right over her, or pick her up and take her back into his warm, strong arms?

You see, on the outside I may act like everything falls right off me like water, but on the inside I’m as insecure as they come. My brain finds these ways of twisting things, blacking out all the signs that show Shane only has eyes for me and making me question if a part of that gorgeous gaze still belongs to Mona.

The evening comes sooner than expected, and I’m back in my usual spot, tending bar. As the venue starts to fill, I turn to serve my next customer and find Justin sitting on a stool, his elbow leaning on the bar top. He’s wearing a white shirt, several buttons undone, and his sandy coloured hair is all dishevelled.

“What can I get you?”

From the slightly bleary look in his eyes, I’m guessing he’s already had a few. “Are you really his girlfriend?” he slurs, and I decide I’m not going to serve him any more alcohol. He must have been warming the seats at the downstairs bar for a while, judging by his current state.

“Shane’s girlfriend? Yeah,” I say, not really knowing whether I’m lying or telling the truth.

He sits up a little straighter. “I’ll take a double vodka.”

I pick up a glass, and fill it with water and ice before placing it in front of him. “That’s all you’re getting from me.”

He narrows his eyes and scowls at me. This is one thing I like about working here. The clientele are usually of a certain class, so when you refuse them alcohol, they become moody about it. Sometimes they’ll get mouthy, but very rarely do they become violent. It’s a complete contrast to a dive bar I once worked in where the patrons would glass you for so much as looking at them the wrong way.

Justin’s body slumps against the bar top now as he shoves the glass of water aside. “I don’t want that.”

“You should drink it. Your head is going to be splitting in the morning.”

“Don’t care.”

I give him a concerned look. “Are you all right, mate?”

He fumbles in his pocket for a minute before retrieving an expensive diamond engagement ring. He sets it down on the counter and looks at it with the most miserable expression on his face. I almost feel bad for him. I actually have to remind myself what this piece of work did to Shane.

“She gave that back to me this morning,” he mumbles, and air catches in my lungs.

Fuck, Mirin wasn’t lying. Mona really is planning on getting her claws into Shane again.

“She said she doesn’t love me anymore, but that I shouldn’t worry. She won’t stop me from seeing my kid once it’s born.” He lets out a long, joyless laugh.

“Why did she break things off?” I ask, my voice shaky.

Justin makes a sound low in his throat. “I had sex with a waitress.” He pauses, and a drunken smile comes over his face, like he’s cherishing the memory. “Or two.”

“Well, then, can you blame her for giving you back that ring?”

“It’s not like she’s a bloody saint, either. She’s gonna fuck his head up all over again, you know.”

I stare at him hard for a long moment. “Not if I have anything to do with it.”

“Yeah, you’re hot and all, but she’s Mona.” He pauses before continuing in a sarcastic voice, “The Mona Campbell. Shane’s been in love with her since he was twenty.”

Justin’s words give me a quick, violent thump right in the chest, but I soldier on.

“He was in love with her. Not anymore. He hates her now.”

“They always say there’s a fine line between love and hate.”

I can’t listen to much more of this, so I go to serve my next customer. By the time I look back at the spot Justin had been sitting in, he’s gone. Good riddance. The engagement ring is gone, too. I wonder if he’ll sell it off or give it to the next woman who comes along.

My supervisor slides in behind the bar once the last call for the start of the concert is announced, and asks if I could go help out in the auditorium. Fuck my life. There aren’t any more people waiting for drinks, so I have no excuse. I have to go and witness this concert first hand. Yay.

She guides me through the entrance for the stalls and tells me to direct people to their seats on the far left-hand side. The chatter of patrons filling the auditorium echoes all around me, but it’s not loud enough to drown out the heavy beating of my heart. I’m so on edge it’s unreal. I mean, what do I think I’m going to see up there on that stage, some sort of lover’s reunion?

I could probably get away with leaving once the show begins, but there’s this self-flagellating side of me that wants to stay. I want to watch and prove to myself that my fears are unwarranted. That no matter how hard Mona might try, Shane will be unmoved by her efforts.

When the members of the orchestra walk out from backstage, I sink to a dark corner of the hall, leaning back against a wall and waiting. I’m half relieved that the first piece is a symphony, and not Mona and Shane’s duet. I won’t have to suffer just yet.

A group of women to my right are excitedly discussing the two musicians in hushed voices, talking about the rumoured love triangle and poor Shane’s broken heart.

“Excuse me?” comes a recognisable voice from behind.

I turn around quickly, breaking my attention from the gossiping women to find Mirin and her husband standing there waiting to be seated. I silently take the tickets from her hand and look at the seat numbers.

“Straight down the aisle, two rows before the steps,” I tell her with a reserved tone.

“Thank you,” Mirin replies, taking the tickets back from me. “It’s going to be a wonderful show,” she continues as her husband walks on ahead. “I’m so pleased you’re here to see it.”

I give her an emotionless look and gesture for her to take her seat. She smiles, eyes cruel, mouth hard, then turns and walks away. I let out a long, deep breath and bring my eyes to the stage, where the symphony has already begun. Trust Mirin to be fashionably late. Shane is in his usual spot, his arm moving vigorously with the music, his violin resting just under his chin.

When it’s time for Mona to come out, she gets a big round of applause, and I despise every clapping hand in the place for giving it to her. Shane stands a few feet away from the piano, and they start to play the same song from their practice yesterday. I’m not sure I can take witnessing this piece all over again, but I stand firm, studying both of them, trying to pinpoint some sign that my heart is going to get broken.

And there it is.

If I can’t have him, my heart would definitely be crushed. Does that mean I’m in love with him? I think I might have loved him for a while now, far earlier than would be deemed appropriate. It’s hard for me to know such a talented, beautiful, good-hearted man and not fall a little bit, just enough to zing a tiny spark into my much-guarded organ.

I should never have even agreed to be his friend, but then again, how could I have helped myself? Show me a working-class girl who doesn’t harbour secret desires to be swept off her feet by a handsome, sophisticated guy.

The song ends, and the audience is clapping again, a few people getting to their feet. The next piece, Hungarian Dance No. 5, isn’t as difficult to endure. It’s an up-tempo, almost jovial song. The only problem is, Mona’s been looking at Shane the whole time, a small smile shaping her mouth. He isn’t returning the smile, but at one point he looks back at her, and I feel my chest go pop in a bad way.

What are they sharing? Is her smile a secretive one?

Okay, I think I’ve endured enough. I hurry right out of the auditorium and dash to my quiet spot, the emergency exit on the first floor. I push the heavy door open, and the sharp night air cools me, sliding over my skin like a soothing balm. Tilting my head back, I look up at the night sky, silently asking the stars for answers.

Unfortunately, none are forthcoming.

A couple of minutes later I go back inside, and it’s just my luck that I bump right into my supervisor. The intermission is just about to begin, and I should have been at the bar long before now.

“Where the hell have you been?”

