stone cold sober, chapter 1

1

Fildon, August 2009
         Two things insured Kate would make a fool of herself. One, she had returned to her little hometown after nine years of absence to find closure; and two, she was gutter-sleeping drunk at three in the afternoon. Leaving wasn’t an option.
         And let my running backside be the last thing he sees? Out of the question. “Hello, asshole,” she said instead.
         Quinn looked up from his book. His eyes wandered from her face to her toes and back. “Excuse me?”
         Kate felt goose bumps rise at the sound of his smooth voice. The ground opened up before her; she swayed and stepped back. When she looked around the five other people in the small Viennese coffee place had stopped talking, avoiding her eyes, but making sure to eat and drink quietly so as not to miss a thing. She swore even the mugs stared at her from the shelves. Someone’s mobile phone rang, but no one picked it up. Damn small town, Kate cursed to herself.
         She had loved ‘The Coffee House’ as a child. It was cosy with a dark hardwood floor, lots of nooks and crannies and the aroma of baked goods in the air. The ornate furniture was old but solid, and Kate remembered sinking into the dusty cushions. There was something about the excessive craving for comfort food that made her feel eleven again. But this wasn’t home. No matter how far down memory lane it took her, Kate wasn’t safe and she wasn’t comfortable.
         Unlike Quinn, who was sprawled out by the window. One jeaned leg draped over the armrest of the wing chair, the other stretched out so far under the couch table that it touched the empty sofa on the other side. A row of chest high overflowing bookshelves separated his corner from the other customers in the café.
         “Do we know each other?” Quinn said, a deep frown slicing his face in half. When Kate failed to reply, he turned back to his book. He had crumbs on his t-shirt which matched the leftovers on the plate in front of him.
         “Are you going to tell me your name,” he asked without looking up, “or can I just call you bitch?”
         “Kate Piswanski,” she said, but her voice was just above a whisper. Quinn didn’t react to her name, almost as if it--or she--meant nothing to him, but Kate was sure he recognised her name. No one could be that dumb, not even him, or maybe he was. The thought cheered her up a little.
         “Would you like to sit, Kate Piswanski? Have a cup of coffee?”
         “With you?” She faked a pensive moment and then added a slurred yet perky, “No, I don’t. I’m engaged and happy and couldn’t care less, as a matter of fact.”
         He shrugged. “Okay.”
         “Okay what?”
         “Nothing.”
         “Nothing what?” Kate’s voice reached a high pitch of panic. The sound it always made when she realised she was losing control. She had to steady herself by pressing both knees against the back of the couch in front of her. Quinn would have to be an idiot not to notice she was drunk and judging by the smug expression that spanned his face, he knew.
         He lifted his leg off the armrest and turned to face her. With a prolonged sigh he laid his book face down on the table. Kate squinted and tried to steady her gaze to read the letters, but the title slid away, leaving in its place another, and another, and another...
         “I just think it’s strange,” he said, “that you come here to tell me that you couldn’t care less. Yet, you care enough to come here and tell me that you couldn’t care less.”
         Kate’s fingers dug into the coarse material of the sofa cushion. She wished it was Quinn Bergen’s neck. Maybe if she got close enough, then she could hit him, or kick him, or spit at him, at least. She took a shaky breath and tried to remember what was spoken last. How did one elegantly follow up on calling someone an ‘asshole’?
         I had the stamina to eat nothing but boiled eggs and grapefruit for a week, the strength to exercise day and night as well as the determination to buy an entire wardrobe of clothes to impress. Yet, I did not have the common sense to stay sober. Long enough to implement the perfect first meeting. With him.
         Kate rubbed her forehead and then wiped stray brownish hair from her face. The familiar weight of failure seeped into her. It caused the muscles on her back and neck to bunch up. She felt her way around the large couch. When Kate reached the other side, she slumped into the soft cushions.
         “One cup of coffee can’t do any harm, I suppose.”
         Quinn grinned. “No shit.”
         An eternity passed in which Kate avoided Quinn’s inquisitive gaze, studying everything from her cuticles to the magazines on the table. Her eyelid began to tick. When she couldn’t bear the silence any longer, she glanced from Quinn’s book to the owner. “I didn’t know you read--I mean, like to.”
         “Books without pictures, you mean?”
         A waitress sauntered past and the sweet smell of whipped cream crashed into her. The room started spinning, sending little waves of nausea through Kate’s body.
         ‘Don’t slouch, lower your shoulders, and breathe’, she heard Aunt Arianne say in her head. The only good advice the old woman had ever given her. Kate took big gulps of air. Only when she was ready, did she allow Quinn’s face to come back into focus. His lips moved, but Kate was too busy breathing to hear the words. Instead, she noticed how the sun highlighted his brown hair and stole colour from his already pale eyes. His smile made little creases at the corners. There was a time for honesty and this was it: nine years had done little to diminish his looks.
         “It’s a good book,” Kate blurted out, interrupting him as well as her own treacherous mind. “I bawled my eyes out after reading Wilson’s description of the bomb in the little shop? Did you see that coming?”
