TUESDAY
I awaken slightly confused. For a moment I think I’m in Jaq’s bed, which startles me wide awake. Sitting up, I can see the subtle differences between this room and his room. Mostly the absent music stand. I rub my face.
Why must I spend my life sleeping where my clothes are not?
At least this time I’m not faced with the dilemma of putting a nasty party dress back on or leaving the house in my knickers. Re-wearing casual clothes is somehow far less offensive to me.
My stomach growls, and I check my phone – I’ve slept in a bit. I think I recall where the kitchen was. I put my shoes back on, run my fingers through my hair, and try to quietly make my way to the kitchen. I can’t hear Jaq practicing, so I don’t know if he’s up, or out, or just busy doing something else.
As I reach the kitchen doors, I stop.
Someone’s in there.
I can’t make out the words, but I hear the irritation in Lionel's voice as he talks. If he’s on the phone…
I turn to go back when I hear the faintest mumble in reply – he’s talking to Jaq.
I’m not sure if I should, but…
I creep to the door and place my ear close.
‘…seriously dude, what’s your problem?’
Jaq mumbles.
‘No, you don’t get it – relationships take work. You can’t just expect Jo to be okay with your usual bullshit.’
‘Well, maybe I can-'
‘You fucking selfish shit – she doesn’t deserve this. She’s too smart to let herself be treated like this. She’ll leave you.’
‘What the fuck do you know?’
‘Nothing, because you don’t talk to me anymore! I’m trying to help you!’
Lionel’s… defending me?
I step back from the door. I don’t know if this is a good thing or not. I don’t think Jaq’s prepared to argue like this… and I don’t want to be the cause of an argument.
Lionel is a good person. He seems to genuinely care about Jaq. I can't let them argue over this.
I reach for the door to interrupt them just as it swings open.
‘Oh!’
Lionel's worried face is backlit by the bright kitchen.
‘You heard that didn’t you.’
‘…some of it.’
‘Sorry.’
I look past Lionel to Jaq, sitting at the table with his back to me. I quickly reach a decision.
I pat Lionel’s arm and say,
‘Don’t leave yet.’
He steps back to let me pass, and I go over to Jaq.
‘You need to talk to Lionel.’
Jaq looks up, frowning.
‘No.’
‘Then I’ll talk to him.’
Jaq's frown deepens.
‘No!’
In a lower voice, I say
‘He’s not stupid. He knows you. He knows there’s something wrong. He has to be told.’
‘…Told what?’
I look up – Lionel’s right beside me.
I glance around. This room is too easy to eavesdrop on. Even I managed it.
‘Maybe this isn’t the right place. Let’s all go out.’
The three of us leave in silence. Jaq’s scowl frozen in place. Lionel’s irritation manifests in his heavy footfalls. I hate this. Communication is my middle name. I chat with old ladies on the bus. I waffle on about the weather with the clerk at the grocery store. This silence is stifling.
We reach Jaq's car. Once all the doors are shut, I turn and rest my back against my door.
Deep breath. Deep breath.
I'm terrified I'm about to ruin everything, but, at the same time, Jaq isn't stopping me. He mustn't think that doing this is the end.
‘I’ve known Jaq for… about a week now.’
Lionel looks shocked. Jaq sulks.
‘We’re not engaged. We’re not even dating.’
‘What?’
‘Jaq lied to Frances and Isaac because they were threatening to disinherit him if he didn’t hurry up and get married. He hired me to help him complete the lie.’
Lionel's face is a picture of disbelief.
I point to the garage door.
'We need to go to the hotel. Lionel needs to see the plan.'
----------------------------------------
I cross the room to the suitcases, still sitting there, waiting to be taken home. I take out the first folder of notes. I put it into Lionel’s hands. He stares at it.
‘You’re not joking…’
He flips through the timeline.
‘I’m sorry you weren’t included from the start. Jaq was so distressed and focused on your parents that… he forgot to tell me he had a brother… and then you were caught up in the lies.’
He looks up, his expression is unreadable. Hurt? Concern?
He turns to Jaq.
‘You’re a fucking arsehole. I’ve always been there for you. You could have fucking said something. Why the hell are they threatening you?’
Jaq remains silent, staring at the floor.
‘Now you’ve gone and hired yourself a nursemaid to clean up your bullshit – you’re too fucking lazy to even do it yourself.’
That wasn’t nice. I don’t feel so good.
Lionel gently takes my hand.
I’m confused.
‘Come on Jo. We’re going out.’