I start to say something, but she cuts me off. “Never mind. I had to put Lara on the bar, since we couldn’t find you. Right now I need to you to prepare these drinks and bring them to Mona Campbell’s dressing room. She’s got a reputation for being a diva, so be quick and try not to make any mistakes.” She shoves a piece of paper into my hand and I nod my head, wondering if this night could possibly get any worse.

I go to the bar and prepare Mona’s drinks, which seems like quite a lot for one very slim woman. Perhaps she’s expecting company. There are special private dressing rooms for visiting musicians, and I try to push away my nerves as I head in their direction. When I reach her room, tray in hand, I find the door slightly ajar. I don’t know why I do, but I pause, taking a quick peek inside.

It’s a good thing I did, because there’s someone else in there with her right now, and that person is Shane. She’s sitting on a chair in front of the dressing table, and Shane is a few feet away, leaning back against a tall closet. His hands are clenched into tight fists, and I can practically see the tension in the room, it’s so thick. Keeping a hold of the tray with increasingly shaky and sweaty hands, I prick my ears to listen.

“Why have you asked me here, Mona?” Shane asks as she brushes some powder onto her nose, turning her face from side to side in the mirror to examine her appearance.

Then she swings around to face him and holds out both her hands. “Do you notice anything missing?”

Shane raises an eyebrow and replies, “A soul?”

Mona pouts and turns back to the mirror. “I’m not wearing my engagement ring.”

“And this is of concern to me why?”

“Justin and I are over.”

“Congratulations.”

“There’s no need to be so sarcastic. I’ve been through a terrible time of it lately. You’d think you could muster a little sympathy.”

“I’m crying a river for you on the inside.”

Mona sighs. “And the sarcasm persists.” There’s a long stretch of silence before she tells him in a soft, sweet voice, “I’ve missed you terribly, Shane.”

“Fucking hell, you’ve got to be kidding me.” He shakes his head, running a hand through his hair and pacing the room now.

“I have. I’ve been in turmoil over what I put you through. I can’t believe my own actions. It was truly awful, and I want to make it better. I want you to forgive me.”

“Not happening. Are we done?”

“Shane!” she cries, standing from her seat and walking toward him. She grabs at his arm, but he pulls right out of her hold. “Please give me a chance. I know it will take time, but I’m willing to work at it if you are.”

She keeps on following him until he’s in the corner of the room and she’s standing in front of him. If he wants to get by her, he’ll have to physically push her out of the way. My feet are on the verge of walking right in there and pulling her away from him, but I remain still. For some reason I need to see how he handles this, and it feels like everything is riding on it.

He stares at her, eyes dark, breathing quickly as his chest rises and falls. She takes a step closer and places her hand tenderly on his arm. “Justin cheated on me, you know. Several times, in fact. It must have been God’s way of punishing me. I’m a different person now. I would never be unfaithful again.”

He keeps watching her, and his breathing slows. “Why are you so intent on destroying me?” he whispers. If I weren’t listening so hard, I probably wouldn’t have heard him. The agony on his face, the emotion passing between the two of them, is too much to take.

One of my co-workers is passing by at that exact moment, so I shove the tray into her hands. “Will you deliver those in there for me? I’ve something I need to take care of.”

“Sure,” she replies, taking the drinks from me.

As soon as the tray is out of my hands, I run.

 

When I locate my supervisor, I tell her I’m sick and need to go home. She doesn’t seem too happy about it, but eventually she gives me permission to leave. I don’t go directly home, though — I go to the big house in the heart of the city where I’ve spent many an hour contemplating.

There aren’t too many people around when I get to Ladybirds. Mary answers the door and invites me in for a cup of tea. I follow her to the kitchen at the back of the building and sit down on a long bench painted a muted shade of green. Rubbing my cold hands together, I watch as she puts loose leaves into a pretty ceramic teapot.

Bob Farrell, the man who owns the house, walks in and holds a pan under the tap, filling it with water. Then he pulls a bag of chickpeas out of the cupboard and pours some into it. His back is slightly hunched over from age, and he’s wearing a brown shirt with cream polka dots. When he sees me he smiles.

“Ah,” he says, “the Blue Lady has paid us a visit. It’s good to see you, Jade.”

“You too, Bob.”

“How’s life?”

“Complicated.”

His wrinkly eyes sparkle. “Stop making me jealous. I remember complicated, exhilarating stuff.”

“Want to swap?”

He grins. “The old ticker wouldn’t be able to handle it, I’m afraid,” he says, lifting his hand to his heart.

“Oh, well. It was worth a try.”

Mary comes over and puts a steaming cup in front of me. I’m not sure what kind of tea it is, but it smells faintly of wet twigs. I lift a questioning brow at her and she explains, “It’s Pu-erh, supposed to be good for when you want to lose a few pounds.”

I laugh. “You trying to tell me something, Mary?”

“No, no! It’s me who’s on the diet. My doctor says I need to lose three stone. He’s the one who suggested the tea.”

I lift the cup to my mouth and take a sip. It tastes like mud and dust. “Your doctor is a sadist,” I say, scrunching up my nose. Both Mary and Bob have a good chuckle.

A minute of comfortable silence passes. Mary drinks her tea — she must be used to the god-awful taste — and Bob goes about preparing his chickpeas. All of a sudden, Mary leans forward and takes my hand in hers.

“Something troubling you, honey?”

I blow air out through my mouth, enjoying the feel of her soft, pudgy hand on mine. “I think I might be in love.”

Her answering laugh is light and tinkling. “Well, now, there’s no need to sound so miserable about it.”

“He’s way out of my league.”

“And who told you that?” Mary responds, her tone disagreeable.

“His mother.”

Bob chuckles some more as he stands by the cooker, stirring his pot.

“If you ask me, his mother sounds like a bit of a B-hive,” says Mary.

Now I’m the one to chuckle. “Is that a mannerly way of saying biatch?”

“The young people aren’t the only ones who like to make up slang,” she replies, a happy grin on her face as she takes yet another sip of that disgusting tea.

“Oh, Mary. I don’t know what to do,” I say, planting my face down on the table to express just how lost I feel. She leans forward and strokes soothingly at my hair.

“What else can you do other than tell him?”

“True, but that would take guts, and I’m a gutless wonder.”

“You’re not fooling anyone, girl. There’s steel in that belly of yours. Tell him. I can’t imagine any man would find it a difficulty to have a beautiful woman confess her love.”

“You have such romantic, old-fashioned notions, Mary, and I thank you for the compliment, but I wish you were right,” I reply, sitting back up and trying to regain some dignity after my face plant of despair.

I spend another half an hour at Ladybirds and then head home. Walking in the door, I shrug out of my coat and slip off my shoes before going straight up to my bedroom. Checking my phone, I see that the battery has died. I’m about to grab the charger when I stop and put the phone back down on my dresser. I need a night of no contact to get my head on straight, so I decide to wait until the morning to charge it.