         “Can we have two coffees, please, Emma?” Quinn smiled at the passing waitress and then turned his frown back to Kate, “Like I said, I only just started reading it.” He held up the book as if to prove a point.
         “I’m sorry, I--“
         Emma clanked dishes in front of them, filling the cups with steaming coffee. The sweet taste of nausea spread behind Kate’s molars and worked itself along the sides of her tongue. It made her gag. Twice. With shaky hands she snatched the saucer from under her cup and placed it on top, locking the aroma under it.
         “I know I said ‘one coffee’.” Kate winced. “But I didn’t mean having an actual cup of coffee. What I meant was spending the time it takes to have it.”
         Quinn came back casually, his eyes never leaving hers, “You mean like saying ‘come up for coffee’ but actually referring to ‘quick meaningless sex’?”
         Kate fought the urge to lunge across the table and make him pay for all the things he had done to her, or failed to do to her. She leaned forward like a jumper on a ledge. “Let me tell you,” she said, “just in case you haven’t taken the time to consider this yourself, and bear in mind, I will use small words. Even if it’s quick and just sex, it’s never meaningless.”
         “Are you speaking for mankind?”
         “Women. Some women.”
         “Yourself,” he replied with a hint of impatience.
         “I didn’t expect you to understand, considering how you feel about meaningless sex.”
         Rage swept up his neck. Quinn braced his hands on the couch table and leaned towards her. Kate could smell chocolate cake on his breath.
         “It’s been what? Ten years?” he said with a low voice.
         “Nine--”
         “What do you want, Kate? You walk in here when you could easily have gone to the next bar for a refill. Not only do you choose not to walk past, but you come in here and insult me. I could apologise to you, but I’m sure you wouldn’t believe me. I could tell you that your fiancé is a lucky guy, but you’d probably take that for sarcasm. We could exchange meaningless banter, small talk even, or we could just pick up where we left off ten years ago. Minus the fact that, right now, I really don’t think you’re very attractive. So, what will it be?”
         Kate felt tempted to close her eyes, but she resisted. It was not how she had envisioned bumping into the one person she had wanted to impress since she was a foetus. Envy and regret, that was what she had aimed for. Instead she had opened with ‘asshole’, had filled the gaps with bits of meaningless banter, and was about to triumph in vodka-induced public tears of embarrassment. A sound like a freightliner thundered through her head and she knew it was from the pressure of holding back.
         Kate didn’t remember getting up, she didn’t know how she made it to the door or how she managed to find the doorknob through blinding tears, but judging by the amount of humiliation she felt, one thing was sure. She had made a fool of herself again. Some things would never change. One sock would always get lost in the laundry and Quinn Bergen would always possess the ability to reduce her to a whinging weeping moron.
         Once outside, her blouse clung to her body and crying all over herself was not making it any better, Kate realised. Maybe if she had passed up the opportunity to have half a bottle of vodka on her way to Fildon; maybe--just maybe--she wouldn’t be sitting between rubbish containers in the back alley of ‘The Coffee House’.
         Kate’s limbs felt charged and numb at the same time, like she had stuck her finger where a light bulb should go. She suddenly remembered what her friend Waldo had said on finding her passed out on his doorstep two weeks ago: ‘There’s only one thing you can do now to prevent yourself from becoming an alcoholic, chickpea. You have to go back there and see for yourself that this Quinn character is now a pot-bellied, sports-fanatic ugly man in his mid-thirties with snot-nosed noisy children and a career that failed to take off.’
         That didn’t quite work out.
         Quinn appeared at the alley’s entrance. His hands were deep in his pockets and he wore an innocent look on his face. “Was it something I said?” he drawled.
         Kate snort-laughed in-between bursts of tears.
         “Are you planning on spending the rest of the day submerged in banana peel and empty liquor bottles?” he added, coming closer.



         Quinn knew she couldn’t have gone far, not unless she wanted to run down the main street with tears streaming down her face. Something told him Kate Piswanski was done embarrassing herself for one day.
         He came close enough to catch a glimpse of her tear-streaked face and a bra strap that shone through Kate’s starchy white blouse. A bead of sweat trickled into her cleavage. Quinn’s gaze quickly moved back to her face just as she opened her eyes. He’d totally forgotten about her eyes.
         “Honey, I’m sorry I upset you back there.”
         “Go away.” Kate picked herself up off the floor. “I’m tired, I look like shit, and I’m done talking to you.”
         “You don’t look--I mean, you still look the same--”
         “You’re making it worse.”
         Quinn dug dirt up with his shoe and then looked from the red ground to the side of the building. Anything, he thought, he’d look at anything, as long as he didn’t have to see her crying. There was water leaking from a pipe and half the brick was covered in moss. He couldn’t remember ever having been to this alley before. It seemed almost impossible considering that Fildon was so small it fit under his fingernail.
         “Listen,” he said. “I’m glad you stopped by to see me.”
         “Sure. I’d be flattered too,” Kate mumbled.
