The Last Days of Us Read online

  We place our order and I lean back to wait, hoping Luc won’t want to chat. Of course I couldn’t be that lucky.

  ‘Not drinking?’ he asks.

  ‘I ordered one for me.’

  ‘But it wasn’t alcoholic. You don’t argue when Finn and Cass imply you’re a party girl, but you haven’t tried to sneak a drink once.’

  ‘I’m not 18 yet. Why do you care?’

  He pauses for so long I can’t help but sneak a glance his way. Big mistake. Once I look, it’s hard to stop. I drag my gaze away.

  ‘I care because you interest me,’ he says eventually.

  My belly dips at the ring of sincerity in his tone. ‘Why?’

  He shakes his head. ‘I have no idea. But there it is. Maybe it’s some kind of Stockholm syndrome.’

  ‘I’m not your kidnapper.’

  His mouth curves in amusement. ‘No, but this road trip is a bit like a kidnapping. We’ve been forced together for long hours with no hope of escape. Basic accommodation and food.’

  ‘That house was basic?’

  He ignores my interruption. ‘The terrible hardships must be doing something to my mind.’

  ‘I can’t work out if you’ve just insulted me.’

  ‘If you’re not sure, it’s probably safer to assume I haven’t.’

  ‘Safer? Who for?’

  Now his grin is teasing. ‘Me.’

  The bartender delivers two Diet Cokes, a lemonade, and water for Jolie, then crosses the small bar area to pour Finn’s beer. I eye Luc’s lemonade. ‘You’re not drinking either.’

  ‘No, but I’m the designated driver.’

  ‘This whole trip?’

  ‘I promised my dad I’d look after Jolie—getting wasted isn’t part of the deal. Anyway, that’s my reason. Now you tell me yours.’

  ‘This isn’t a playground. I don’t have to tell just because you did,’ I argue automatically.

  ‘You don’t,’ he agrees. ‘But not telling will just make me even more interested. And I can be very persuasive.’

  I shiver. ‘It’s no big deal. Drinking numbed the pain after Dan died. But I got to the point where I needed more and more every time.’ Sure, the blackouts were sweet oblivion, but nothing’s ever that simple. ‘I don’t want to be that person. Not anymore.’

  ‘Then who do you want to be?’

  There’s sincerity in his question but I ignore it. ‘Is that some kind of pick-up line?’

  ‘No.’

  The truth, that I have no idea anymore, won’t leave my lips. I thought I wanted to be the old me, but she wouldn’t be standing here talking to Luc. She’d be by Finn’s side, and even if that place wasn’t occupied by Cass, I’m starting to wonder if I’d fit there anymore.

  ‘Do you want me to carry the beer?’ Luc’s question lets me off the hook and I accept the subject change gratefully.

  ‘That would be great.’

  Our food comes soon after we get back to the table and it’s a relief to eat. I don’t know whether it’s the way Luc won’t let me stick to the surface or Cass and Finn’s public displays of affection, but having to pretend everything is okay is taking its toll. I’m exhausted.

  Cutting my food into bite-sized pieces and chewing is taking more energy than I have in me tonight. I’m tempted to plead a headache and head to the van, except then I’d run the risk of someone asking if I’m okay.

  I can’t do that conversation right now.

  Instead I cut and chew, without tasting much, and gaze around the room. I’m not really paying attention at all when a familiar black and red checked shirt catches my eye. The lean build, the slouch, the half-ducked head as he listens to the person he’s talking to.

  Dan.

  The sight sucks the breath from my lungs. My heart cramps.

  But then I blink and Dan in his beloved red shirt becomes a stranger who is nothing like my brother. Great. Now I’m seeing ghosts.

  I drop my gaze to my food, the smell of the creamy dressing suddenly turning my stomach. Pushing my plate away, I try to tune in on the conversation and shove the painful memories away.

  A woman stops by our table. She clears her throat until we all look her way. She’s like a miner bird. Grey and insistent, with a very sharp beak. ‘There’s a singer at this table. I know it.’ Her beady eyes scan us and then lock onto Cass, who can’t hide her interest. ‘You have something special and could be tonight’s karaoke champion. It’s twenty dollars to enter, with the total matched by the bar. We have sixteen entries so far. A tidy sum.’