It’s going to be difficult enough sleeping, since a vision of Shane and Mona in her dressing room, her hand on his arm, has been constantly flitting through my brain. It wasn’t so much the fact that she was touching him that gets to me, but the way he’d looked at her. I couldn’t tell whether it was longing or anger in his eyes. It seems that Justin was right — there is a fine line between love and hate.

I’ve got a couple of audiobooks on my mp3, so I browse through those until I find something that piques my interest. Audiobooks are my Ambien; after a little while listening, I’m usually on a one way ticket to Snoozeville, but not tonight. Tonight my brain has other plans, and those plans involve keeping me up until the wee hours of the morning. I’ve listened all the way to the end of the first book and have started the opening chapters of book two before I finally nod off.

I wake up with a headache, and somebody’s licking my face. Sadly, that somebody isn’t a hot violinist whose name begins with an “S,” but rather another “S” name. Specky lets out a little yip of excitement and then hops off the bed. Hops back on again, hops off, hops back on again. The hyper bitch.

What? It’s perfectly acceptable to call a female dog a bitch.

My bedroom door is wide open, and April’s standing there, laughing her head off.

“Oh, you’re bloody hilarious, April,” I mutter as I sit up and rub the sleep from my eyes.

“It’s after twelve, you know. Shouldn’t you be at work?”

“I have the next couple of days off. By the way, I’m going down the country with Ben, Clark, and Lara for the weekend, so I want no funny business from you while I’m away.”

She grins like she has absolutely no intention of behaving yourself. “Can my boyfriend stay over?”

I widen my gaze, incredulous. “You’ve got a boyfriend?”

“Uh, yeah. You met him the other week, remember?” Her eyes gleam with hope that’s about to be obliterated by yours truly.

“Right, yes, I remember. And no, he cannot stay over.”

“Jade, please. I’m begging you.” She gets down on her knees and puts her palms together like she’s saying a prayer.

“All right, step inside my office and we’ll have a nice long discussion about French letters, more commonly known to you and me as condoms.” I sound out the word just to make this even more embarrassing for her.

She holds her hands up. “No effing way. I’m not talking about sex with you.”

“Then there will be no boyfriends spending the night under this roof,” I tell her happily and she turns on her heel, sulking all the way back to her bedroom.

Unable to keep my curiosity at bay any longer, I grab my phone and plug it into the charger. I need to know if Shane tried to call me. I’m hoping he did, because if he didn’t, that could mean he caved to Mona’s pleadings and decided he’s going to give their relationship another college try.

If he did, then not only might I actually be finding my way to a bottle of vodka in the very near future, but I will also have lost all respect for him.

My phone lights up, and several missed calls flash across the screen. One is from Ben, and the rest are from Shane. They span over several hours, and the last time he tried to phone me was at four in the morning.

In the words of Germans in bad situations the world over: Scheisse.

He never left any voicemails or texts, so I have no clue what’s going on with him. There’s a message from Ben, asking me if I’m all set for our weekend away and telling me that we’ll leave from my house tomorrow morning. I send him a quick message back saying I’ll be ready with bells on. Then I text Shane.

Jade: We’re leaving from my place tomorrow at ten. You still coming?

It’s the safest option. I haven’t mentioned his countless attempts at calling me, nor have I made reference to my ear-wigging adventures last night. I sit back and wait for him to reply, but when I get no messages right away, I go shower and have breakfast. Over an hour passes, and still there’s no response.

I have a couple of errands to run today, one of which involves going grocery shopping and stocking the fridge with food for when I’m away. Another is giving Alec strict instructions to make sure April doesn’t sneak any gentleman callers into her bedroom.

I’m determined not to dwell on Shane’s radio silence, so I get busy and head to the nearest supermarket. As I’m leaving, my hands full carrying plastic bags, I spot a familiar face staring back at me from the magazine racks. I was right when I predicted they were going to put him on the front cover. It’s the edition of Hot Press containing Shane’s interview.

Standing there for far too long, I hesitate over whether or not I should give in and buy a copy. I mean, I overheard most of what was said in the interview, but not all of it. Perhaps there will be some little gem in there that will enlighten me as to who he really is. Something that will make him seem less perfect in my eyes, like expressing a racist sentiment or declaring his support for the neo-Nazi movement.

I also have a shameful desire to slobber all of the pictures that were taken at the photo shoot. Glancing from left to right, like I’m afraid of getting caught buying a porno mag, I snatch a copy off the shelf and bring it to the register to pay before stuffing it into one of my shopping bags.

When I return, I give the downstairs of the house a spring clean and make lunch for Pete. Ever since he’s started going to school again, he’s been coming home on his lunch hour. I’m seeing this as a good sign. If he’s at home, then he isn’t hanging out with Damo and company.

Coming in the door in his uniform, he drops his bag at the bottom of the stairs and walks into the kitchen. I’ve already set a sandwich and a glass of juice on the table, so he swipes up the sandwich and takes a big hungry bite. Then he goes upstairs to get his laptop, muttering about wanting to show me something. When he returns, he plonks his laptop down on the table and fires it up.

I sit on the other side eating my own sandwich, Specky sitting dutifully at my feet waiting for scraps, her eyes full of hope that I’ll drop a nice piece of ham or maybe a pickle. Unlike some dogs, Specky will eat almost anything. I once came home and found her trying to fit her jaws around a Golden Delicious apple.

“Okay, so I want your honest opinion,” says Pete. “I’m thinking of putting it up on YouTube.”

He seems nervous, and I have no clue what he’s talking about. “Putting what up on YouTube?” I ask, hoping to God he hasn’t filmed one of those awful Harlem Shake videos.

“The song I made with Shane. I recorded a sample of him playing the violin and worked it into a dance track I created. Listen.”

I do listen as a slow, heavy beat starts up and rolls into a Dubstep-style track. About thirty seconds into it the violin comes in, weaving through the electronic bits and creating a really original sound. “Wow, it’s brilliant,” I tell him. “I didn’t even know you two recorded anything.”

Pete looks pleased as punch with my reaction but tries to hide his excitement by affecting a cool demeanour. “So you think I should put it on YouTube?”

“Yeah, go for it.”

He grins full-on then, and I reach over to ruffle his hair, to which he immediately scowls. I don’t care. I’m so happy that he’s found something to be passionate about that for a few brief minutes I forget all about my own troubles.

Soon he has to head back to school for his afternoon classes, and I clear the table. Then I pull out the magazine I bought, running my hands over the front cover showing Shane’s handsome face looking off into the distance.

Flicking to midway through the mag, I stop on Shane’s interview, which has the photos of him spread throughout. There’s one that really catches my eye. It’s from when he’d been holding his violin and I’d made a joke. He’d smiled at me. I hadn’t realised it then, but his smile was so full of affection. As I stare at it, I find it difficult to breathe for a second.

Starting at the beginning of the interview, I discover the usual pat questions, which then move on to the part where the journalist brazenly asked about Mona. He puts in a little aside about how Shane clammed up and didn’t seem to want to talk about his ex, which could be a sign that there’s a colourful history there. Huh. You don’t know the half of it, Mister.

