Set Me Free (17 page)

Charlotte looked
at him, searching his face for the truth in his words and then nodded.

Something was
amiss. And not just that he was on her doorstep with her comatose sister on the
wrong side of midnight. Charlotte was freaked out. Why?

He looked past her
wrestling with Emily into her living room. He appraised two dopey rockstars,
shifting on their feet and sucking hard on cigarettes. Then he spotted a third,
Charlotte’s brother, slumped on the couch, rubbing his hand over his inflamed
cheeks, unfocused eyes on the coffee table in front of him. His hair and
t-shirt were soaking wet. Craig followed Andy’s gaze to the coffee table. Then
he looked back to Charlotte and saw she was watching him assess the scene in
front of him. And he saw the tears she was desperately trying to hold back as
she wrestled to keep her sister upright.

The little shits.

‘I’m coming in,’
he told Charlotte, and she nodded again. He reclaimed Emily and carried her
into the apartment, his stride determined.

‘Good evening,
gentlemen,’ he said as he lowered Emily onto the couch next to her brother.

Too late he
realised it wasn’t just Andrew that was wet, the couch was soaking too. The
empty bucket discarded on the rug appeared to be the culprit.

He put his hand
under Andy’s chin and tipped his head so he could see his pin-prick pupils. Confirming
he would stay conscious, he grabbed the offending bucket.

Silent, Charlotte
watched him from the kitchen, letting him take charge. She was shaking as she
propped herself up against the kitchen bench and wrapped her arms around
herself.

‘Hey, man, he’s
okay,’ mumbled one of the rockstars.

‘Well, no, he’s
not. But he will be. Which is more than I can say for you two. Get your shit –
all
of your shit,’ he gestured towards the drugs on the table, ‘and get out.' He
thrust the bucket at the one with a voice. ‘You can put it in this.’

The little punk
took it because he gave him no choice, but not without whining.

‘Hey, man, you
can’t kick us out. This is Charlotte’s pad. She’s cool with us crashing here,
hey. Aren’t you, Charlotte?' He added the last bit as an afterthought, as
though he’d just remembered she was there.

‘Not any more,
Wazza,’ she answered. Her voice was hard and cold.

‘Ahh come on,
Charlotte. It’s cool. Andy always bounces back, hey.’

She straightened.
‘What do you mean he always bounces back?’

‘You know, when he
has a bit too much.’

‘How often are you
guys doing this, Wazza?’

‘Ah, you know, it takes
the edge off after a show, hey.’

Without pause, she
pointed to the front door and commanded, ‘Get the fuck out.’

Wazza opened his mouth
to whine some more, so Craig opted to fill the bucket for them. He snatched it
back and carefully swept his arm across the table, collecting everything in its
path and funnelling it into the bucket. He picked up some empty beer bottles
off the floor and threw them in. All the while Wazza and his mate cursed him
feebly, too stoned to even protest effectively. Andy was still silent on the
couch, and Emily had started to snore. Lastly, Craig upended the vintage bowl
they’d been using as an ashtray into the bucket and thrust it at Wazza. He
escorted them one by one to the door and resisted the temptation to throw them
down the stairs. ‘Go trash a hotel room,’ he suggested as he closed the door
behind them. Their whiny protests fell on deaf ears. His were roaring with
fury.

He found Charlotte
watching her siblings. Emily’s head was thrown back and she was snoring loudly.
Andy was on the nod, every now and then his head would jerk up and then slump
back down again.

Certain the
grumbling rockstars were securely locked out, Craig moved closer to Charlotte,
succumbing to the force he couldn’t resist. He did quell the urge to pull her
into his arms; he wasn’t sure what he would do once she was there and now
wasn’t the time for complications.

Clearly in need of
a hug, she tightened her arms around herself. ‘We’re such a train wreck,’ she
murmured, and Craig caught sight of an escaping tear tracing a forlorn path
down her cheek.

