Steve seemed to freeze beside her. She felt the physical change in him, the drawing in, the tension back in full force. They both stopped walking and Julia zipped up her leather jacket as her feet sank into the silky cool sand. Steve’s thin, bony profile was screwed into an expression of pain as he watched the swooping glide of a gull above the estuary. There was a faint tic at the corner of his eye. Suddenly it all fell into place as Julia remembered …
‘Steve?’
He looked at her with hollow, haunted eyes and was still. ‘You know, don’t you.’ It wasn’t a question.
‘I think so. I had a flatmate in London, a law student. She fell behind with her studies, then had to work twice as hard. She started taking things to keep her awake, then something else to make her sleep. Yet she still never seemed to make any ground.’
Steve gave a raw laugh of self-contempt. ‘How well l know the feeling.’
‘You’re not …’ Julia took a breath. ‘It’s not heroin, is it? You’re just …’
‘ “Just”?’ he repeated viciously. ‘Oh, yes, I’m “just” uppers and downers. I thought I was being clever. I knew amphetamines weren’t physically addictive, I thought I could handle the psychological side … I only needed them for a short time, you see, to get me through a bad patch. Classic tale, eh?’
It was, sadly so. ‘How much are you taking,’ Julia asked tentatively, remembering how Cathy had lashed out at attempts to help, but Steve seemed relieved that someone had guessed his burden.
He gave her a grim, death’s-head smile. ‘None, now. Why do you think I’m such a wreck? I haven’t for three weeks. And it’s not getting any easier!’ The last was an agonised cry.
Words that had been dammed up for months came pouring out, Julia couldn’t have stopped him if she had tried. Squeezed dry by the daily demands of rehearsal, recording, performance, Steve had resorted to drugs to fight off his exhaustion. Nights were spent writing music—all of Hard Times’ material was original—and as time went by he had felt less and less able to produce the kind of music the rest of the group wanted. Then his voice showed signs of being affected by the strain and the drug-taking.
‘We were committed to the hilt, I couldn’t just take off for a few weeks’ rest. That last Aussie tour I can’t even remember what we did or where we went. It was like a bad dream. Since then I haven’t been able to write anything worth a dime. I can’t think, I can’t concentrate and it’s getting to the stage where I’m afraid to even try.’
‘Does anyone else know?’ It was possible they didn’t. The lack of appetite, ultra-sensitive nerves, alternate bouts of restlessness and lethargy could all be attributed to simple stress.
‘The guys … how could they help it? We live on top of each other most of the time, especially when we’re on tour. But nobody here, and I don’t want them to know, Julia,’ he said urgently, the second member of the family to seek confidence of her, ‘it’s something I have to handle myself.’
Pointless to say that it was because he hadn’t sought help that he had got himself into this mess in the first place. ‘Not even Richard?’
‘Especially not Rich. He’s always been the stronger one, the dominant one. He’d help all right, but he wouldn’t understand. Rich would never touch drugs, for any reason, none of them would. I have to do this myself. If I don’t, then I haven’t beaten it, it’s just exchanging one crutch for another.’
He was so wrong, but Julia knew from experience that there was little she could say to persuade him otherwise. It wasn’t his family’s shock, or disapproval, or lack of understanding he couldn’t face, it was his own sense of guilt and shame.
‘Three weeks, though, that’s good isn’t it?’ she asked gently, careful to be optimistic rather than pitying.
‘Is it?’ he searched her small, compassionate face intently. ‘I hope to God it is. I hope it doesn’t get any worse. I’m so damned scared. I’ve never been so scared in my life. I have to do it, I have to make it, but I don’t know if I can.’ He took a half-sobbing, desperate breath and Julia moved to put her arms around him, hugging him fiercely, protectively, feeling a strong maternal urge at his helplessness. It seemed as though she could feel every bone in his body, tense and trembling. Above their heads a gull mewed plaintively.
‘You’ll do it, I’m certain you will,’ she told him with soft conviction. ‘I think you should tell Michael and Connie, they love you, they accept you as you are. But if you can’t … and things get too bad—there’s always me.’
Steve pulled back, eyes glistening greenly, and cupped her face within his hands. ‘Thank you for that. I don’t know why I
can talk to you when I can’t to anyone else, but thanks. Now I know why Rich has such a passion for you. You’re a sweet and lovely lady, and I’m a bastard for hassling you last night.’
He kissed her, a vastly different kiss from the kind his brother had given her. This was one of hungry desperation, searching for certainty and Julia submitted, unable to reject his fragile faith.
She followed his lead as they slowly made their way back to the others, responding to his transparent attempts to lighten the mood, and they were laughing as they threw themselves down on the rug to tackle the food. Coy little comments from Ros and Olivia, and more moroseness from Richard soon made it clear that they had all seen that kiss. Ordinarily Julia would have tried to smooth things over, but it occurred to her that here was the way to show Richard she wasn’t interested. Steve seemed to realise what she was doing and obliged by playing up beautifully. They exchanged frequent secret smiles and Steve came protectively to her aid against Richard’s disgruntled digs.
It was only a few days later that she realised where her foolishness had landed her. Now she had both twins competing for her attention, each with the semblance of sincerity, each equally intent on thwarting the other. Julia, unsure of Steve’s motives, was afraid to try and shake him off with the same ruthlessness she used with Richard. His skin was particularly thin at the moment, who knew how he would take it if she appeared to withdraw her support?
Reduced to trying to avoid one quarter of the household Julia slipped out the back door one morning, intending to escape on a little shopping expedition on her own. It wasn’t until she saw her incomplete VW that she remembered her predicament. She heard Richard’s voice calling her in the kitchen and belted around the side of the house, almost straight into the path of the Maserati.
‘Are you going to the store? Could you give me a lift?’ she panted hopefully through the window.
‘I’m going in to Whitianga,’ Hugh replied smoothly.
‘Oh.’ Julia looked at him and he sighed.
‘Can you do your shopping in Whitianga?’
‘Terrific!’ Julia scrambled in beside him as he released the handbrake. ‘But I’ll have to be back to get lunch.’