At about the three-quarter-way point I discover questions that were asked after I’d gone, one of which stands out.

LB: Do you think you’ll ever write any original pieces again like you did for the Bohemia Quartet’s album, Songs for Her?

SA: For a long time, no, I didn’t think I would. Those pieces were inspired by a particular experience, and afterward I simply didn’t have anything else that inspired me in the same way. Very recently, though, I’ve had a new person in my life who’s made me hear music in my head again. I’ve actually already composed one or two pieces because I just had to get them out. I guess that’s how it happens — the music burrows its way into your brain, and the only way to stop it driving you crazy is to make it real.

Oh, lord. The only new person who was in his life right then was me. At least as far as I know. For a moment my head is awash with fanciful notions of being his muse, before I force myself back down to earth and continue reading.

LB: Well, that’s very exciting. I hope you plan on recording this work at some stage. I’d love to hear more about the new person in your life, though. Is it a girlfriend, perhaps?

SA: *Smiles fondly* No, just a really good friend.

LB: I bet your female fans will be glad to hear that.

SA: *Chuckles* Maybe.

And then the journalist delves into a couple more questions, asking Shane who his biggest idol is and whose career he’d like to emulate, before wrapping things up. I sit back in my chair and sigh, pulling my phone out of my pocket to find the screen depressingly free of any new messages. I’m dying to know what’s up with him. Is he sulking, or has something important come up that’s keeping him away from his phone? Has he fallen into a depression?

Knowing that he was once in such a low place that he considered ending his own life, I worry a little. It makes me momentarily consider going to his house to check up on him, but I don’t. He’s probably just busy today, and if I show up all crazy and worried about him he’ll think I’m being overbearing and clingy.

The rest of my day drags along at a snail’s pace, and just before bedtime I pack my bag for the morning. The weather report is predicting snow again, so I don’t bother to bring anything fancy, just lots of warm, comfy outfits. Ben said the house we’re going to be staying in is a ten-minute drive from the nearest town, so we probably won’t be going out much. That’s fine by me. I’m in the mood for a weekend of relaxation and warming my toes by a nice open fire.

I just really hope Shane decides to show up.

***

It’s two minutes after ten the next morning and there’s still no sign of him. I caved and tried to call him late last night, but I didn’t get an answer.

“Is lover boy coming with us?” Ben asks as he helps Lara and me shove our bags into the back of Clark’s car.

“I’m not sure,” I answer hesitantly. “Can we wait until a quarter past and see if he shows?”

Ben gives me a pat on the shoulder. “Of course, babes.”

When 10:16 hits and he still hasn’t turned up, I decide to swallow back my dashed hopes and expectations, and let us get on our way. Ben allows me to sit in the passenger seat beside Clark because he has this strange aversion to riding in the front unless he’s the one driving. We’re just about to pull away from my house when a taxi stops on the other side of the street. My heart lifts as Shane steps out of the vehicle, a bag thrown over his shoulder and his violin case in his hand.

Wow, what relief I’m feeling right now. It’s a little disconcerting.

He jogs over to the car as the taxi drives off, looking out of breath as I roll down my window.

“I thought you weren’t coming,” I say, my eyes drinking him in.

Shane nods, his hair messy like he didn’t get the chance to comb it this morning. “I didn’t think I was going to make it. I’m running terribly late. I’m sorry, everyone,” he calls to the others.

“Go hop in the back,” says Clark. “I’ve popped the trunk so you can throw your bag in there.”

When Shane gets in the car and Ben starts up the engine again, I glance at him in the overhead mirror. All of a sudden, I’m disappointed that I sat in the front. I want to touch him, want to ask him why he hasn’t been in contact. It’s going to be an awfully long drive, an awfully long five-hour drive, to be exact.

I’m already willing the minutes to go faster so that we can stop off somewhere for food midway through. He leans forward and reaches out, squeezing my shoulder and giving me a strange look. I have no idea how to interpret it.

“Pete played the track you two made together for me,” I say.

“Oh, yeah? What did you think?”

“Amazing. I can’t thank you enough for spending time with him. He’s like a different kid to the one he was a few weeks ago.”

“Well, I’m happy to help,” says Shane modestly.

“Hey, why don’t we all play one of those memory games?” Ben interrupts, and the next few hours are filled with mindless chatter.

 

When lunchtime hits, we’re all starving, so we stop off in a town called Nenagh in County Tipperary, parking in front of an old roadside restaurant. I want to ask Shane a dozen questions, but he places his hand on the small of my back and ushers me inside.

“Can we talk when we get to the house?” he murmurs in my ear, and I’m relieved that he actually plans on discussing things.

“Sure,” I reply before sliding into the worn leather booth, wondering if I should take Mary’s advice from the other night and just tell him. Hand him my heart, and let him decide if he wants to keep it or awkwardly give it back.

I order a tuna melt wrap from the waitress, finding myself sitting in between Lara and Clark. Damn this day. Some higher power is determined to keep me from being even remotely within touching distance of Shane. Ben’s sitting beside him on the other side of the booth, sucking a vanilla milkshake through a straw and eyeing Shane with an amused expression.

“Say, Clarky, honey, didn’t we see Mr Violin here on the front cover of some fancy magazine in the shop the other day?” he chirps.

“Yes.” Clark smiles. “Indeed we did. They got some great pictures of you, by the way.”

Shane gets this cute embarrassed look on his face and scratches his jaw. “Uh, thanks.”

I shake my head at my friend. “Since when was Hot Press fancy?”

Ben puts on a dramatic pout. “It’s fancy to me. Though I’ll be honest, I was more than a little disappointed that they didn’t include any topless shots.”

“Ben!” I exclaim, and he laughs uproariously.

“Oh, look, she’s all possessive of her man, how adorable. Doesn’t want anybody else to see the goods.”

“He’s not…” I start, and then stop myself from completing the sentence. “Just shut up, okay?”

“These cushiony lips are sealed,” he says with a wink.

“Ha!” Lara snorts. “You wish they were cushiony.”

“Well, they will be,” Ben argues. “Clark’s agreed to get me Botox injections for my birthday next year. Haven’t you, honey?”

Clark shifts uncomfortably. “We’ll see.”

“Oh, Jesus, please tell me you’re joking,” says Lara with one eyebrow raised.

I zone out of the conversation then, because Ben mentioning birthdays has reminded me that it’s Shane’s thirtieth tomorrow. He must not enjoy people making a fuss, because he hasn’t mentioned it. The waitress drops off our food, and I slide my phone out of my pocket, doing a search for the nearest bakery to where we’re going to be staying. You know me, any excuse to eat cake.

Somebody nudges my foot, and I look up to see Shane watching me.

What? I mouth.

A small smile curves his lips. “What are you up to?”

I slip the phone back in my pocket and pick up one half of my sandwich. “Nothing.”

“Doesn’t look like nothing.”

“Be quiet and eat your lunch,” I say, sticking out my tongue at him.