Screw it. He
pulled her to him and wrapped his arms around her shoulders. He felt her arms
encircle his waist and he held her while she cried the silent tears of fear and
disappointment. The satin of her slip shifted between them, making him acutely
aware it barely covered her body. Her shoulders were almost naked beneath his
hands. Warm, soft and delicate. He’d never thought of her as fragile before,
but right now, holding her tightly, he wanted to enfold her inside him where he
could protect her.

He breathed her in
and held on for dear life.

Here he was again.
Touching her, needing her; when he should be staying the hell away from her. Talk
about clouded judgment. What the hell had happened to his good sense?  Or his
self-preservation for that matter?

Eventually, she
stopped weeping and pulled back. Reluctantly, he let go.

‘I’m sorry,’ she
said, wiping limply at his damp shirt with her hand. Flimsy fingers light
against his chest.

‘Forget it,’ he
replied, stepping back to clear his head. ‘Why don’t you make a cup of tea
while I finish cleaning up this mess?' Something,
anything,
to keep his
hands busy and his mind off her breasts shifting beneath the satin, and the
panty line tracing her hips.

‘I hate tea,’ she
murmured but moved into the kitchen and went through the motions. He set his
mind to the task of cleaning up the living room, gathering up the clothes and
half empty backpacks on the floor. He threw them out of the front door and over
the balcony by the armful.

‘I think some of
Andy’s things might have been among that lot,’ Charlotte commented as he
returned for a second load. She was smiling wryly, so he took that to mean it
didn’t matter.

‘Maybe he’ll be
lucky enough to find them in the morning.’

He found another
vintage bowl full of cigarette butts and emptied it in the bin.

Dipping teabags in
two china cups, Charlotte watched him as he very thoroughly cleaned her living
room, skirting around the two warm bodies lying comatose on the couch.

Tea ready, she
laid the cups on the dining table and eased herself into a chair. Satisfied the
smell of disinfectant had finally overpowered the cigarette smoke, Craig put
the cleaning products away and sat across from her, keeping his distance.

She was watching her
siblings again. Emily was still snoring, but Andy had found a remote control,
and was watching music videos on mute, as though he was afraid to draw
attention to himself.

‘Do you want to
talk about it?’ Craig asked her.

Charlotte looked
at him, truly looked at him, her grey eyes full of need. She was assessing
whether she could trust him. Evidently it cost her a lot to let him in tonight.
Was she willing to pay more? 

‘No.’

She paused.

‘Yes,’ she
countered and words weighed down by her sorrow began to tumble out, gathering
momentum until she was rambling and unable to stop.

‘I went straight
to bed when I came home. I heard them come in about an hour ago. They were
quiet, just talking. I figured they might watch TV for a while before they went
to sleep, so I just dozed off again. I woke up again when I heard them slapping
him. It was so loud. And so familiar.' She paused and sucked in a huge breath.

‘I didn’t really
comprehend what was happening until they threw the water over him. When I came
out of my room, he was completely out of it on the couch. Soaking wet and still
completely out of it. I grabbed him, and I shook him and I slapped him until he
came to. And then I shook him some more and then you knocked on the door.’

She looked up at
him and bit her bottom lip. ‘He looked just like Dad.'

Her tears started
to fall again, and Craig forced himself to give her space.

‘Did you hear
that, Andy,’ she asked her brother. ‘You looked just like Dad.' Andy, staring
blindly at the television, refused to look at his sister, but he squirmed in
his seat.

‘My dad was a
junkie,’ she confessed, watching her brother. ‘I never knew him as anything
else. I have such vivid memories of waking up to the sound of my Mum slapping
him out of an overdose. It probably happened half a dozen times, and to me, as
a little kid…well, it had a pretty big impact. The first time I climbed out of
bed and peeked out of my bedroom door to find Mum hitting him, I didn’t know
what was happening, so I ran at her and tried to stop her. She pushed me away
until he came to and then she kicked him in the shins and took me back to bed. I
can’t remember what she said, but somehow she convinced me she wasn’t trying to
hurt him. From then on, I would just peek out my door until I knew he was okay.
Sometimes it was just him and Mum, other times there were others; the guys from
his band and other friends.’