Then louder, to Jaq;
‘And I’m not talking to you until you have the decency to apologise.’
Lionel pulls me to the door, and we walk to the elevator. Once inside, he hugs me tightly.
‘I’m sorry about my brother. He’s… ugh. I’m sorry he dragged you into this.’
‘It’s okay…’
He squeezes me tighter and holds me all the way to the ground floor. I’m not sure if he’s trying to comfort me, or if I’m supposed to be comforting him. I hug him back, in case I’m being hugged to comfort him. I'm still not sure why we're both leaving.
The elevator bell sounds, and he releases me, straightening his coat.
‘Where are we going?’
He grins at me.
‘You’ll see.’
----------------------------------------
When we climb out of the car, we’re in a quieter part of the city – tall buildings loom to block out the sky, fighting with the plane trees that line the road. We walk only a short distance before we’re standing in a huge open space, dominated by a hulking, yellow… thing.
I walk over to it, and rest my hands on the brightly coloured metal surface. It’s all angles and gaps. Bulk without substance.
Lionel rests his arm on my shoulder.
‘Ta-da!’
I look at the monstrosity before me, then back at Lionel.
‘Thought you’d like it.’
This was a famous work of art – bought by the city and slammed by the media for being grossly expensive and incredibly ugly. They wound up removing it from its place of prominence in the heart of the city… and I guess it was eventually dumped here. People didn’t understand it then. I grin and crouch to remove my shoes. Once they're off, I reach up to pull myself onto it. It’s not an easy beast to climb, but I’m determined.
I understood it. I always understood it. Teeny tiny child me understood it. Maybe not the way it was intended… but I understood it.
It was fun.
Lionel climbs up after me, an arm out to catch me if I fall. It's a sweet gesture, but I'm pretty sure he's more likely to slip than I am.
Balancing carefully on the odd slopes, I make my way to the top of the sculpture and perch.
‘How did you know I loved this stupid thing?’
‘It was a hunch. The way you talked about art and sets yesterday… reminded me of this.’
‘I haven’t seen this since I was a kid. I thought I saw in the paper that it had been destroyed.’
He laughs.
‘How exactly does one destroy… ten thousand tonnes of ugly?’
I grin.
‘Thank you for bringing me here.’
He smiles back.
‘Thank you for telling me the truth.’
My mood darkens a little.
‘…sorry. I didn’t…’
‘Shush. You did what you had to. Now? Now you can do what you want.’
I look out across the open space – so quiet and peaceful. It’s a pity this thing wasn’t somewhere more populous, where kids could run around under it and climb up the sides. I’d love to build public sculptures like this. Maybe ones that were a little more agreeable to the general populace so they wouldn’t get thrown in the proverbial closet and ignored. Things that would take pride of place in a playground or a park.
‘I want to make stuff that people love.’
‘So do it.’
He makes it sound so easy.
‘Anyway – we’ve got time to kill before Jackie calls me back. I’m guessing at least another hour. We’ll freeze sitting up here the entire time. Anything else you want to do?
‘Actually, yeah. I have an errand I want to run.'
‘Sure, lead the way.'
We gracelessly dismount the sculpture, and I direct Lionel to the shopping center Jaq had taken me to, what felt like months ago. We ride the same escalator up to the top floor, Lionel fidgeting with his phone expectantly. I still have to thank the clerk from the boutique, and I don’t know when I’ll next have the chance. I hope she’s working today. If not… I guess I’ll leave a message for her.
I don’t know her name.
Maybe I’ll just come back another time.
I spot the curly Lucinda's Solace sign and hurry over to check if she’s there – I hold back a triumphant fist pump, and walk in. She’s busy re-hanging some blouses and doesn’t notice my approach
‘Hello! I was hoping you would be here!’
She whirls, surprised.
‘Oh, hi! You’re back already!’
I pull the magazine out of my handbag, and she looks apprehensive. I'm glad she knows she did something wrong.
‘While I'd really prefer you hadn't photographed us secretly... thank you so much for keeping my dress size to yourself.’
She laughs, and I hold out my arms.
‘Can I give you a hug?’
‘Sure.’
I give her a quick squeeze, and when I let her go, she says;
‘Actually, I have something for you… just a sec.’
She dashes through a door marked ‘Staff Only’ and comes back with a small bag.
‘This is from my boss, to thank you for the good press. It’s from the new line.’
I look inside at some gorgeous floral fabric.
‘Thank you! Now I’m doubly indebted to you! You saved me from embarrassment, and you’re giving me presents? You’re an angel!’