When we’re done in the restaurant we get back on the road, and despite it only being mid-afternoon, I’m feeling sleepy. I roll my cardigan into a ball and shove it against the window as a pillow before laying my head down on it, and try to catch a few winks.

Surprising enough, I do manage to fall asleep, and when I wake up the car isn’t moving anymore. I can smell Shane’s cologne, and somebody’s undoing my seatbelt. Opening my eyes, I find him so close to me I could lean forward just a fraction, and our lips would be touching. It feels like it’s been forever since we last kissed.

But I don’t kiss him, because I want to know what’s been going on with him and why he didn’t contact me at all yesterday. And, to be perfectly honest, I’m a little pissed about it. I mean, why hasn’t he explained himself yet? If it were something simple like he lost his phone, then he would have mentioned it already.

“Sleep well, Bluebird?” he asks, his minty breath washing over me.

I sit forward, and he moves back to give me room. “Yeah,” I reply, clipped, and slide out of the car.

“I already brought your bag in. Clark’s put us in the double room to the rear of the house.” He pauses, running his hand back and forth over his head. “Is that okay with you?”

I study him as I question him back. “Are you okay with it?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Well, for a start, you ignored me all day yesterday, and then you show up for this trip late, like you weren’t sure you were even going to come.”

“Let’s go inside and we’ll talk about this,” he says, stepping forward to take my hand, but I move out of his reach.

Frustration grips me as I look around. The house is gorgeous, a long bungalow with a wraparound porch, surrounded by woodland. It’s getting dark and it’s cold out, so I turn away from him and walk inside anyway. I’m not in the mood to have a fight out in the open.

Ben and Clark are in the kitchen, unpacking the food supplies they brought with them.

“Where’s my room?” I ask, standing in the doorway, hands on hips.

Ben gives me a funny look and replies, “The last door at the end of the hall.”

I nod and walk out, making my way down the hall. I don’t realise Shane was hot on my heels until I open the door and he pushes me in, shutting it behind him.

“I don’t get why you’re pissed. You seemed fine earlier,” he says as he stalks me to the other side of the room.

Letting out a sigh, I apologise, “I’m sorry. I think the car nap might have made me cranky.” Going to sit down on the bed, I look up at him. “So, are you going to tell me what’s been going on?”

He sits down beside me and takes my hands into his. “The other night at the concert, Mona asked if we could talk. I should have told her no, but she wouldn’t stop pestering me, so I finally gave in and went to her dressing room.”

“I know,” I say quietly.

Shane looks confused. “You know?”

Pulling my hands from his, I begin to pick at my nails and confess, “I was sent to deliver drinks to that room. When I got there I saw you both inside, so I waited in the corridor and listened.”

“Jade.”

“Look, I know it sounds bad, but I couldn’t help it. I wanted to know what you were doing there.”

His expression is unreadable now, and it makes me nervous. “So you must have heard how she broke off her engagement to Justin and that she wants me back.”

“Yeah,” I whisper, swallowing hard. “I didn’t stay and listen to all of it, though. I couldn’t.”

A period of quiet falls between us, and I wish he’d say something. After several minutes he does. “She threw herself at me.”

“Threw herself at you in what way?”

“She kissed me,” he answers, eyes gauging my reaction.

My heart rate starts to speed up. “And did you kiss her back?”

“Of course not! She took me by surprise. I pushed her away immediately and told her she was being absurd. If you had stayed, you would have heard what I said to her afterward. I told her…”

He falls silent, and I grip his hand in mine. “You told her what?”

Everything hangs in the balance as I wait for his reply, my entire being on a knife’s edge.

His voice is barely audible as he lifts his eyes to mine and murmurs, “I told her that I was in love with someone else, in love so deep that it makes me understand what I had with her was never love at all.”

I gape at him, open-mouthed, as my heart sings in my chest, thumping a mile a minute in glee.

“You’re in love with…me?”

“Yes,” he answers, the one word spoken with agony as his eyes fall away from mine. “You must have known. I’m so ridiculously smitten with you, Jade. I have been since the first night we met.”

Running my hand down his cheek, I ask, “Why do you sound so sad?”

“Because I know it’s not what you wanted. I promised you an arrangement, and love was never supposed to come into it.”

“Oh, Shane.”

“I can go if you want me to,” he says, still staring into his lap. “I can get a bus or a train back to Dublin,” he continues before I interrupt him by pulling him to me and planting my mouth on his. He groans into me, grabbing onto the kiss like it’s a life raft and he’s about to go under.

Our tongues do battle as his chest presses hard against mine, his hands running through my hair. I break the kiss, my breathing erratic, as I stare at him with glittering eyes. “You’re not the only one who feels…” I trail off, unable to finish.

He squeezes his eyes shut before opening them again. “Babe, please finish what you were going to say,” he begs.

An idea strikes me. Instead of speaking, I stand up from the bed and slowly pull off my top. His watches me heatedly, and then I turn around. A loud gasp escapes him as he takes in my tattoo for the very first time. I stand there, as still as if I were the Blue Lady performing on the street. A moment later I feel his warmth against my skin. He’s behind me now, his fingers tracing the ornate musical notes that have been inked along my shoulders, musical notes to the very first track on ‘Songs for Her.’

He looks awestruck. “Are these?”

I nod my head, swallowing down a lump of emotion that’s gotten stuck in my throat. My eyes are watering with tears, and I don’t even know why. Shane keeps tracing the notes, like if he stops they might disappear.

“You once told me there’s nothing more committed than ink under your skin,” he says in a silky voice laden with pure pleasure.

“I might have said something along those lines,” I whisper.

“You’re shaking, honey. Why are you shaking?” he asks, turning me around to face him. When he sees my tears, he brings his fingers up and wipes them away from my cheeks.

“Because this is fucking scary.”

“Loving me back is scary?”

“I never said…”

His fingers move to my lips to shush me. “The ink says it all, Bluebird. Tell me, what made you get this tattoo?”

I laugh through my tears. “It was a moment of reckless insanity, I guess. I was in the parlour having a new sparrow done, and you came on the radio playing the song you wrote for me. Getting the tattoo just felt right.”

He studies me for a long moment. “Do you regret getting it?”

I look back at him, not a flicker of uncertainty in my words when I say, “No, and I never will.”

Even if this love isn’t forever, I’ll never regret meeting him. He’s changed my world irrevocably, and the markings on my back symbolise us so completely.

His arm wraps around my waist, his hand going to my shoulders again like he can’t get enough of the feel of the ink.

“You’re my muse,” he murmurs into my lips. “And I love you, Jade Lennon.”

For a long time I just stare at him, before at last the right words come to me. “I love you, too, Shane Arthur.”

***

Believe it or not, we don’t immediately jump into bed and shag each other senseless. We do, however, lie in each other’s arm, touching one another in small ways. He still hasn’t told me why he was AWOL yesterday, so I ask him.

He gives me a sketchy look as he turns his head to me on the pillows and answers, “Right after I set Mona straight, Justin showed up drunk off his face.”