         Quinn rolled his eyes. He watched her wipe her runny nose with the back of her hand.
         “Can we go back inside now?” Her voice was so tiny that Quinn felt the urge to stroke a hand over her head.
         “Hell no,” he teased. “I can’t be seen with you. Everyone thinks you’re crazy.”
         “I’m more sophisticated than any of those countryside cows!”
         “Yeah, but you’re also the only one who burst into tears in ‘The Coffee House’ today, that’s pretty cuckoo.”
         Kate smiled weakly and Quinn couldn’t help looking at her lips. “I need a drink, are you coming?”
         “With you?”
         “Well, I can’t really leave you in the garbage, can I?” When Quinn walked ahead, she followed him.
         Okay, he was officially stuck with her and it was his own fault. Now what? Quinn made a sucking sound through his front teeth. He would take her to ‘Lenny’s’, the place would still be closed but he knew the owner never locked the doors. At least no one would see them there.
         Lenny was a friend of his brothers and he couldn’t say that he was thrilled about it. The man was tough, cynical and in his forties whereas his little brother was twenty-two and a notch less than naïve. Quinn wasn’t sure what bothered him more, that Stephen had an older brother figure other than him, or that he had access to huge amounts of free liquor.
         He turned to see what Kate was doing and found her struggling with a mirror that was so tiny she had to squint to see herself.
         She had begun to hiccup and Quinn acknowledged that he had never heard a funnier sound. It was somewhere between a squeal and a steady drip of water.
         “When’s the wedding?” he asked, letting her catch up.
         “What wedding?”
         Quinn stopped in his tracks his hands still in his pockets. “Why would you lie about something like that?”
         “Would you have preferred if I had lied about something else?”
         He didn’t bother to answer and continued making his way towards the cold beer he craved more every minute he spent with this woman.
         “See. You just don’t understand men,” Kate said. “Not that you have to.” She threw her hands in the air. “Men in big cities have lots of beautiful women to pick from. And I’m okay in a funny --” Kate hiccupped, “--unsettling sort of way, well, not when I don’t wear make-up or eat--uncontrollably, and I’m a bit more complicated, granted. With a little more luggage than usual. Although I don’t really know what the standard is. But I can definitely not compete--and I don’t want to either.”
         Quinn suppressed a laugh as he watched Kate rave, frown, twitch her nose, and deliver an array of dramatic eyebrow twists all in one hiccup-driven sentence that never seemed to end.
         “Are you justifying yourself for being an old spinster or for lying to me?”
         Kate held her breath and then folded herself in half, grabbing her ankles. A heavy sigh finally brought her up again. “I’m twenty-seven! Not that it’s any of your business. Granted, I’m not married, but I have had--you know.”
         “Casual?” he said, grinning at her.
         “Okay, so there’s been one casual, but that doesn’t mean that it was meaningless.”
         Quinn nodded. “Right”
         “Go to hell.”
         “Already there.” Quinn took in groomed patches of lawn. Freshly painted shutters framed spotless windows. As they walked past a long row of townhouses, two people opened their windows to see what was going on. An old gentleman had even brought along a pillow to lean on, making spying on the neighbours almost professional. The distinct smell of fried onions hinted that it was almost time for an early dinner.
         “I met a guy I really like,” Kate blurted out, “if you must know. There, happy?”
         “I was until you mentioned this guy.”
         Kate stopped walking, placed her hands on her hips and cocked her head to the side. “What is it about the ‘don’t piss on my front lawn’ attitude that men think comes off as attractive? As if you haven’t done enough damage already, now I have to deal with your ego also?”
         Quinn turned his frown away from her and towards his dentist’s wife who was pulling weeds one by one from a flower pot. “Good afternoon, Mrs Winkle.” He wanted to walk on but the old lady unloaded her usual batch of worries. Quinn walked backwards until she finally released him.
         “Are you in love with him?” he asked when they were out of earshot.
         Kate mimicked his words with a tiny spineless voice before answering, “I have come to the conclusion that I’ve never actually been in love.”
         “Really?” Quinn shot out. “Then you either have a poor memory or a very convenient one.”
         “We had one kiss that night. One. And we were practically children.”
         Quinn stopped in his tracks and faced her. “You’ve changed,” he said, not knowing how else to insult her. “You’re more difficult to ignore now.”
         Kate cringed. “Thank you, I think.”
         Quinn couldn’t believe that he had let the conversation slip out of control, but it had, and in front of the entire town, no less. Kate’s frown grew into a grin that spanned the entire width of her face.
         “I know it’s going to be tough to eulogise someday,” she said, “but I have kissed other men since you. And I had sex. Lots--no, that came out wrong. You know what I mean.”
         “No, I don’t, and I don’t want to either.” There was no mistaking the emotion as he acknowledged jealousy for the first time in years.
         “Oh, come on,” Kate said. “I’m joking.” Her smile had disappeared but he could still hear it in her voice.
         “I’m not laughing.”

Read the next chapter "stone cold sober, chapter 2"  or start at the beginning "stone cold sober, Prologue"