It was the last night we were all together, so we took a train to Brighton. Once the train left the final smoggy grasp of the lower London suburbs, Seth Corrigan pulled out of his bag two full bottles of scotch, complete with a neat little stack of plastic shot-cups. The train was non stop once outside of London, and so by the time we reached the Station in Brighton central we were all good and buzzed, the after effects of the scotch filling us with a fuzzy warm feeling.
But i felt strange.
We left the empty bottles on the plastic seats as we exited the train, and i noticed Steven walking up in the front of the group, subconciously leading us out into the city center with his hands in his pockets and his headphones on. Brianna was over to the left of our group, laughing with some others, speaking in a mix of french and english. I looked back at Steven.
I knew i needed to talk to him tonight, about .... everything that had happened. Slowly that feeling of fuzz and warmth was replaced with a cold-steel dread, like when you're watching a character in a film about to make a horrible decision.
Down in the lanes, Baiden and Paul Bulgin found a tiny hideaway fish-n-chips place, tucked up above an independant grocery in a white washed building with large purple shutters over the store-front windows. The place was very small ----only a few two-person date tables with checkered tablecloths---- but it did have a little smokers balcony that overlooked the street, and Steven was ecstatic.
As the rest of crowded around the counters and took over the luckily empty tables, I glanced through the double panel glassdoor, where he stood out on the balcony lighting a cigarette. I turned, feeling eyes on me, catching Brianna's eyes as she flickered them away. I flipped up the collar of my coat, and headed for the balcony.
"Hey," called Rico. "You want two?" He nodded towards the menu, which was painted in fine cursive on a large plastic board that hung over the counter. I said sure, fine, and went out onto the balcony.
The two of us stood up there, leaning on the cutaway detail black-metal railings, looking out over the city.
It was still early, and as dusk morphed into night the usually gray sky of the southern English coast was full of romantic amber swirls and purple streaks, dark blue pockets smeared perfectly over fading steel colored clouds.
"You can almost see the ocean from up here," said Steven, his Australian drawl sharp and quiet. As he spoke his breath formed little clouds in the cold air, and as he flicked the wheel of his lighter the wind picked up again. I grinned and held my hand up to help shelter the flame from the wind. "Do you fancy a smoke?"
"Thank you," i said.
The street below was a slender cobblestone corridor lined all the way up and down with tiny, busy shops that were blanketed by small cafes and restaurants like this one up on their second floors. Many couples and groups of friends sat out on rooftop patios or long brick balconies that lined the sides and windows all down the street. The street itself was part of 'the Lanes', a very large area of the city devoted to pedestrian dining and shopping, row after row of shops and busking musicians and 'no driving zones'.
I looked down at the darkening streets, and in the faint glowing ring of a distant streetlight i saw the evenings final busking musician, a girl with a guitar, singing Police songs in a beautifully strange scandanavian accent.
In the final dim moments of the ever-dying evening light a group of silhouetted birds passed by silently above us. I watched them as long as i could, leaning over the railing, craning my neck.
"I need to speak with you," i said, rolling my shoulders. It was very cold down here on the coast; the air seemed to be reaching out for us, with crooked, greedy fingers. He nodded.
"Yes," He looked down at me --he was a full head taller -- and sniffed.
"I've been ... a real bastard, to you."
"Listen," he said. He held his hand up, half-pointing in the direction of the busking girl. She was nearing the end of 'Fields of Gold', and for a moment we both just listened.
"She's very good," i said.
"You still playing guitar much?"
"Not really."
"I feel like i havent seen you, since..."
"I've been a real bastard towards you." My hands wrapped themselves around the freezing iron railing. He tossed his cigarette into the cobblestone street below. Somewhere in the distance a siren erupted, growing and fading, growing and fading. I looked back inside; catching her again just tossing her head aside. She was sitting at a table with Rico and Seth Corrigan, a full pint glass in front of her.
"Listen," he said. "I don't hate you. Its important that you know that."
"I still feel like a piece of shit."
He pulled out the cigarettes and lit another one.
"Would you like another?" I nodded.
"You were a sneaky little bastard, thats true as much," he sniffed. It was fully dark now, the rooftop restuarants and outdoor balconies lit up with candles and tiny lamps. The scandanavian guitar-girl was still playing, now in the darkness, barely visible under her shoplight. She was playing 'If You Love Someone, Set Them Free", and it made me think of my father. The whole scene made me think of my father.
"I just need to ask for your forgiveness."
"You just need to be more careful, in the future. Of hurting people."
From inside erupted a burst of rauscous laughter, and we both turned back.
"We should get inside soon, eh?"
"It doesnt matter, Jake." he said. "Schools out. I'm leaving in two days, she's leaving tomorrow. We'll never see each other again. Stop worrying about it, dont apologize again."
"But i ..."
"Yeah, you were a real bastard; you broke up something that i really wanted, something that was serious, so you could have one night of fun. You played it sneaky and just used her and threw her away." I tossed my cigarette out into the cobblestone street as the busker finished her song. "It's alright, Jake."
"It's not."
"You're the one asking for the forgiveness." He sniffed and cleared his throat and turned. "I'm going back inside. You should come in." He patted me on the back. "For this one last night, i'll be your friend, even though i really do hate your guts."
He went inside, and for a while i stood out on the balcony, listening to the sounds of the busking girl, that came swimming out of the darkness.
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