“Oh, no,” I breathe.

“Yeah. He swung for me, clearly looking for a fight. I tried to calm him down, but there was no talking to him.”

“And?”

“And I punched him in the face. There was nothing else for it.”

I burst out laughing. It’s more the way he says it than the actual idea of him hitting Justin that sets me off, his phrasing so polite and proper. So one of us did get to punch the bastard after all.

When I finally gather myself, I quip, “I sincerely hope you broke his nose.”

Shane grimaces. “I did, actually. It was pretty bad. An ambulance had to be called.”

“Shit.”

“Anyway, I thought I was done with him once he was taken to the hospital. I went home and tried calling you, but your phone was switched off. You were probably sleeping, since it was fairly late. I was going to come see you the next morning, but the police showed up at my house to arrest me. Justin had reported me for assault.”

I sit up straight now. “Oh, my God!”

Shane grimaces and strokes my hair. “I was angry at first. They brought me to the station and everything. It was hours before I managed to contact Mona to come and tell them that I only hit Justin in self-defence. In the end she showed up and gave a statement. I was off the hook. The problem was, she’d brought Mum along with her, and after I was let out of the station, they decided to stage an intervention.”

“Uh, what?”

“They said they wanted to have a talk and persuaded me to come back to my parents’ house. I reluctantly agreed. Big mistake. They sat me down in my dad’s study and basically talked at me, telling me what a bad decision I was making by not giving things with Mona another shot. I seriously thought I’d stepped into the Twilight Zone. I mean, Mum must have the shortest memory in history if she thought being with Mona would be good for me.”

“I don’t think it’s about Mona being good for you, Shane. I think your mother would simply prefer you to be with someone like her rather than someone like me.”

His thumb brushes over my temple as he leans down to give me a kiss. “And that right there proves that Mum has the worst taste possible. You’re the best person I’ve ever met. Mona is quite possibly the worst.”

I laugh and move to straddle him. He stares up at me and slides his fingers into mine. “Oh, you do love to flatter, Mr Arthur,” I purr at him.

“Perhaps I’m hoping it will get me somewhere,” he replies, his voice pure gravel.

I move my hips a little, and he responds immediately, the bulge in his pants getting harder. “You’re in with a good chance, but first, you need to finish your story.”

He lets out a long sigh. “They kept me in the room for hours, arguing with me and, as Mum put it” —he pauses and makes bunny ears with his fingers— “trying to get me to see sense. Mona even broke out the waterworks at one point. It was pure hell. I wanted to leave, but it’s difficult to get out of a room when there are two hysterical women standing in your way. Eventually Mona pulled a strop and left. Then it was Mum’s turn to start crying. I didn’t know what to do, so I tried comforting her and asking if she could just let me live my life in a way that would make me happy. She’d knocked back a couple of shots of gin at this point and got all soppy, bawling her eyes out and saying she only wants what’s best for me. A while later she fell asleep. Dad came down then and helped me get her to bed. He’d been hiding upstairs all night, pretending to be dealing with some urgent work matters.”

“As you would,” I put in, laughing.

“Indeed. After that I was so exhausted from dealing with everything that I fell asleep on the couch. I woke up at nine this morning and barely made it home to pack for the trip. I’d been so stressed when the police came to take me to the station the day before that I forgot my phone. That’s why I hadn’t contacted you.”

My lips curve. “So you weren’t ignoring me?”

He brings his hands to my hips and squeezes. “I would never ignore you, babe. In fact, you’re kind of impossible to ignore.”

I’m about to bend down to kiss him again when there’s a light knock on the door, followed by Ben exclaiming, “Come and look, it’s snowing out.”

I shake my head. “He’s like a five-year-old sometimes.”

Keeping a hold of my hips, Shane slides me off his body. “Come on, Bluebird. Let’s go see the snow.”

We leave the room and go to stand by the sliding doors in the kitchen to stare out at the falling sheet of whiteness. It comes down so hard that the entire ground is covered in a thick blanket within an hour. After we eat dinner, Ben suggests a snowball fight, and I think I’m the only one who’s against the idea. When they all finally wrangle me into to joining in, I go and grab a thick scarf and some gloves before putting on my coat.

The cold air makes my nose go red as I bend down and scoop up some snow, moulding it into a spherical shape. As I’m doing this, I suddenly get lobbed in the shoulder, the snowball smashing to pieces as it hits me. Looking to my right, I see Shane standing several yards away, wearing a huge grin. There’s snow in his ruffled hair, but I try to ignore how adorable it makes him look and instead run after him, snowball in hand.

He dashes through the tall trees that lead into forestland and I stop running, taking aim and flinging my snowball at him. It hits him right on the cheek, and I laugh uncontrollably. My laughter dies on my lips when he makes a deep growling noise and grabs up a handful of snow. Now I’m in for it. I run in the opposite direction, back toward the house. Shane throws the snow at me, not bothering to make it into a ball.

It hits me in the leg, but I keep running. Seconds later I’m being tackled to the ground by two strong arms. He chuckles in my ear as I struggle to get free of his grasp, but he straddles me. My thighs are caught between his legs, both his hands capturing mine and raising them over my head.

“You don’t play fair,” I say sullenly.

He smiles with teeth and murmurs, “No, I don’t,” before he dips down to give me a spine-tingling kiss. Somewhere nearby I can hear Ben letting out a loud wolf whistle. I just about manage to give him the finger, even though my wrists are still captured in Shane’s grip. He drags his mouth off mine lazily and then stands up, offering me his hand and helping me to my feet.

We go inside, and Clark declares that he’s going to make us all a cup of his homemade hot chocolate. I go and change into some comfy PJs, and Ben fires up the DVD player. When I enter the living room, Shane’s sitting on one of the couches, his stare hot as he takes in my fleece pyjamas. By the way he’s looking at me, you’d think I was wearing some slinky lingerie.

I sit down on the other side of the couch, but he pulls me closer, wrapping his arms tight around me and nipping playfully at my ear. His hand settles on the lowest part of my belly, which means that when Ben starts the movie I can hardly concentrate on the story at all. Clark comes in with a tray of hot chocolates, and I take mine gratefully. The warm liquid and dollop of cream on top soothes my nerves.

This is a good feeling, I think. To have great friends. To be loved. I don’t know what I did to deserve the man I’m currently wrapped up in. Then a dozen recollections flit through my mind.

Looking into the eyes of the devil who killed my sister as he pretended to be innocent.

Puking up blood and vodka as I hunched over a toilet bowl.

Going through alcohol withdrawals. God, the withdrawals were the worst.

Okay, so maybe I do deserve this moment. But I’m still slightly on edge, like I’m going to wake up from a dream. It’s not like I haven’t spent half my life imagining fantasies to try to escape the darkness. I remember him telling me he felt like he dreamt me the first night we met. Perhaps he feels the same way. Perhaps I’m just as much of a miracle to him as he is to me.

What he said to me is always in the back of mind, that how we met is proof that there’s magic in the world. Those words are always there, making me feel a little bit better about living this life full of pain.