I see Lionel hovering outside the doorway, phone to his ear, frowning.
‘-ah, I’m sorry to love and leave you, but it looks like the call that my poor future brother-in-law was waiting for might have finally arrived. I'll be back soon though. I want to see those new designs.’
I tap his arm to let him know I’m there. He glances at me and offers his elbow. I take it, and we walk together.
‘…if you’d have told me, I’d have helped you.’
I hear Jaq’s mumbles on the other end of the line. Lionel sighs
‘It’s fine… I forgive you.’
The apology was awkward, probably made worse by me standing nearby.
It was an apology, nonetheless.
I feel relieved. With Lionel helping, there is far less pressure on my flimsy story and planted proof. He can corroborate details and dismiss his parents’ doubts. He could help me work out how to make my tale more appealing… appealing enough that Frances won’t try to bully Jaq into leaving me.
'Mother seriously didn't explain why? Did you ask Father?'
Lionel's face shifts from concerned to annoyed.
'Of course you should ask him.'
He sighs heavily. I try to stop myself from staring at him by examining the windows of the stores we pass.
I don't understand most of modern fashion. I don't get how flimsier fabric makes something so much more expensive. Nor do I get how items that are barely different from the things that can be found in a low-end department store can cost so much more just because they have a tiny label on them. I mean, I get the prestige of luxury brands, but why don't consumers hold those brands to a higher standard? A basic crew neck tee is a basic crew neck tee. Add a unique print or some kind of embellishment. Convince me it's worth that much more.
Beside me, I hear a mumbled;
‘Love you too bro.’
Lionel inhales deeply, and to me, he says;
‘Ready to go back now, Jo?’
I make a face.
‘No, but okay.’
He grins.
The entire drive back is filled with questions;
‘So, what’s up with the greyhounds?’
‘Huh?’
‘I tried to talk to your Mum about them, but she shut me down.’
‘Hm. I dunno. I think she has them to annoy Father. He’s allergic.’
‘Why do you both call them ‘Mother’ and ‘Father’? Is that a rich kid thing?’
He laughs.
‘That’s a them thing. They wanted us to speak all good like and use the right proper formal language.’
‘Hah, okay, so I’m going to need to be more careful about the way I say shit in front of Mumsy.’
‘Faeces. The correct term is faeces. The word ‘shit’ is for commoners.’
‘Oh, shut up! You’re lucky you’re driving, or I’d punch you.’
‘You? Punch me? With those tiny fists? Ha!’
I hold my fists up like a boxer, ready to strike. He chuckles.
‘Answer me this, then; how did you really meet Jackie?’
I suppress a laugh.
‘At the theatre we saw Streetcar at – I was flirting with the bust of Shakespeare in the foyer as a joke. He saw it and asked me to meet him the following day to discuss a role.’
‘Really?’
‘Yeah. He didn’t even tell me his name. Just pointed to a café and said ‘there.’’
‘Wow, that’s some pickup line.’
‘I know right? I nearly didn’t go. I thought he might be a serial killer.’
Lionel laughs.
‘Damn he’s suave. Chicks dig serial killer vibes.’
‘My turn – is your Dad ever sober?’
Lionel’s face turned sombre.
‘Sometimes. In the mornings. He’s more serious. He listens better.’
‘Sorry.’
‘No, it’s fine. You need to know this stuff, right?’
‘Yeah.’
‘How about I show you the family photo albums.’
‘That would actually really help.’
His face remains downcast. I don’t like it.
‘I’ll get to see your dorky teen years. I bet you had the worst possible punk phase with all the overpriced pre-ripped jeans and brand new band shirts.’
‘Shut up.’
Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.
‘The kind of rich poseur punk that real punks shun.’
‘Shut up!’
‘Did you do your hair in a faux hawk? All perfect and neat? Bet your parents wouldn’t have allowed anything more extreme than that.’
‘Shut up or I’ll crash the car!’
He’s laughing.
‘I’m right aren’t I? Shit, we can’t be friends anymore. I would have been one of the real punks shunning you.’
He glances over.
‘Oh, and you had a real mohawk?’
‘So tall I couldn’t sit straight in a car. Had to lean my head to the side. Seriously hurt my neck. Way better to take the bus with my hair like that.’
He laughs harder.
‘It was green too. A good pine forest green. Except when it was blue and purple. Then I looked like a punk mermaid.’
‘Okay, now I need to see that.’
We arrive at the hotel and Jaq climbs into the car with us. He’s quieter than usual. I feel like I’m in the way. I want to come up with funny things to say to cheer them both up, but it's a struggle. It's not easy to joke around with Jaq.
