CRAIG
CRAIG
From the second I arrive at the Red Bull Inn, I feel so on edge I think I might pass out.
Drink in hand, I shadow Alex through the door from the bar, passing by the toilets to the next door, looking about myself on high alert. It’s just an acute gut feeling I have that my being here is a recipe for disaster.
The dim backroom hasn’t changed one bit since I last set foot in it, more than a full year ago. Same dusty red curtains cover the tiny windows, same shoddy platform masquerading as a stage, and same circular tables, carved into and stained. That previous visit was brief and ended with Lyndsay in tears for reasons I can’t recall.
My roving gaze swiftly locks on her sitting closest to the makeshift stage, fair head leaning in close to the Magpie beside her. Neither one of the pair glances up at our entrance, and I’m almost certain it’s deliberate on both counts. Steph sits across from Lyndsay, the first to spot us. Her eyes narrow on Alex only to hastily look away, her middle finger flicking up at him.
Alex huffs out a sigh, crossing behind the trio. He claims a small table tucked in nearest to the street-side exit door.
“Fighting again?” I ask, dropping down on the chair opposite him.
“Little bit,” he replies.
“Want to talk about it?”
“No.”
And that’s where I leave that, thankful I’m at least saved from joining them.
Derek’s setting up his drum kit while his bandmates deftly organise themselves around him, filling their tight performance space. Catching me watching, he winks, and I snap my head away. The memory of Sebastian’s confession prickles my mind in a way I won’t even try to quantify.
Lyndsay laughs at something Mikey says, Steph remarking louder than necessary, “You adorable poof,” and I’m looking elsewhere.
There are occupants at two other of the room’s six tables, none of whom I recognise. It makes for quite the claustrophobic vibe.
“How are things at home, then?” Alex jolts me back to him.
“Fine,” I reply automatically. “I mean, I’m here now, aren’t I? So not as bad as things could have been.”
“Dad have much to say last night?”
“Nothing new.”
It’s true enough. For all that Dad voiced his piece the instant I’d settled a sleeping Christopher down in his cot yesterday evening, little of his speech differed from what Mum had already said — tone imperious and shoulder grip crushing. I’m banned from my ‘meddling’ at the farm, and I’m extra banned from YCS, while Gary’s been granted open access to my college notes alongside my time.
But Alex simply nods, knowing better than to push for details. “Cheers for coming.”
“Sure,” I say, although I’m not at all sure why he insisted I should.
We arrived in Roxy, and so I have to make my pint stretch. It wouldn’t usually matter because Alex isn’t much of a drinker, and he’s ever keen for the chance to take Roxy’s wheel. But for once — of all the times he could have chosen — he seems intent on throwing caution to the wind tonight, his cider already two-thirds down. I’ve just taken a meagre sip, setting my glass down on a dog-eared beermat, when the door beside us swings open to admit a welcome blast of fresh air.
“Oh my gosh!” Ashleigh bursts in through it, her eyes as wide as her grin. She’s fixed instantly on us. “You actually came!”
And…
And, of course , she’s not alone.
Following her only to halt stock-still in the doorway, Sebastian appears every nonexistent bit as at ease with the scene he’s stepped into as I feel. He catches on me briefly before his attention strays around the room and then to the band, now positioned ready to start. His lips press tight, jaw hardening.
“Hey, you,” Alex raises his chin in greeting as Ashleigh invades our table.
“Hey to you, too,” she returns. Dropping her head close to mine, she slips her arms around my neck, catching me up in a hug I’m unable to dodge. Her blue hair now has turquoise tips, and she’s wearing it loose and wavy, swept over one shoulder. A stray strand tickles my cheek. “Steph said you would. I’m glad you did.”
“Steph said?” I look to Alex, frowning, but he only shrugs and lifts his drink to his mouth. “She must have known before I did, then.” Because my awareness of this evening’s plan is barely an hour old.
I’m not released until Sebastian makes a move, the door banging shut at his back. “And here we all are,” he says, “awesome.” Ashleigh abruptly straightens up from me to shove him. He pretends to stumble, catching himself on the table, and it’s impossible not to snicker at his wounded guise. “You swore you’d be nice, Ash, remember?”
“Actually, what I said was I would try to be nice if you would at least try to enjoy —”
“Did my ‘awesome’ not sound cheery enough?”
“You spend way too much time in your own company, Bas.”
“Like that’s a bad thing? I’m a riot.”
“ Sure . Dobby might —”
“Bitch, please!” Steph’s interruption carries over the screech of her chair’s legs against the floor as she stands, beckoning Ashleigh. “Quit wasting your time on those losers. Get over here!”
Alex stiffens, teeth grinding, and he necks the last of his cider. “Ever such a fucking delight,” he mumbles into his empty glass. I’m becoming increasingly concerned.
On the stage, Derek steps up to the microphone and removes it from its stand. “Take your seats and get comfortable, fine ladies and dubious gentlemen, for this exclusive show is about to begin.” His storm-dark gaze hooks on our table as he prowls the raised perimeter, a smirk crooking one corner of his lips. “To old friends and special guests alike, we aim to please.”