As the movie comes to an end, Shane’s hand has started to play beneath the elastic of my pants. I clench my thighs together, thinking of all the things I want him to do to me tonight. Clark asks if we’d like some cheese toasties, but I’m too full of butterflies to eat anything else.

Shane offers to help with the toasties, and I go to our room for a breather. One of those little mundane things in life that bring me pleasure is to dive with all my weight onto a bed without a care to the possibility that you might break it. And that’s what I do.

Jump up.

Dive.

Fall.

Relax.

Then I just lie there, my head turned to the window, counting the flecks of snow as they drift like beacons through the dark night. Fairies perch on their edges, hitching a ride down from their secret world in the sky. They are just as pretty and cute as you might imagine, but don’t get too close, or they’ll bite.

Someone coughs from the doorway, and I look to see Shane leaning against the wall. It feels like he’s been there for a while.

“What were you thinking about just now?” he asks with an indulgent smile.

I shrug and turn back to the window. “About fairies that bite.”

“And here was me thinking it might have been sex.”

I laugh. “Well, that, too.”

Shutting the door firmly behind him, he strides from his spot by the wall. With one knee levelled firmly on the mattress, he stares down at me, and this action alone makes my heart speed up. Then he crawls up my body, stopping when he gets to my stomach. He pushes up my top and presses his face to the rounded part of my lower belly, breathing in deep.

“I fucking love the smell of your skin,” he purrs.

“My skin?”

“It smells like the beach, sun, and sand.”

“I’m hoping this is a classy beach we’re talking about,” I joke.

“It’s beautiful. Not a bit of sewage in sight,” he replies with a devilish wink.

“Well, that’s all right, then.”

His fingers run along the edge of my pants, nudging them down little by little. I stare as he pulls them clean off me and then lowers his face to my mound. His lips press down hard over the silky knickers I’m wearing and I tremble beneath him, heaving, expectant.

His finger traces a circle on the innermost part of my thigh before moving to my underwear and shoving them aside, baring just part of me. I can feel how wet I am as he dips a finger in and groans with pleasure. Two fingers come together to slowly slip inside me, his hungry eyes watching my every reaction.

He works them in and out as my channel clenches around them. God, I need more. Using his teeth, he tugs my knickers down and off me at long last, and I moan loudly when his mouth dives right in. I have to stop myself from moaning a second time, aware of the other people in the house. His tongue laps at me as his fingers pump. The hand he’s not using travels up my body to pinch at my nipples, and I think I might combust. He never neglects a single part of me, ensuring I feel him everywhere at all times. I have never felt more possessed, claimed.

He sucks my clit into his mouth, releasing it with a loud pop. I cry out and tense my legs, an orgasm approaching. When I come, it’s with his mouth licking me hard, his fingers moving faster and his other hand pinching my nipple to the point of pain. Shudders wrack me, but as he moves up my body I realise he has no intention of giving me a break.

His clothes are gone within the next ten seconds, a distant memory. My sex is still sensitive from so recently coming, so when he positions himself and thrusts his cock deep inside, I become boneless.

Mouths meeting, tongues colliding, I taste myself on him, and it’s the most erotic sensation. Like not only has he claimed me, but in a way I’ve claimed him, too. His brown eyes shimmer with gold under the dim lamp light as he breaks the kiss.

“Love you,” he pants.

I stare right back at him, unable to form words, but silently communicating that I feel the same say. Fucking hell, if there’s magic in the world, then this is it. He comes with a violent thrust, growling and biting gently on my collarbone. I adore this exact moment, the quiet after he’s poured himself into me, the peace that comes over him as he wraps his arms around me and holds me close as though in reverence.

“Happy early thirtieth birthday,” I whisper with a smile.

I can feel him grinning into my skin, when he replies, “Was that my present?”

“Wait and see. I just might have more surprises in store.”

I stroke his dark hair, loving the feel of it. His face is buried in the crook of my neck, and then I notice he’s humming a tune, humming it so softly that I can only barely make it out.

“What’s that?” I ask, my tender voice echoing around the room and mixing with his hum.

He nuzzles me. “Just a song.”

“One you wrote? It sounds like a lullaby.”

He shakes his head ever so slightly. “I haven’t written it yet. It came to me just now.”

A flush marks my cheeks as I comprehend the fact that he thought of new music while he was inside me. Electric tingles prick at my skin, my every pore coming alive.

To be a muse is to be a wonder in someone else’s eyes, flaws and all.

Six months later…

 

By some strange twist of fate, I find myself in the southwest of the country again. This time I’ve travelled with Shane for a performance. He was asked to come play as a guest with the Symphony Orchestra at the Cork Opera House.

I love seeing him play in the symphony back home, but there’s something extra special about his solos. It’s like I’m getting to view all the passion and emotion that’s inside him from the comfort of my seat in the audience. I get to witness how his playing affects others, how he sometimes brings a tear to their eyes and often brings them to their feet with applause by the end.

I’m really excited for tonight and have even splashed out on a new dress for the occasion.

I know, fancy dress, fancy man. I still feel a little like I’m playing a role when I go to these types of things, but then again, I do enjoy assuming a persona. Or maybe I can be me and be fancy all at the same time. I will shun perfection in order to remain a caterpillar. In fact, I’ve always thought that butterflies are overrated. Caterpillars may be pests, but they do have a certain quirky charm, bumbling along with all those legs and eyes.

Instead of becoming poised and sophisticated, I will continue to bumble.

Speaking of which, Mirin has been slowly coming around to the fact that this caterpillar is going to remain a permanent fixture in her son’s life. I have a feeling Shane might have had a good long talk with her about it, because she came up to me in the concert hall a little after the whole Mona drama and apologised for how she’d treated me. I accepted her apology with quiet grace, while a small surge of triumph settled itself in my chest.

At the moment we’re staying at a swanky hotel, but Shane left just after lunch to go to a rehearsal. In reflection of my unsophisticated ways, I changed into my dress and then decided to treat myself and order a slice of chocolate cake from room service. In fact, I ordered two slices so I could keep one for Shane for when we get back later.

Ever since our weekend break in Kerry, I’ve been reminiscing about cake. I got up early the morning after our first night, leaving Shane snoozing in bed, and got Clark to drive me to the bakery in the nearby town. They didn’t have anything that was as grand as what I’d been envisioning, so I went wild and purchased three large cream sponge cakes. When we arrived back at the house, I stacked them one of top of the other to create a super cake, planting a three and a zero on top and lighting them with the flick of a match.

Now that’s how you say happy birthday, Jade Lennon style.

Shane woke up and came sleepily into the kitchen to be greeted by me, Clark, Ben, and Lara yelling “surprise!” at him, blowing on party whistles and wearing ridiculous cone party hats on our heads. I’m surprised we didn’t give him a heart attack. After all, these sorts of surprises are generally an evening affair. I got it into my head that doing it in the morning would bring an extra level of excitement.