Scratch that, I’m struggling to come up with anything to say.
I want to ask why they’re both still living at home.
I want to ask if they’re okay.
I want to ask how it got to be this way between them.
None of these questions help anyone.
I keep them in.
----------------------------------------
The three of us return to the house – Jaq plays his violin in the corner of the sitting room while Lionel and I leaf through old photo albums. I see the two of them as tiny children, standing proudly in their school uniforms. It’s their first day of school together – surprisingly, Jaq is the older of the two. He looks so surly. I see the family, posed in a garden, a perfect picnic laid out nearby. The picnic is probably little more than a prop. I see Jaq smiling, holding a first-place ribbon up for the camera. As I progress through the album, I see fewer photos of Lionel. I see Jaq’s face shift from the genuine smile of a child, to the plastered-on, fake smile of an adult who would rather not be there. I don’t see any photos that are un-posed, or unplanned. Every single one looks professionally shot.
‘Where are the real photos?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘These are all posed.’
‘And that makes them fake?’
I scowl at him.
‘Yeah. There’s nothing spontaneous about any of these.’
‘It’s a family album. They’re supposed to be posed.’
‘Do you have your own albums where you keep photos of genuinely happy times, taken while those happy times are happening?’
‘…no.’
This is so wrong.
‘That’s no way to spend a day!’
Isaac’s booming voice startles the two of us.
‘What are you doing looking at boring old photos? You’re liable to get sentimental.’
He’s alone this time. I may be able to grill him covertly.
‘I want to get to know the family better-‘
‘Then throw that in the fire.’
He waves dismissively at the album. I close it.
‘Okay, so tell me about yourself, yourself.’
He laughs.
‘What is there to tell? I was born, went to school, got a job, ran a company, married my wife, had two sons…’
Unhelpful.
‘I could get all of that from a Wikipedia page.’
‘Well, it’s true.’
‘Why don’t we play cards?
His face splits ear-to-ear with his grin. There’s a glimmer of something that wasn’t there before.
Lionel groans beside me.
‘He cheats.’
I whisper ‘That’s fine. So do I.’
Isaac finds a deck, and we clear the coffee table. Lionel sits to one side. He refuses to play.
‘So then, what are we playing?’
I smile, feeling very clever, as I start to sort the deck.
‘Goofspiel.’
Isaac furrows his brow.
‘Haven’t played it before? It’s also known as the game of pure strategy.’
As I explain the rules, Isaac’s face grows serious.
‘It’s all bluffing?’
‘Bluffing and strategy.’
I hand him the suit of clubs, keeping spades for myself.
‘Chance is overrated. This way, I get to see how you think.’
He smiles.
‘That’s very bold.’
I’m not playing to win per se. I’m playing to see how he plays. I only need to play well enough that I put him in situations where he has to make difficult decisions. I wouldn’t see it this clearly if we were playing poker – not unless we played a hundred times. I hate poker. That much poker would put me into a permanent coma.
I want to know if he's a risk taker, if he plans meticulously, or relies on bluffing. I want to know if he plays for the win at all costs, as Lionel's comment on cheating suggested, or if he's gentle with guests. There are so many deep and hidden things games can reveal about a person. Things that help me more than 'I was born, went to school…'
After a few games, I spot a pattern in his plays. I’m not sure if he’s doing it deliberately. He could be baiting me, or trying to let me win. I could exploit the pattern to win the next game with ease, but that wouldn’t be an impressive outcome. He would go away feeling good about flattering my ego, thinking highly of himself… or he might just be grumpy about it if he’s a sore loser. Cheaters often are sore losers, so I'd rather not.
The alternative…
He turns over the first diamond. I place my bid.
‘draw.’
I turn over the next. We place our bids.
‘draw.’
We continue through the suit. He could shift his strategy if he wanted to win – but he doesn’t.
Isaac beams.
‘I can see why Jaques likes you.’
He pats my shoulder.
‘We’ll have to play again. A different game though.’
‘Maybe Mao?’
Nope. Shouldn't have said that. That was way too heavy-handed. He's going to think I'm some kind of tiresome, bumptious, egotistical upstart. Know when to stop, Jo!
He laughs
‘Maybe we can teach these two to play?’
I laugh back, relieved – he didn’t hate it. This isn’t ruined.
Once he’s gone, Lionel whispers to me.
‘What the hell was that?’
‘He played badly, deliberately, so I would win. I called his bluff and played for the draw.’
‘Bullshit. He never let us win.’