  ‘I’m not really prepared,’ says Cass.

  The woman must sense she has a contender because she goes in for the kill. ‘We have a pretty good range of backing tracks in our CD collection. You’d find something in there, I’m sure.’ She leans forward. ‘I’ve heard some of the others. Just between us, they’re more like wailing cats than singers.’

  ‘I’ll do it,’ says Cass with a grin. ‘You in?’

  I think for a second she’s asking me, and my refusal is halfway out of my mouth before I realise it’s Finn she’s looking at. Finn she’s talking to. Of course.

  He glances at the mic on the small stage, and the crowd settling in for the show before clearing his throat. ‘Nah, not tonight. I think I’m getting a cold.’

  Cass looks surprised, but I’m not. Finn doesn’t like spur of the moment singing. He likes to be prepared, and expertly lit. I squash the thought. He’s not vain exactly, just meticulous. And, having spent my entire existence lurching from one make-it-up-as-I-go moment to another, I admire that about him.

  ‘Zoey will sing too.’ It’s Jolie who volunteers me, pointing a pink-polished nail in my direction.

  The woman turns to where I’ve been doing my best to be invisible.

  Sing? I don’t sing . . . Not in public, not anymore. I can feel them looking at me, curious and pitying. Everyone except Luc, who’s giving his little sister a death stare.

  As usual, she’s oblivious. ‘Come on, Ariel,’ she says. ‘You’re completely amazing.’

  It’s Cass, of all people, who comes to my rescue. ‘Zoey doesn’t really sing anymore.’

  I give her a grateful smile, but I can’t help thinking she looks pleased that I won’t be competing. I remember her assumptions about me from this morning and find myself thinking maybe she should ask me about this too, instead of assuming.

  And that thought wins.

  I reach into my bag and grab the money. ‘Actually, I think I will have a go. It could be fun.’

  The woman looks as thrilled as Cass does annoyed as I hand over my entry fee.

  ‘This will be great,’ says Jolie.

  ‘Great,’ agrees Finn. He gives me a measuring look, and I turn away before he can come to any conclusions.

  I stare down at my drink. The rush of agreeing and showing Cass that she doesn’t know everything has faded, replaced by the realisation that I’m going to have to sing. Someone touches my leg. Luc. I turn as the music for the first of the competition entrants, an older lady with a captivating stage presence, drowns out the talk around the bar.

  ‘You sure?’ His low-voiced question doesn’t carry to the others. They’re watching the woman on the small stage belt out a country classic with an R&B twist.

  If I hadn’t opened my big mouth and told him that I don’t sing anymore he wouldn’t be looking at me like this now, concern creasing his features. Concern that’s justified. Because the thought of singing has me wishing there was a decent splash of bourbon in my drink.

  ‘I was supposed to sing at Dan’s funeral,’ I tell him quietly. I put my head in my hands. ‘This is all a monumental mistake.’

  His hand covers mine, tugging gently until he pulls it away and I look up.

  ‘Maybe it’s time for you to sing. For Dan.’

  ‘Oh, how very shrink of you.’ I don’t mean to sound pissed—it’s not him I’m angry with. How many times do I have to screw everything up before I learn my lesson?

  I exp
ect a snappy comeback, almost look forward to it. Arguing with Luc means I don’t have to think. About the funeral, or singing, or any of it.

  He tilts his head and leans closer. ‘Tell me about it.’

  He’s so gentle, I can’t get mad. Damn him. ‘Here?’

  ‘Why not? No-one else is listening.’

  He’s right. They’re not. The angle of his broad shoulders and the music blaring from the stage means we could plot a murder and no-one around us would notice.

  Despite not knowing him all that well, I can’t seem to help spilling my guts. It would be annoying if it didn’t somehow make me feel a bit better each time.

