Chapter Twenty-Three: Smithy
I cursed under my breath as a splitting bang reverberated through my skull. With my vision blurring, I struggled to think about anything other than the pain in my head, ignoring the way that I was dangerously swaying on my feet.
After a few minutes, the world righted itself again.
"Damn counter!" I mumbled, eyeing the stained wooden board with mistrust. If I'd done that once, I'd done it a thousand times. If I needed something, I should really think before I ducked my head. The amount of glasses that ended up broken as a result of my sudden tense, crushing, grip was fast sending the bar to bankruptcy.
I heard the bell chime a melancholy tone. When I'd opened this place, I'd wanted it to be a centre for roaring laughter and football fans, a homely pub where everyone would chill out and relax. Gradually, my dream was becoming a reality, but without the money to change the decor, there were times I wondered if I would ever be able to liken the bar to its fine Irish predecessors.
Jason said he'd help me with that. Bit by bit, two lads together with a bucket of paint and a barrel of beer, somehow creating something that all men would like. That was how it was supposed to work out.
Looking up, I expected to see Faye, but instead got an eyeful of unshaven cheeks and a greasy mop of hair.
"Tim, how are you? Your usual?" I asked. A regular here, Tim was always in for a quick lunchtime beer which generally turned into a double vodka and a shot of whiskey.
"Sure, Smithy. Sounds good. It's gotta be quick, though, don' want the missus to suspect anythin'," he said with a knowing smirk and a slight slur. I'm sure the 'missus' had long since given up 'suspecting' and learned to put on a brave face and a good act. Still, without men like Tim, the pub would have long since run dry and packed up.
With another doleful peal, the door opened and a rather hassled looking Faye burst into the room. I nodded for her to take a seat while getting the promised beer for the equally doleful man - or perhaps 'sponge' - in front of me.
I made my way over to her, offering a friendly smile while looking over her face. She seemed tired, and I knew that I would need to give her another pep talk before she left. I honestly should have become an agony aunt, or rather, agony uncle.
"How's life, Faye?" I questioned, allowing a little of my concern to seep into my voice, blessing its cadence with worry. She raised an eyebrow sceptically.
"Not too bad. You?"
"Fine. I still have all my limbs and I managed to only throw three people out since I last saw you. How long was that?" She smiled, but when she spoke her tone was weary.
"A lifetime," she replied simply.
"I pretty sure it was closer to three weeks," I said dryly. "But it's the lifetime of an ant if it makes you feel any better." I studied her thoughtfully.
"You're a bit big though."
She laughed, and for a moment, all traces of tiredness left her face, making her look radiant and eternal, like a fey amongst mortals such as her name suggested.
Then her eyes lost their mirth and she sank back to the depths the rest of us inhabited.
We chatted for a bit, trivial things like how cold the winter was going to get and whether or not there would be snow. I hoped there wouldn't be, but she said that at least I could sell warm mulled wine in time for Christmas.
"Why didn't I think of that?" I said incredulously. Maybe I could run a family pub, the type you always saw on soaps.
"Because its three months away?" she said innocently, the effect ruined by the small smirk dancing on her lips.
In the peaceful silence that followed, I could feel memories swirling in my head, my ease in her company reminding me of times I'd spent with Jason. I felt a pull at the edges of my mind, and without a conscious thought to reason with my sanity, I allowed myself to be tugged under by a furious flashback lurking at the forefront of my mind.
***
Jason was at my flat, both of us playing on the PSP like we would never have the chance to again. The poor machine had endured many tugs and shouts, but never protested except for an ever-more-ominous whirring as it started up.
'Game Over' suddenly flashed across my screen, causing my tongue to let loose a disbelieving string of expletives. I hadn't used such foul curses in a while, and I had to contain a grin when Jason looked at me with slight shock. My nerves were on edge today. It felt good to let some of the tension out.
"Tut, tut, Smithy. Watch your language..." he said, a spark dancing across his hooded, beautiful eyes as he regained his composure and poked fun as usual.
"I forgot there were ladies present," I quipped, never taking my eyes off the screen. It took a few seconds for a bark of outrage to erupt from Jason before we both started to guffaw in a manly manner. Of course.
"Not your day today, is it?" he said. "That's the third time in a row I beat you. Maybe we could play something that you might stand a chance of winning. Cooking Mama, then?"
I couldn't be bothered with a reply. A lock of his hair fell forward into his face. I had to restrain myself from smoothing it back, my fingertips tingling at the thought of how soft it would be, how silky on my skin...