‘You’re his sons. You’re supposed to be able to win on your own. I’m not, so the rules are different. He was acting as a traditional gentleman.’
Lionel looks horrified.
‘It’s gentlemanly to cheat to win with your sons, but deliberately lose to women?'
‘Not just women. Guests of the right social standing that aren't close friends, any people you need to show deference to, people you may feel indebted to - it's complicated enough that one's intentions can be misinterpreted pretty badly, though. Don’t blame me for how silly it is, I didn’t make the rules. Some ponce in puffy pants and a stupid hat a few hundred years ago did. And, technically, my calling his bluff could have been interpreted as rude. Someone in my position is generally expected to play dumb and let my host coddle me to victory. The rules aren’t meant to be fair or fun, they’re supposed to let you save face and maintain the status-quo.’
‘How do you know any of this?’
‘I’m a theatre nerd. If I didn’t understand the technicalities of honour and saving face, then it would be a stain on my reputation. So many old plays are entirely about that.’
Behind us, Jaq continues to play.
I’ve won over Isaac – but he was never the problem. It was always going to be Frances. Frances the goat-horned devil. I frown.
‘Are there older family albums?’
‘Like our parents’ wedding and stuff? Yeah.’
Lionel shows me the cupboard where the aging leather tomes sit. I pick out one and gently lay it on the table. Frances’ childhood rests under my fingertips. I know it won’t be all fire and brimstone… but…
I open it.
Frances was a cute child. Here she’s dressed in a gorgeous frilly smock, dragging around a threadbare stuffed monkey. There she is, looking guilty, standing by a mural she’d painted on the wall with her fingers. Here she is rolling in the grass with a dog. There I see her grinning face just barely visible over a grand piano. I don’t see any siblings – it’s all her and her parents. They seem like a lovely family. The photos don’t tell me how she became the person she is now. She even looks genuinely happy in her wedding photos, stepping down from a horse-drawn carriage, her eyes locked with young Isaac’s, both so sincere, so full of affection.
Photos like this are taken to commemorate the happy moments, they don’t show hurt and hardship. Looking at her sitting with young Isaac by a pool, sharing a fruity drink, I see not even the slightest hint of malice… and I shouldn’t expect to. If it were there, the photo wouldn’t have made it into the album.
Perhaps that’s why the photos after Jaq’s birth are all staged?
What happened?
I close the album, and return it to the shelf.
If I want to impress Frances, I need to know… (I sigh, inwardly disappointed in myself for resorting to French) – her raison d'être. Whatever it is, it’s not going to be as easy as playing Goofspiel.
Somewhere between Lionel, Jaq, and Isaac, there are answers. I just don’t think any of them know how to tell me.
It’s obvious she cares about appearances – the staged photos feel more like her doing than Isaac’s.
She clearly values having something that is entirely her own – Isaac can’t participate in her greyhound racing hobby because of his allergies. It's a perfect excuse to exclude her husband whenever she wants to go out alone, she would just have to say she was on her way to check on the dogs.
I watch Jaq – when he plays he sways with the music, his face mirroring the mood of the piece. He looks more alive with the violin in his hands than I’ve ever seen him while doing anything else. I wonder if he was always this drawn to music, or if something happened that made him need the music as an escape.
I wonder if Frances has something that makes her feel alive.
What happened to him? What happened to them?
The music cannot answer.
----------------------------------------
I return from the kitchen with a plate of sandwiches to share, and, for the second time in a very short time, pause outside a doorway. Jaq isn’t playing. I can hear Frances’ voice, harsh but low as she berates Jaq’s performance.
‘…getting this lazy… terrible… disappointment…’
I hesitate, uncertain. Do I interrupt?
Lionel’s hand rests on my shoulder. I look up at him, and he gently shakes his head, indicating that I should follow him away. I consider for a moment – it’s damn tempting. This doesn’t seem like something I should see.
Against my better judgment, I open the door.
I have to start getting through to her somehow.
‘Hey gorgeous, you’ve been working so hard, I brought you some lunch. Oh, hi Frances!’
I put the plate down on the table. Jaq stands stock still, pale and sweating. His eyes are on his feet. Frances looks like she’s on the verge of violence.
I walk over to Jaq, and with hands firmly on both shoulders, I guide him to the table and push him into the seat. Resolutely ignoring Frances, I hold his hand and quietly talk to him, working through a calming exercise.
‘I’ve got your hand. Focus on my hand in yours.’
I give it a squeeze.
‘You’re here with me, and we’re both okay.’