  After Dan died, I exploded in grief, shattering everyone around me. So I figured locking it all away had to be better. But sharing with Luc keeps it under control. I let him see the worst of me, the dumbest, real pathetic stuff, and he’s still hanging around.

  Not being interested in a relationship with him creates its own brand of freedom.

  I stare down at the cracked edges of the tabletop and let the music from the stage seep into my bones. ‘He had a favourite song that we used to sing around the house with him doing terrible harmonies. He joked once that I should sing it at his funeral. Mum remembered that he’d said it, and before I knew it everyone assumed I was going to do it.’ I can’t believe I manage to get it out without crying. I remember Mum’s disappointment, Dad pleading with me to do it for Dan. ‘It’s not like I wanted to let anyone down.’ Now my throat tightens. ‘But I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t.’

  His hand wraps around mine. ‘You think he would have been mad?’

  He’s the first one to ask. Others told me I’d let my brother down, that it was the least I could have done. My aunt said he would have understood. Like she’d know. But no-one else asked.

  ‘I think . . . I think he would have liked to hear me sing.’ Dan liked my singing, though his compliments were always disguised, like ‘you sing better than you look’ or ‘I’d rather hear you than smell you’. Said with love, and maybe a pinch to the tender flesh under my arm.

  The swell of love in my chest makes my eyes sting.

  Luc squeezes my hand. ‘Then sing.’

  It sounds so simple. I glance at Cass. She’s sipping on her soft drink, relaxed and laughing at something Finn whispered in her ear. I know she has stuff going on, everyone does, but right now I’d give anything to appear as sorted as she does.

  There are four more songs and then a break for late entrants to choose their songs. Which means us.

  We walk together to the stack of CDs on the table next to the stage. We’re jammed together in the narrow gap between the tables, but there might as well be an ocean churning between us. The sharp edge we’ve been trying to ignore since she hooked up with Finn has reared up in all its glory and I’m not sure it will ever go away again.

  Of course we reach for the same CD.

  Her smile doesn’t extend past her thin-lipped mouth. ‘You have it.’

  I push it her way. ‘You can.’

  The politeness might as well be a call to fight to the death.

  Suddenly I want not just to sing, but to win. To be triumphant instead of pitied and worried about. I want to beat Cass. It’s awful and petty and maybe a bit mean, but right in that second I really, really want to beat my best friend.

  The CD case buckles under my tight grip and I relax fast, relieved that it’s not cracked. I catch Cass looking my way and force a smile. She doesn’t bother to return it.

  I’m not the only one who wants this. It’s not hard to guess where she’s coming from. Finn chose me first. When I was at musical theatre camp I got cast in the lead. She’s probably tired of coming second.

  I shove the spike of sympathy to the back of my mind.

  I need this.

  I thumb through the pile of CDs. In contrast to my uncertainty, Cass seems to have chosen already. I manage to read the title as she hands it to the organiser: ‘Classic show tunes’. It makes sense. That’s what we do best, and I know she’ll nail any song on there. I meant it when I told her a few days ago not to talk herself down. She’s good.

  Tonight I’ll have to be better.

  I’ve gone through the whole stack when I see it. I’m pretty sure it’s the first CD I looked at, but I mustn’t have been paying attention. Now it stands out like a freaking neon sign.

  Dan’s funeral song.

  I can’t . . . But when I head over to the table, that’s the CD that is in my hands and that’s the song I point to.

  I make my way back to our table on wobbly legs, hoping like hell the sick feeling in my gut doesn’t show on my face. Can I really perform Dan’s song here in front of these people?

  And yet . . . there’s no other song I can sing. Not when the one I should have sung has grown so big in my mind. I have a debt to my brother and I can’t move forward until it’s paid.

  ‘What are you singing?’ asks Finn before I can sit.

  I can’t bring myself to say it in case the tears prickling my eyelids decide to make an appearance so I offer a tight smile. ‘You’ll see.’ My attempt at being mysterious is more like strangled, but everyone returns to their drinks without further comment.

  Everyone except Cass, that is, who’s studying me over the top of her glass with narrowed eyes. ‘You didn’t choose the same as me, did you?’