I mean, cake in the morning? It’s so wrong it’s right.

Shane’s eyes lit up when he saw the cake on the table, looking a little more like a monster cake than a super cake, if I’m being honest. I didn’t know what his reaction was going to be, but then he laughed harder than I’d ever heard him laugh, clutching his stomach, happy tears rolling down his face.

That day we had cake for breakfast and lunch. Take that, Marie Antoinette. By the time dinner came around, none of us wanted to look at another slice for at least a month. Anyway, long story short, nowadays every time I want to treat him, I buy him a cake.

So, back to my current cake debacle. I’m so ravenous to shove it down my gullet that I end up dripping a load of chocolate sauce onto my lap. And yeah, I’m so busy enjoying myself that I don’t even notice the error of my ways until I’m at least four bites in. Panicked, I shove the cake aside and pull the dress up over my head. It takes forever but I manage to salvage it by dabbing the sauce off with a damp towel in the bathroom. A tip for getting out stains: dab, don’t rub.

By the time I get outside the hotel I’m seriously late, and it doesn’t help that it takes forever to hail a cab. I mutter swear words to myself all the way to the Opera House, shoving a twenty in the driver’s face and not even bothering to wait for change. The concert tonight is Vivaldi’s Four Seasons, and as I’m being seated by an usher I note that they’re already playing the Summer Concerto. There are some grumblings as I pass people by, but at last I reach my seat. It’s in the second row, and as I look up I see Shane standing in the middle of the stage, diving right into Summer Presto.

I remember him practicing this in our hotel room this morning while I was taking a bath. It sounded wonderful then, but now with the accompaniment of the entire orchestra it’s like it’s a living, breathing thing, invading every one of my senses.

A shower of colourful petals bursts out of the strings section like confetti at a wedding.

Roots explode from the stage floor, crawling swiftly up the walls, making me feel like Jack staring aloft at a gigantic beanstalk. Daisies sprout around my feet, and a bunch of lilies falls into my lap, filling my nose with their pretty scent. Pink chrysanthemums twirl down from the ceiling as though dancing through the air.

Bringing my attention back to the stage, I meet Shane’s gaze, his bow sawing into the strings in quick, vigorous movements. I mouth the word sorry at him, apologising for my unexpected lateness. He only smiles with warm eyes in return, a smile so hot it makes me feel a burning underneath my skin. Whoa, he really is sexy when he’s up there performing. There’s a sheen of sweat on his brow, but that only adds to his appeal.

I relax back into my seat, unable to close my eyes and let the music wash over me because I simply can’t stop staring at him. He’s wearing a perfectly tailored suit with a white shirt, the first two buttons undone, no tie. The vision of his exposed neck causes all sorts of vivid images to corrupt my thoughts.

He walks across the stage, playing his part effortlessly, like it’s second nature. The piece of wood resting beneath his chin is his glittering soul in tangible form, an expression of all he has felt and all he has experienced. He may be playing music composed almost three hundred years ago, but this is his interpretation, and it is an expression of this very moment. It makes me imagine things most would deem impossible, and that’s why it reassures me. I glance down at the hand resting on my lap and smile. One of those diamonds that fell from the sky outside the tattoo parlour that time made friends with some eighteen-karat gold and found its way onto my ring finger.

Standing at the very edge of the stage as the piece come to its dramatic finish, Shane is watching me still.

I hope he never stops.

 

***

A single raindrop falls on my head, but I don’t wipe it away. Statues can’t wipe away the rain, after all. A light shower came down, covering my body in a delicate coat of water. No matter. The sun is peeking its face out over the clouds. If I stand here long enough, I’m sure it will dry me off.

Clink.

Somebody drops a few coins in my hat and walks away. A pity they were in such a hurry to move on, or I might have bestowed them with a precious blue feather.

I decide it’s time for a change of position as I slowly raise my arms into the air. I hold them out on either side of my body, like I’m mimicking the branches of a tree. It’s a difficult position to hold for very long, but the best for getting dry.

Earlier today I got a surprise to find Patrick sitting in my living room. Alec had let him in. We hadn’t heard from him since I sent him off to rehab, and to be honest, I had no clue whether or not he stayed the duration or quit. I decided to avoid calling to check up on him, because the responsibility was on him to get better. In the back of my mind I never thought he would actually stick it.

As I joined him on the couch, I marvelled at his well-put-together appearance. I mean, it actually looked like he’d been showering regularly. His complexion was brighter than I’d ever seen it, and his eyes weren’t as dull as they’d been before. We talked for a long time, him telling me about his journey to sobriety and how he stayed away until he knew he was on the straight and narrow. He’d been on the housing list for a while but finally got allocated a small one-bedroom apartment in Harold’s Cross. I did my best not to well up when he took my hands in his and told me it was all my doing. If I hadn’t told it to him straight that night, he probably never would have realised he needed to make a change.

Alec was unusually silent throughout the exchange, too shocked at his father’s dramatic turnaround to speak. Avery, who’s been a regular visitor to our house in recent months, stood by his side, holding his hand. Seeing my brother happy is the greatest gift in the world.

It seems it’s true that leopards can change their spots. Not too long ago I’d considered Patrick a complete and total lost cause. Now look at him.

Rays of sunlight shine down, breaking through the clouds, the warmth caressing me in my damp costume, drying the sodden feathers of my wings. Somewhere on the street, music trickles its way into my consciousness. A lullaby in strings. It’s the song Shane heard in his head as we made love, so sweet and soft yet full of unspoken declarations.

Out of the corner of my eye I notice a bird land on my outstretched arm. I’ve been so still that it must have thought I really was a tree and not a human at all. Too curious, I turn my head to the side and gasp in surprise. Sitting happily on my arm is a blue sparrow, a bird that must be rare because I’ve never actually seen one in the flesh.

Oh, wow. I don’t think I ever want to move again.

The bird flaps its wings and takes flight, sailing off into the great big sky. I imagine it’s an incarnation of my Sparrow, flying happy and free under the golden sun. Reaching around to my wings, I pull a feather out and make a wish that one day she’ll get born into a happy life with a happy ending while I seek my own in this one. Somewhere, someday, Sparrow will die an old lady surrounded by the ones she loves. I release the feather and it floats away. I keep watching it until it’s nothing but a speck of blue far, far, in the distance. Now I’m still again, never moving, not an inch. Come and see the Blue Lady — you’ll get a feather for your trouble.

Shane’s violin plays on and I savour the melody. I wonder if I have taught him something about life like he wanted me to. All I know is that I’ll never let him try to silence his music again. Looking off into the sky where the blue sparrow has now disappeared, I wrap this one moment in a box and stick it with a label.

It reads, “The Most Beautiful Way to Live.”

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L.H. Cosway has a BA in English Literature and Greek and Roman Civilisation and an MA in Postcolonial Literature. She lives in Dublin city. Her inspiration to write comes from music. Her favourite things in life include writing stories, vintage clothing, dark cabaret music, food, musical comedy, and of course, books. You can contact her at .