Frances approaches, but I glare at her and shoo her away with my free hand. She sputters in shock.
‘Can you feel your feet in your shoes? Wiggle your toes. Move your feet. See how soft the carpet is under your shoes?’
He moves his feet – I can see he’s breathing better.
‘Can you feel the cushion beneath you, supporting you? Lean back, and let the chair hold you.’
He leans back, his shoulders relaxing a little. He’s not all the way out of the woods, but he’s doing much better. I place a sandwich into the hand I’m holding.
‘Now, let’s eat lunch. Your body takes care of you. You should take care of it.’
Frances silently stalks out of the room.
Once she’s gone, Lionel peers in, dumbfounded.
‘Nerves of steel, woman.’
My hands are shaking. I keep them hidden under the table.
As Jaq finishes his sandwich, his phone buzzes. It’s a dinner invitation from Isaac – this time at the house. I’m invited.
I should celebrate – if Isaac likes me enough to try dinner again after the last one… but I can’t celebrate.
I just threw my gloves at Frances’ feet. She won't be satisfied fighting to first blood. It'll be à l'outrance. To the death.
‘I’m going to Charles’ house. I don’t want… Mother… to keep...’
Jaq stumbles into silence. I nod.
‘That’s probably a good idea.’
He looks at me expectantly. I realise he wants me to go with him.
‘Ah. No. I’m not going near Pitch. He scares me.’
Jaq looks confused.
‘He keeps saying really weird, creepy shit to me.’
‘He says weird stuff to everyone…’
‘I'm sure he does, but I still don’t want to be in his house. He genuinely frightens me.’
Jaq’s baffled look hurts, somewhere deep in my psyche. I’m not entirely sure why. I’m used to people being confused by – even laughing at – my unending paranoia about predators. I’ve been purposefully left out of get-togethers because I was vocal about my dislike of certain people. My first official friend ‘breakup’ was over something like this. I took that in stride. So why does Jaq’s disbelief hurt so much?
It might be because he creeped me out at first, too. Though I think it was less being 'creeped out' then, and more genuine worry that he was an axe murderer.
…maybe it’s because I trust him?
Do I?
‘Show him the photo you sent me.’
I forgot Lionel was there. I find the photo on my phone and show Jaq. There’s Charles Pitch, with his suggestive lean, arm outstretched, his pelvis angled towards the camera. Jaq in the foreground, oblivious.
Jaq looks nonplussed. I don’t know how to make it clearer for him. I could try quoting what Pitch said to me… but I don’t think it’ll get through. Jaq wasn’t there to hear it. It won’t have the same impact.
I have to try.
‘He’s said, more than once, that I’ll get bored of you, and I’ll go to him.’
‘So? He makes stupid jokes all the time.’
‘That joke is incredibly cruel-‘
Jaq throws his hands up in disgust and leaves.
‘Jackie!’
Lionel’s call falls on deaf ears.
‘I fucked that up.’
‘It’s not your fault. He’s bad at people. Come on. Let’s go play video games.’
----------------------------------------
Lionel’s room is messy. The kind of messy that tells me he’s banned house cleaners from entering. A pile of unfolded laundry sits in one corner, overflowing its meagre basket. The wastepaper bin is full to the brim with empty cans and bottles. His bed is unmade – just a mess of tangled sheets and blankets. Posters line the walls and stickers mar the surface of the expensive wooden wardrobe. His desk is lost under a pile of plastic video game cases. I’m surprised to note that, despite the mess, the room smells fine. Unlike some of my housemates…
I look around again. I don’t see any empty plates or cups – no food remnants – and the laundry pile looks like clean laundry on second inspection. The room is a mess, but it’s a clean mess. What planet is this man from?
He flops down into a beanbag. An honest to Zeus beanbag. I haven't seen one of those since I was at uni, and I'm pretty sure those were there ironically.
‘Make yourself at home.’ He gestures grandly to the room. I find a stray cushion and sit on it.
‘Game preferences?’
I marvel at the nest of wires that extends from the bottom of the television mounted on the wall. Inside the nest, little red lights glare like tiny malevolent eyes. I resist the urge to start untangling the wires. It's as though I have the ghosts of a pair of theatre techs on either shoulder - one has exploded in rage, while the other has dissolved into fits of sobbing.
I’m not much of a gamer. I never really had the opportunity to be. When smartphones became the affordable standard, I poked around the games store like anyone else – but I was intimidated by the microtransactions and constant advertising. The last time I actually played a game was when I was a kid, visiting a friend’s house.