“Ash!” Steph’s gesticulating turns frantic as Derek passes the mic off to a bandmate and retreats to his place at the back.
Ashleigh looks somewhat torn, but it’s short-lived once her name becomes a chant in time with the guitarist’s intro. “Okay, so I’d best just…” she doesn’t bother to finish excusing herself over the crash of drums. Instead, flapping a hand toward the other table, she scrunches up her nose, turns on her heel, and prances away.
“Such a delight,” Sebastian deadpans, watching her go.
I watch him, marking his stubborn resistance to the almighty tumult of sound. The very second the vocals kick in, I hear the girls’ voices erupt into toneless song— “You’ve got no game, I feel sorry for you!”—and it’s only then that he pulls out the chair between Alex and me, slumps down onto it, and folds his arms.
For a long while, none of us speak. It’d be tough to make ourselves heard over the music anyway, but we barely even acknowledge each other. While Alex glowers off into the middle distance, I fixate on Sebastian’s knee, the reflexive and restless bounce to the beat belying his assumed apathy.
“What terrible decisions led you here?” I finally crack, bending in closer to him.
His head tilts a fraction, eyes gliding smoothly across to me, then dipping to my pint. “I could ask the same of you.”
The blatant dig halts my hand mid-reach for the glass. “Are you any part of whatever this is about?”
“I sure as shit hope not.” He pulls back and looks away.
As the third song launches into its chorus, Steph drags Lyndsay and Ashleigh up to dance front and centre of the stage, snaring them into quite the performance of her own. The Magpie appears more than happy to stay with their drinks, taking out his phone to snap some pictures. A couple from one of the other tables get up to join the girls, and just as Lyndsay’s eye inadvertently catches on mine like a plea for rescue, she’s blocked from view.
It’s the jolting graze of a beer mat past my ear that whips my attention around to Alex, and in the same instant, I feel the needling return of Sebastian’s frown on the side of my face. But when my brother then pushes up from his seat, mouthing only the word “ BAR ” at me, and starts across the floor as if unconcerned whether he’s accompanied or not, I’m quick to find my feet.
Gesturing at the empty beermat where Sebastian’s own beverage should be, I lace my tone with a copious measure of go-fuck-yourself as I offer, “Anything you want?”
“No thanks,” he responds, flashing me a smile that reeks of fake.
My return smile is no less fraudulent. “Won’t be long.”
“Don’t rush for my sake.”
I abandon him to Derek’s drum solo. Ashleigh’s dance stalls as she spins and spots me. I don’t linger, pushing open the door and exiting the back room without a backward glance.
When I join Alex, he has already placed his order, and Joe, our favourably shady barkeep, sets two pints of cider down in front of us. My brother immediately claims them. “They’re both mine,” I’m informed, “before you get any ideas.”
“Whoa, okay.” I raise my hands in easy surrender. “What the hell’s got into you tonight?”
“You mean apart from my girlfriend being batshit crazy?”
“Well, yeah. It’s not like that’s breaking news or anything.”
Propping his elbows on the bar, he rakes his fingers through his hair, dishevelling its artfully crafted style. That’s when I know there’s something more up with him.
Instead of confessing it, however, Alex simply collects his drinks and once again leaves me behind, heading right back through to the rehearsal gig we’ve just escaped. The band is starting in on their crowd-pleasing favourite. I can hear the heavy bass pounding through the dividing walls even as the door closes behind him, and I take a moment — or several — to silently curse the wasted trip before resigning myself to, once again, trail after him.
“Bury me!” slams the song to its violent end. Steph’s scream rings clear across the room for a second as the final guitar note whines into silence. Lyndsay stands with Mikey, hands clapping above their heads, while Ashleigh continues to twirl.
And Sebastian has bailed on us in turn, switching sides the instant we stepped out. His auburn head is prominent amongst them, the only one turned toward me as I retake my seat across from Alex. He hitches a dismissive shoulder when our gazes meet.
The band’s frontman breathes heavily into the microphone, wiping at the sweat on his brow. “Quick break,” he pants, his voice hoarse. “I’m parched.”
I watch Desperate For Aces grouping up to slap backs and bump fists before they disperse from the stage. Derek shoots me a broad grin as he jumps off the edge to the floor, but thankfully, he makes no move to approach us. Then again, why would he? There’s no praise or swooning to be gained from this corner. Grabbing himself a spare chair, he drags it to fit snugly in between his doting cousin and his pining ex.
“I’ve remembered where I know Bas from,” Alex hurtles me back to him.
I get the uncomfortable feeling that he’s been paying closer attention to me than I’ve realised. “Yeah?”
“It’s here,” he goes on with a nod. “That night last year.”
My insides lurch. “Oh, yeah?”
“Makes sense you don’t remember. You were shit-faced and too caught up in convincing Lyndsay that she’d never really cared for you. But he was here. With Derek.”
“Well, there we have it then,” I say, and he’s right; I have no recollection whatsoever of Sebastian being here. My gaze trips down to my Vans as though I might literally see my guts start to ooze out through the toes. “Puzzle solved.”