‘He was in a
band?’

‘Yeah. They were
kind of famous. They were called Liquid Courage. They broke up after Dad
overdosed.’

Craig was
surprised. ‘I remember them. My dad had one of their albums.' He remembered the
cassette tape his dad often played in the car because his mum wouldn’t have it
in the house. The irony of that cassette had always amused him: his corporate
father listening to punk music.

‘What about your
mum?’ he asked. ‘Did she use?’

‘No, not Mum. She
never touched it as far as I know. I suppose it would be naïve of me to think
she never experimented, but I think she really hated it for what it did to Dad.
She loved him so much she couldn’t let him go despite how much it killed her to
see him self-destructing.'

Craig didn’t know
what to say. Dealing with disappointing fathers was not his forte.

Charlotte
continued. ‘He kind of came and went in our lives. Sometimes he would be around
for months, sometimes just days or weeks, but he would always disappear again,
either to go on the road or just stay with his junkie friends for a binge
session. Mum always welcomed him back and told us if you love someone you
should let them go blah, blah, blah. She has always been incredibly independent
and free spirited. I don’t think she wanted to be tied down by a conventional
relationship, so she accepted Dad’s coming and going because in her own way,
she still needed him.'

Craig wondered how
Charlotte felt about conventional relationships and concluded that given the
chance, he wouldn’t be able to come and go from her life. If he could be in it,
he would be, whole-heartedly.

Charlotte
continued. ‘I was twelve when he died. Andy was only seven, so maybe he was too
young for Dad’s addiction to leave its mark. He died in a stranger’s house. I
think he died alone, or with people who barely knew him.’

She went quiet and
waited for Andy to look at her. When he finally did, and found her watching
him, he quickly looked away in shame. Craig reached across the table and
covered her hand with his own.

‘I’m so sorry,
Charlotte,’ he said quietly.

She looked at him
and smiled weakly, faintly caressing his fingertips with her own. ‘
I’m
sorry. You didn’t need to know all that.’

True, he didn’t
need to, but he was glad he now did.

He looked at Emily
and checked his watch. The crack of dawn was beginning to show outside
Charlotte’s windows. ‘Can I put her in your bed?’ he asked, nodding towards
her.

Charlotte agreed. ‘It’s
just through…’ She stopped, blushing slightly.

Smiling to
himself, Craig scooped Emily up, carried her to the bedroom and laid her gently
but hastily on Charlotte’s bed. He didn’t want to linger in her room lest
memories resurface. Oops, too late. He turned to exit and crashed into
Charlotte, who was following him with another bucket.

‘She might need
this when she wakes up,’ she said.

Craig took it off
her and set it down next to the bed.

Charlotte was
staring at the bed, blocking his escape route. ‘I didn’t know what was wrong
with her when I opened the door. What happened?’

Forcing himself to
ignore the fact they were in her bedroom, and she was dressed to be
undressed…slowly, Craig recounted his night with Emily. ‘She was pretty toasted
already when you left. After that, she just kept hooking in. I couldn’t leave
her – who knows what kind of trouble she would've gotten herself into.’

‘Who was that girl
there tonight? The one with your friend from work and his partner.’

So she hadn’t been
ignoring him entirely. Craig fought hard against a smug grin.

‘She’s no one,’ he
told her. ‘We dated almost a year ago and haven’t seen each other since.’

Charlotte bit her
lip, looking like she wanted to ask more questions. Craig took a punt.

‘I think I saw her
leave as soon as the band finished. We didn’t have much to say to each other.’

Was that a smile
she was trying to hide?  Unrestrained, they’d be grinning at each other like
idiots.