It's Not You It's Me. Allison Rushby
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says, starting to laugh even harder.
This makes me pause. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ He laughs away. ‘Hey!’
‘Sorry. Just funny seeing you again, that’s all.’
I raise my eyebrows at this one. ‘Funny seeing me?’ I halt for a moment before I decide it’s OK to go for it. After all, it’s going to have to come up some time, isn’t it? ‘Funny seeing me?’ I repeat. ‘It’s been pretty funny seeing you in all your get-up, that’s for sure.’
Jas moans. ‘Ah, man. Knew that’d have to come up sooner or later.’
‘Really? Did you? And here I was, almost forgetting the fact that you’ve been tramping around for approximately two years posing as a devil worshipper, eating live animals and seducing young boys.’
‘A guy needs a hobby.’
I snort delicately so that apple juice doesn’t fly out of my nose—who says I don’t belong in first class? I could handle that pale pink pashmina. ‘No, really, tell me the whole story.’
So he does.
And it goes pretty much the way I’d imagined it. Jas had gone to Sydney and met up with his contact in the industry at exactly the right time. One of the big record companies was putting together a ‘let’s go for maximum shock value and freak the public out’ kind of band, and he’d gone along and auditioned. Apparently they liked his ‘look’—tall, dark, pale, thin. But not so much that they decided to leave him how he was. Instead, he was signed up and kitted out in a full black leather bodysuit. A few weeks, a stylist, publicist and hairdresser later, he was Zamiel and Spawn was on the road. Apparently it was just a bonus that he could actually sing.
‘I couldn’t believe it the first time I saw you on TV.’ I’ve listened to the story open-mouthed.
‘Not surprised.’
‘But it’s great, isn’t it? It’s what you always wanted?’
Jas pauses. ‘No. What I always wanted to be was a songwriter. You know that.’
‘But you write Spawn’s songs, don’t you?’
‘Course,’ he laughs. Then, looking around furtively, ‘No,’ he whispers.
‘Oh.’ There doesn’t seem to be much more to say to that, so I move on. ‘So why the trip to London? Are you going to see your, um, boyfriend?’ I mumble the last word.
‘Boyfriend? What are you on about?’
‘You know.’
‘Yeah?’
I say the actor’s name.
Jas laughs. ‘You’re kidding me, Charlie. You, of all people. You don’t actually believe all that stuff?’
‘Well…’
‘Come on—tell me that you think I worship the devil, that I eat live animals, that I got town planning to change my house number to 666.’
‘I never said I thought it was all true.’
‘You think I’m going out with piglet-face?’
‘Piglet-face!’ I laugh, then cover my mouth with my hand. It’s not very nice, but he’s right. The actor does have a bit of a piglet-face. He is a bit of a Babe.
‘It’s his nose.’ Jasper puts one finger on the tip of his nose and pushes upwards.
It’s highly realistic. I laugh a bit louder.
Standing a few rows in front, Jessica gives me a dirty look and instantly I remember the Eleventh Commandment—there shalt be no rowdiness in first class. I cover my mouth with my hand again.
‘You really think I’d go out with him? You crazy? I do have some taste, you know. Wouldn’t go out with a guy like him.’
‘He had his tongue down your throat on TV one night. Or do you let just anyone do that now?’ I regret the words as soon as they come out of my mouth, as they remind me of That Night, our last night in the apartment together, but Jas doesn’t seem to notice.
‘That? All him. No idea he was going to do it. Amazing what you can make something seem like when you cut it down to ten seconds of footage.’
‘What do you mean?’ I’m confused.
‘What really happened—he grabbed me, mauled me as I was coming out of some club. Wasn’t expecting it. Didn’t even know he was there until after it all went down. Guess I knew he had a bit of a thing for Zamiel, but I didn’t think he’d actually pull a stunt like that. Used up a whole perfectly good bottle of Listerine that night. Think he’d just eaten Indian for dinner or something.’
I make a face at this. ‘So you’re not going to see him?’
‘Cross the road not to see him.’
I wait expectantly for further explanation about his trip, but I don’t think it’s coming. ‘Well…?’ I try, wondering if he’s being deliberately evasive.
‘Right. Sorry. Nothing exciting. Just a break, I guess you’d call it. Holiday.’
I nod. Fair enough. Everyone takes holidays, don’t they? Even fallen angels.
We both rest our heads back on our seats at the same time.
‘What about you?’ Jas says then. ‘How’s your mum going now? All better?’
Silence.
‘She’s dead, Jas.’
His head lifts up slowly as I turn mine. The horror is already in full force. ‘Shit. Charlie, I’m sorry. Should’ve…’
‘It’s OK.’ I’ve known about it for some time, after all. I just didn’t need to be reminded. Like Kath had said at the airport, ‘Don’t think about…things.’ And this was one of them. One of the doozies.
‘When?’
‘Ages ago. The January after we left the apartment.’
‘But that was only a few months. Thought she was just sick?’
‘It took us a long time to convince her to see a doctor. By then it was only a matter of weeks.’
‘Cancer?’
I shake my head. ‘No, not at all. It was a blood thing. A clotting thing. Technical. Things might have been a lot better if she’d just seen someone earlier. You know what she was like. She thought waving around a few sticks of incense would do the trick.’
Jas pauses. ‘Remember that week we spent at Byron with her?’
I nod.
‘Remember how she made me try that old pottery wheel? Always thought that looked so easy, but when I tried it, it felt like my hands were being ripped over gravel. She was one tough lady. And her sculpture. That courtyard. Blew me away first time I saw it.’
I nod again.
Jas lifts his head up. ‘Gave you a call about that time— January. A few times before and after that too. Why didn’t you call back?’
‘I know. I’m sorry. It was bad of me. I was busy with Mum and then, I don’t know…’ I look away.
‘Don’t worry. Doesn’t matter.’
It does matter, but I don’t know how to explain it.
‘Tell me what you’ve been doing since then,’ Jas says.
I think about it. ‘It’s not very exciting compared to you.’
‘You’d be surprised. Everyone thinks my job’s ultra-glamorous. Isn’t at all, really.’
I shoot him a look. Oh, sure. After all, what could be more glamorous than the life of