If his contrary girlfriend genuinely is the whole of his issue tonight, then he’s choosing a piss-poor way of dealing with it. I don’t talk — or even allow myself to think too hard — about that night when I let my closest friend walk away from me, but my brother knows more than anyone just exactly how much the loss of Lyndsay hurt. That he’s throwing it in my face in such an offhanded manner feels something like an unwarranted attack.
“No, I mean, like, he was with -with Derek, bro,” Alex doesn’t take his cue to back off, his cool eyes levelled on me and watchful of my every slight nuance.
If it’s a rise he wants, he can get screwed. I refuse to play along. “So?”
“So, you already knew?”
“He’s told me.”
“He’s told you he’s gay?”
“No. Because he’s not.”
“Sure looked gay as shit that night, with Derek’s tongue rammed down his —”
“Al,” I cut him off, my teeth gritting despite my resolve. “I’ve mentioned Brianna to you, right?”
Alex flicks a look across at Sebastian, and I determinedly do not. An almost imperceptible head shake prefaces his next words, lifting a brow and stepping over my question. “From what I recall, Sebastian had been very sober and very into him.”
“Bas takes whatever he can get. Simple as that.”
A beat of silence follows, and I’d like to think it marks the end of this nonsense. My brother, however, doesn’t look at all happy with my response.
“Not bent, then,” he says, apparently feeling the need to clarify what I’ve just said. “Yet also not straight.”
I shrug. “Your point?”
“He’s not shy about it, either. And what, that’s of no concern at all to you, huh?”
“If this somehow has anything to do with anything, Al, I’m not getting it.”
His hand rakes through his hair yet again, devastating the spiked runway, and he downs a substantial mouthful of cider like a taunt. My hand itches for the pint I left on the table between us, except it’s disappeared. I can only assume Sebastian took it, but I’m not about to check. Instead, I return my stare to my feet and say nothing. Alex holds his stare on me and says nothing, either. After roughly a full minute of this, he gives first.
“Dad called last night.” The subject change is a shock but not an improvement. “Late.”
“What?”
“He wanted to talk to me. About you.”
My blood chills. But then, of course, for no other reason has Dad ever called his eldest son. “And what could he possibly be blaming you for now?”
“Actually, nothing. He wanted a favour .”
“He…” I blink at him.
“Yeah. Even offered to pay me for my service.”
Each of his words causes a teeny unsettling pain, like stepping on a drawing pin, sharp pricks of awful clarity. “He asked you to keep tabs on me, didn’t he?”
“ Asked is definitely not the word I’d use.”
“And that’s why you insisted I came tonight?”
“To tell you,” he confirms my accusation with a single nod of his head.
Glaring, I wait for him to go on. Indignation rises fast and furious when he doesn’t. “Is Tinwell not fucking spy enough for him?”
“Guess not.”
“How does it work, then, Al? You get paid for every hour you spend with me now, or is it more of a cash-per-report type deal?”
He huffs out a hard laugh designed to mock my insult. His expression remains flat, indecipherable. “You have got to be shitting me.”
“Is there specific dirt he’s hoping you’ll unearth, or does he expect a blow-by-blow account of my every move?”
“Credit me with some honour, mate. Fuck, as if I agreed!”
“Are you getting a premium for keeping me in line, too?”
“Seriously,” his tone holds a warning.
But I’m not backing down. This is where we’ve been headed from the start. “So, you expect me to believe,” I continue, straightening in my chair and seizing his second glass from the table, taking a belligerent gulp, “that you were simply stricken with this sudden desire tonight to get totally tanked?”
“That has a fair bit to do with Steph and nothing at all to do with Dad.”
“Oh, sure. Except, you and Steph are always fucking fighting, Alex, and Roxy is always your go-to release.”
“Don’t you think you’re long overdue a turn at being the responsible one of us?”
“And the timing is purely coincidental?”
“I get it, bro, okay? I understand how shitty this is to hear. But —”
“No. You don’t. You couldn’t possibly have any idea how it feels to live like a bug under a microscope. My private business has been contracted out as a profitable little sideline, for fuck’s sake!”
I don’t need Alex’s darting glance to make me aware of the unwelcome attention I’ve drawn to us. It’s nettling my skin. Snatching the pint back off me, splashing cider over both our hands, Alex sets it back down on the table, safely out of my easy reach.
“Your drinking’s out of control,” he says, his voice lowered. “Has been for a long, long while. And it’s the one thing Dad should be concerned about but isn’t. Excuse me for wanting you to have a clear head while I told you of his latest scheme, thinking you just might hear me out before flying off the deep end.”
My head shakes at his words, but I’m not really taking them in. A sudden, terrible realisation sends me bolting to my feet, chair sent toppling, and I blurt it out without thought: “Whatever bull Dad’s suggesting Bas is to me, we’re not even friends, Al, okay? He’s no one.”
Alex is up and in my face before I can register his move. My shirt scrunched at the neck in one of his hands; the look he gives me is blistering. “You truly are a dumb fuck!”