I grabbed our beer bottles and walked into the kitchen, forcing myself to act casually and stopping myself from fleeing the room. With a shaky breath, I rested my hands on the counter, my back facing the door to prevent the man himself seeing my inner turmoil. Surely I didn't have that good a poker face?
I stiffened as I heard a sound behind me.
I turned to see Jason standing close behind me, closer than society dictated polite. He was only an inch shorter than my six foot three, but it was enough for me to have to look down ever so slightly to meet his gaze.
In that instant, I was trapped. He was looking at me with such intimacy and promise that I could feel a blush spread to my cheeks - something Jason would normally have teased me about.
He didn't, though. He just stood there, precariously closing in the distanced between us until there was only a centimetre left. He seemed to glow in that minute, his azure eyes stirring my already confused feelings, emotions that I could sense running through him, as well.
Then the moment shattered. He cleared his throat and took a few steps back more quickly than I would have thought possible. He looked anywhere but at my face, and his cheeks were stained a panicked red.
"I'm going to go...I've got to meet Autumn," he said, the last part a whisper. I knew he felt ashamed and awkward, and as though he hardly knew himself and hoped that it was all just a conjured-up figment of his imagination.
Been there. Done that. Got the emotional baggage.
I nodded. It wasn't so unreasonable that he had to go. He had been here for hours.
Jason gathered his things in a whirlwind of motion, taking one last look as he left the apartment. He met my gaze, and quickly looked to the floor again, turning pale instead of his previous flushed colour. Then it clicked shut, and I was left with nothing more than a hammering heart breaking in two, an empty flat and a crushing sense of disappointment.
***
I snapped out of my reverie, taking with me a knowingness I didn't know I possessed and a familiar anger eating away at my insides. I couldn't let either of them escape during the next hour or so, but it was time for Faye to learn that her perfect brother wasn't so perfect.
"Faye, I don't know what Autumn told you about Jason. I don't want to know either, frankly. We never really got along." She searched my face, shocked.
"How did-" I cut her off.
"It doesn't matter. Faye, just believe me. She told you a sugarcoated fairytale about how they were meant to be together, and even when she talked about the bad parts, I know that she made them sound so endearing; like that they loved each other for all their imperfections. It wasn't like that." It couldn't have been, I added wordlessly. Please, God, don't let it have been like that. I almost laughed at my silent plea. According to the Church, God didn't much care what happened to me, or at least my choice of crush wasn't to His taste.
I ruthlessly pushed those thoughts aside. This wasn't the time for me to pull out my own grievances. This was time to put the dead to rest. At least for Faye.
"Jason was a good man. A kind man. Not perfect. Not above doubts and suspicion. Not above staying in a relationship that was going nowhere, with a girl he didn't care for. Don't think for a moment he was," I continued sternly. She looked so disbelieving, as if she was tuning out the words that didn't quite fit in with what she wanted to be true.
"Faye, listen to me. Please!" I begged her, my eyes revealing the fervour that lay beneath the cool exterior. I sucked in a breath, schooling my expression into something a little calmer. "Jason was the best friend I could have hoped for. He did everything right, at least on paper. But there were times he was so dark and moody that I worried about him. He tried so hard to do things right for your parents, that - in the end - he cut them out so that he wouldn't disappoint them. He talked about you. You were like his own child, and it killed him that he didn't see you."
Faye opened her mouth to protest. I stopped her with a look,
"I know it seems hard to believe. All he had to do was pick up the phone or go over to the house. I know all that. But I'll tell you something he never said out loud. He genuinely believed that you were better off without him. He used to tell me about the things you'd done the last time he saw you. He'd get this little smile on his face, I don't think he could help it, but his eyes seemed so sad. Like somebody just killed his puppy."
I took a sip of the water that had miraculously appeared in front of me. Glancing around the room, I saw that Tim was snoring lightly into his hand in the corner, his glass empty. No one else had come in. I started again, turning my attention back to Faye.
"I'm not going to pretend to know what went on in your house whenever he was growing up; or even what happened with your parents. Whatever it was, it didn't sit too well with him at all. He never said what was on his mind - too manly for that," I said with a smile.
"What I'm trying to say is that everyone talks about how nice he was, how charming and happy. How carefree. He wasn't. Not one bit. I often wondered whether or not he was even content with his life." I looked Faye straight in the eye, bold now that the words clogging up my mind were gone.
"Don't try to be him, Faye. Please don't. He wasn't ideal, and sometimes I think that the fire was a blessing for him." Surprise and shock, and maybe even a hint of anger ruled her expression, contorting her face with lines of horror.
"Don't try to be him," I whispered again, more to myself than the girl sitting in front of me.