A band practice was arranged after Jake agreed to do the Amsterdam concert. They met in the basement of the Raison D’être studios where Shard had been practicing since the fire in the barn and worked on a song Jake had written before the accident. He felt no affinity to the lyrics or the melody yet it came alive as they experimented with it, each member building up the layers of harmony.
When band practice was over they crossed the Ha’penny Bridge and entered Julia’s Tavern. The manager leaned over the bar and slapped a sympathetic hand on Jake’s shoulder. ‘How are you, mate? Silly question… but you know what I mean?’
‘It’s tough. But I’m managing.’
‘Any improvement?’
‘Not yet.’
‘Jesus, but that’s a hard one to fathom.’ He poured a measure of whiskey and pressed the glass into Jake’s hand. ‘Compliments of the house. The slot’s still here on Sunday afternoons whenever you’re ready to come back.’
Jake downed the whiskey and ordered a double measure, knocked it back with the same ferocity.
‘Take your time, man,’ said Hart. ‘I’m driving you home tonight.’
The Shard van was parked along the quays. Green circles of light dazzled the Liffey as Hart and Reedy supported him over the Ha’penny Bridge. In the passenger seat Jake fumbled with the safety belt until Hart took it from him and fastened it. Street lamps lunged towards him. High towers of spangled glass swayed from side to side. Even when he closed his eyes he could see them. He must have translucent eyelids. He shouted at Hart to stop and opened the door in time to throw up over the kerb. He lay back against the seat, his eyes swimming.
Next morning he was unable to remember leaving the pub or anything about the journey home. His last memory was of tossing back a shot and laughing at something Feral said about Maggie. Something bitchy about how she never cleaned the kitchen counter after she made a sandwich and how, when Feral complained, she was accused of being a nagging wife. It seemed hilarious, two wives bitching about breadcrumbs, that he laughed himself into a blackout and ended up in bed, his clothes placed neatly over a chair? Who had undressed him? He was too hung-over to feel ashamed. Plenty of time for that later.
He winced with shock when he glimpsed his reflection. His skin looked as if it had been stretched on a rack then suddenly released. When had he last suffered such a hangover? The binge culture had passed him by. He was too busy changing nappies and mixing feed formula when his peers were seeking alcoholic obliteration.
He felt slightly revived after the shower, although his eyes still appeared to have developed cataracts overnight. His notebook was open on the bedside locker. He kept it nearby at night in case an idea for a song came to him, a wisp that would be gone by morning unless he wrote it down. Last night he had written, or tried to write, another song. Some of the lyrics actually made sense. How had he functioned in that unconscious state? He imagined Nadine groping through that same dark void, lost in a tunnel with no light to beckon her onwards.
Chapter 64
Nurse. The first word comes. Nurse…nurse….nurse….
‘Hello, Nurse.’
‘Oh, hello there, Jessica. How nice to see you again. How do you think our Nadine is looking today?’
‘Stronger than the last time I was here. Has there been any change in her condition?’
‘Sadly, no. Such a tragedy. It’s kind of you to take the time to sit with her. However, strictly speaking, only family are allowed outside visiting hours.’
‘I understand. But Nadine is very dear to me. My work hours are so unsociable. I won’t stay long. I promise. Do you think she’s aware I’m here with her?’
‘I’d like to believe so, but I’m afraid we still don’t understand the full depths of the unconscious mind. Hearing is the last to go, so we’re told. Her family are convinced she can hear them. They tell her everything that’s going on in their lives. Such devotion. Isn’t that right, Nadine?’
‘It’s been six weeks now, Nurse. How much longer can she go on like this?’
‘Who knows? Sometimes her husband plays music. I believe he’s in that band… what’s it called? Stone or something like that?’
‘Shard. They’re good. I’m a fan.’
‘Nadine, I’m going to take your blood pressure then I’ll fix your pillows, make you more comfy. Oh dear, blood pressure spiking. I’ll need to call the house doctor. Jessica, I’m sorry. I’ll have to ask you to leave.’
‘I understand, Nurse.’
‘Call me Imelda. We believe in an informal atmosphere in Mount Veronica. Nadine, your friend is going now but she’ll be back again to see you. What’s this they say about friends? Old friends are gold, silver new.’
Not Jessica…not Jessica…not Jessica…
Chapter 65
Jake
The concert sold out. A growing fan base, said Mik, and this was only the beginning. The venue was a deconsecrated church that had been converted into a concert hall. Its hallowed past was still evident in the high, vaulted ceilings and stained glass windows. The audience was hushed when the band came on stage, as if a residue of contemplation and meditation still resided within the walls. They were more interested in listening to the music than dancing to it, and enthusiastically applauded at the end of each number. The familiar adrenaline kicked in and it was possible, briefly, for Jake to lose himself in the moment.
Mindfulness. Hart talked a lot about it. No rehashing the past, whipping it around in a mindless circle. No anticipating the future in that same negative loop.
The strobe lights flashed… red, green, yellow… blue… blue… she was out there somewhere. He could tell. The prickling tension in his spine. But he was unable to see her in the crowd. He was overwrought, he decided. Seeing shadows of a lithe and teasing dervish in the smoky-blue haze.
When the last encore finished he stood by the edge of the stage to sign CD’s and autographs. The rush of adrenaline drained away as he approached the bar. Draught pumps, arched as sea horses, shone brightly on the counter. Bottles of spirits lined the mirrored wall behind the bar. He shook his head when Daryl offered to buy him a drink and asked, instead, for a glass of water.
Daryl showed him the latest video of Jasmine in her bath, her hair in a top knot, bubbles on her nose, loud chuckles. She looked so plump and wholesome compared to Sara with her tiny white cap and fingers, still as delicate as stems. Daryl put the phone back into his pocket and stiffened, his gaze focused on the mirrored wall. Jake did not need to look in the same direction to know that Karin was standing behind them. Her dress, it was the one he remembered from Dee Street, clung to her like a sheath, its metallic hues glinting in the brass pumps.
‘We have to talk.’ She came to his side and spoke softly. ‘Can we go somewhere private?’
‘We’ve nothing to say to each other.’ He, too, kept his voice low.
‘Yes, we do.’ She touched his arm. ‘If nothing else, I want your forgiveness. Please, Jake, all I need is a few minutes of your time.’
Outside the club a couple who had bought a CD of Collapsing the Stone stopped when they recognised him and asked him to sign the cover. Karin leaned against the wall and waited while they questioned him about the band. The overhead lighting pooled around her, honed her profile into the delicate setting of a cameo. For an instant, noticing her unguarded expression, he was startled by the forlorn slope of her mouth.
‘I’m genuinely sorry about Nadine’s accident,’ she said when the couple walked away. ‘I don’t want to add to your distress – ’
‘Then why are you here?’
‘Liam insists I stop attending your gigs. We’re moving to Brisbane soon. Is that far enough away for you?’
‘No.’ He shook his head. ‘Wherever you go, it’ll never be far enough.’