‘You’re going to laugh at me.’
He shakes his head.
‘Cross my heart.’
‘I don’t know anything about video games.’
He snickers.
‘You said you wouldn’t laugh!’
He hides his lying mouth with one arm as he searches around among the scattered game accessories on the floor.
‘I’m not laughing at you! I swear! I’m… laughing for you!’
‘Sure.’
‘You’ve been missing out!’
A controller is thrust into my hands.
…and then Lionel’s phone rings.
‘Sorry…’
He steps out of his own room and takes the call in the hallway. He doesn’t even close the door. I feel awkward. Unless I plug my ears and sing, I won’t be able to avoid eavesdropping.
‘Hi… oh? Sure. Um.’
I see his elbow moving just past the doorframe.
‘No, I don’t see why not. …haha, that’s okay.’
He steps back into view.
‘Okay, bye.’
I raise an eyebrow at him.
‘You remember Sophie from the party?’
‘Yeah, she seemed nice.’
He laughs.
‘She called to ask if I had any spare tickets for Jaq’s concert.’
I should also ask about that. It would be weird if I weren’t there. I can’t really ask Jaq now though.
‘Do me a favour, and don’t tell her I lent you her clothes.’
Oho. I grin mischievously.
‘If you hadn’t said anything, I wouldn’t have known she was your ex. Specifically that ex. At this point, whatever happens is your fault.’
‘What? No! Please!’
I look down my nose at him, smugly.
‘I’ll consider your request… but there will be conditions.’
‘…okay.’
‘Firstly, I get to sit on the bean bag. You can have the cushion.’
----------------------------------------
I check up on Jaq periodically.
> Hey, are you okay?
>
> I’m sorry
>
> I didn’t mean to upset you.
>
> I’m not mad at you. I want you to spend time with your friends.
Of course, he’s not replying to my approximately hourly texts. I stop after the fourth, before it turns into a wall of increasingly desperate nonsense. I’m worried… but Lionel isn’t. I’m choosing to defer to his experience in this case. He knows Jaq better than I do.
I hear Jaq stomp down the hall shortly before dinner. I send him a message asking if he wants to play video games with us. Still no reply. I want to go to him and talk it out… but Lionel stops me.
‘It’s better to let him come to you. If you initiate, he’ll just get defensive and make things worse.’
I sigh, defeated.
‘Okay.’
He doesn’t come down.
Dinnertime approaches.
Will Jaq even go to dinner? He might just sulk through the entire thing.
I feel knots forming in my stomach.
Fifteen minutes until dinner. Time to take my pre-emptive diazepam.
This time, I’m prepared to face Frances. I have allies. I have medication.
Or, I would be prepared, if it weren’t for the uncertainty introduced by Jaq’s currently unknown emotional state.
This sucks.
I try to avoid drawing attention as I take the pill bottle from my bag, gently open the lid, tip one out, gulp it down with a sip of water… But a pill bottle is never truly silent.
‘What’s that?’
‘Prescription medication. I, like your brother, have anxiety issues. As much as I try to avoid taking these… hopefully one will get me through dinner.’
Lionel looks concerned.
‘Is that why you had that… meditation script memorised?’
‘Memorised? No, I just sort of made that up. You work through enough mindfulness exercises and the formula becomes second nature. I’ve had to go through them with plenty of actors terrified on opening night too. It’s not much… but sometimes it’s enough to get you functional. Then, usually, adrenaline and habit take over.’
‘And that wouldn’t work for dinner?’
I shake my head. I hate having to explain my mental health precautions and solutions to people. I feel weak and useless enough already without someone asking questions like this as if it never would have occurred to me.
‘I don’t think I’ll be able to shut my eyes and wiggle my toes at dinner. Frances isn’t going to politely wait for me to settle my nerves before she resumes shouting or making cruel comments. She’d probably just see it as an opportunity to get more shouting in. And Jaq…’
I trail off.
‘He hasn’t replied to you, has he?’
‘No.’
‘Idiot brother of mine.’
‘That’s part of why I’m taking the pill pre-emptively. I know this dinner is going to set me off. It’s better if the pill is in effect before I get in there. It’ll prevent the panic.’
He nods, sadly.
----------------------------------------
At the door to the dining room, I stop and take a few deep breaths. I’m supposed to be angry with Frances for upsetting Jaq, not terrified of her. I’m supposed to be in a wonderful relationship with Jaq. We’re supposed to be deeply in love.
If he’s angry enough with me… he might confess. If he confesses to this fraudulent act… I guess I will be spending some time in a cage.