  Wow. The first thing she says to me all day and it’s to check if I stole her song. I shake my head slowly. ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘Good.’

  She leans over and whispers something in Finn’s ear and her fingers curl around his wrist. Her neat white fingernails might as well be blood-red talons. She’s staking a claim.

  I’m pleased that I manage to keep the catty comments to myself as I take my seat next to Luc.

  I face the stage and try to focus on the performers. Some are decent, others awful, but I can’t pay attention to any of them.

  Maybe I should pull out.

  Cass would be happy, and I wouldn’t risk total humiliation in front of all these people.

  But Cass would be happy.

  And I’m in no mood to give her an easy victory.

  All of a sudden there are only three people left to perform. Cass is up next.

  Finn cheers as she takes the stage. Luc and Jolie join in. I manage what I hope is a supportive expression. Her smile to the crowd is as natural as it is charming.

  ‘Good evening, all,’ she says. ‘Thanks for having me.’ She nods to the guy at the CD player and he presses play.

  Only two years ago when we were at musical theatre camp she’d vomit before every show. More times than I can remember, I held her hair while she dealt with her nerves. Then I’d fix her make-up because her hands would be shaking too badly to do it.

  Now, she begins without a tremor and her voice soars out over the crowd. They respond immediately, nodding their heads and tapping their glasses to the familiar show tune. She has them on her side, and she knows it.

  I’m not the only one who’s changed.

  I want to find fault but I’m as bewitched as everyone else in the crowd. For three and a half minutes I watch the little girl who once shaved a section of my hair and then cut her own to match, and she sings like a star. Despite everything, pride flushes my cheeks and I stand with the others to applaud.

  But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to win.

  The applause dies down and they’re calling me to the stage.

  I stand, leaving my belly back on the ground, and keep my gaze fixed to the front. I can’t look at the others, especially Luc. I wish I’d never told him about the funeral.

  He’ll know it’s Dan’s song. And if I’m going to get through the next five minutes I can’t see sympathy in his eyes.

  It’s hot in here. The crowd is leaching all the oxygen from the air and leaving none for me. Each thud of my heart is painful against my ribs and the room goes fuzzy at the edges.

  CHAPTER

  13


  Your mouth, my mouth, let me feel you close. I want this the most and your lips are shining in the night.

  ‘First Kiss’—GRAY

  As the room spins a hand grabs mine and guides it to the back of a chair, giving me the support I need. Luc’s hand. But it’s not Luc who makes me catch my breath.

  Pull yourself together.

  It’s Dan’s voice in my head again. My brother had his own special brand of tough love. It got me through my very first musical theatre audition when I was eight. They called my name and I froze, terrified I’d faint or be sick or forget all the words. With an apologetic look at the woman waiting to close the door behind me, Mum bent down on one knee.

  ‘You can do this,’ she said, gently encouraging me to go into the dark room with its bright lights and its stage and its strangers.

  But I wasn’t budging.

  Dan took over—probably because he was bored of waiting—and shoved me in. Literally.

  I have to do this.

  I breathe in, not daring to even acknowledge Luc in case I fall apart, and stride forward. Cass is coming the other way. Our shoulders brush. It could be a bump. Neither of us tries too hard to get out of the way. I want this; I want to show Cass that I haven’t lost my ability to sing. But while I want to win, I realise I still don’t want her to lose. I turn and catch her eye. ‘That was good.’

  Her eyes scan my face. Looking for sarcasm?

  ‘Really good,’ I add.

  Her head dips in a nod. ‘Thanks.’ And then, ‘Good luck.’

  She doesn’t say anything more, but some of my nerves ease. Cass was there at Dan’s funeral. She sat right behind me—next to Finn, but not with him, not then. That’s one thing I know for sure. That day, at least, she was there for me.

  I climb to the stage. Two steps and a mountain. The crowd quiets. The light up here is blinding. I blink and search the crowd, straining to see past the bright white dots in my eyes.

  Part of me hears them announce the song, ‘Forever Young’ by Youth Group.