Shut up.
I open the door to complete silence. Isaac and Frances are already there, waiting by their seats. Isaac’s wine glass is full. Jaq… he’s at the window, with his back to everyone. His posture is stiff and unnatural, sort of like a scarecrow. Far too straight, shoulders too set. I enter and stand by the foot of the table, waiting to see where I’m to be seated. Lionel follows, getting in the way of the server delivering the food. I feel guilty that I’m not helping carry the dishes.
Isaac clears his throat and Jaq moves to a seat near the head of the table – Lionel moves to the opposite side and to the left of Frances, leaving only one setting available to me. At least I won’t be sitting directly across from Frances.
…She won’t meet my eye.
Is she so enraged she won’t look at me? Or… is it shame?
There’s no use in speculating.
We take our seats. I feel like I’m marching onto a battlefield with incomplete intelligence. I have no idea what I’m about to face. Is Frances a hydra, ready to come at me twice as strong after the last skirmish? Is Jaq an embodiment of Ephialtes, ready to betray me to the Persians? (Or some sort of hydra spawn?)
I doubt that Heracles would count shooing his fake future mother-in-law away on the same level as cutting off a monster’s head… but it felt like that to me.
…and I still don’t know what’s happening with Jaq.
Stop it.
Isaac asks Jaq how he’s feeling about the upcoming concert – Jaq offers a noncommittal response.
Finally, I catch Frances’ eye. She falters and looks away.
I did wound her.
My nerves are replaced with a swelling sense of confidence – I must restrain it. Overconfidence invites error. I can’t afford errors here.
‘And what about you, Lionel? What have you been doing?’
He looks uncomfortable.
‘Keeping out of trouble, mostly…’
Frances shoots him a look.
‘Busy amounting to nothing.’
I grit my teeth.
A flush of indignant rage colours Lionel’s face.
‘Let him speak for himself, dear.’
Isaac holds Lionel’s eye.
‘…I… went to the theatre…’
Now Jaq looks aggrieved.
Why? I asked him to come with us.
‘What did you see? How was it?’
‘It was… well performed. An amateur troupe…’
Isaac smiles easily, as though he doesn’t notice the tension.
‘Getting ideas about auditioning?’
Now the indignation erupts into embarrassment;
‘What? No.’
I can barely breathe. The conversation is dragging us over tenterhooks, just waiting for something to catch. For something to tear.
I can’t let it continue.
‘How about you, Isaac? What have you been up to?’ – My tone is calm and confident. As confident as I felt when Frances wouldn’t hold my gaze. I cling to the disintegrating shreds of that feeling.
He smiles, pleased with something.
‘Oh, I’ve been busy causing trouble.’
He leans closer, and mock whispers;
‘Don’t tell Frances, but I’ve been organising a little get-together for her birthday.’
She shakes her head, irritated.
‘I told you not to.’
‘Why not, dear? You don’t see your friends anywhere near often enough.’
‘I don’t want to see them!’
Huh?
Speaking now feels like a rude intrusion, and a massive risk… but I need to be on the offensive.
‘What if they want to see you?’
She fixes me with a stare – not angry. Just cold. I press the advantage.
‘I’m always sad when I find out a friend of mine celebrated their birthday alone. They might say they didn’t want to organise a party… but that doesn’t change how I feel. Sometimes it’s nice to let the people who love us express gratitude for our existence. There doesn’t need to be a big party or wild event. Just friends.’
There’s the faintest flicker of… something.
‘I don’t want it.’
Is she afraid that no one will come? I watch her face. She breaks my gaze.
She is.
Why?
She places her napkin on the table and stands. To no one in particular she announces;
‘I’m not feeling well.’
And with that, she leaves.
That’s my move! Thief!
We watch her in silence as she closes the door behind her.
I turn to Isaac.
‘I didn’t mean to upset her.’
He smiles.
‘Don’t worry about it.’
He drains his glass.
‘I think I may follow her example though – early to bed for me. Even the wicked need their rest.’
The three of us sit quietly, now alone in the dining room. I exhale the breath I had been holding.
Lionel has me by the shoulders, and shakes me;
‘What the hell was that?’
It wasn't much of a hydra battle. I switch metaphors. The hydra one wasn't really cutting it.
‘Perseus, slaying the gorgon.’
‘What the hell is that?’
Jaq stares at me in disbelief, zero animosity on his face.
I grin.
'I take it you're not well versed in the Greek epics. I assumed you would be, you didn't go to public school. Or, has private education dropped the emphasis on classics?'