by Dan Scottow
She hates confrontation; avoids it at all costs, usually. The wine and tequila played their part in her behaviour, she knows that. She will have to apologise, explain to Diana that she had too much to drink. And hope for the best. That’s all she can do. Surely she of all people should understand that.
As she makes her way downstairs, she hears Diana in the kitchen, humming a jaunty melody. She frowns, pausing at the bottom. The smell of fresh coffee fills her nostrils. Continuing into the kitchen, she sees that the room has been tidied and cleaned. The wine bottles cleared away. Sink emptied.
Diana turns to her.
‘Good morning.’
Her voice is hoarse. Her usual neat braid is abandoned today, her hair falls loose, unruly, making her look every bit the madwoman. She’s wearing the same clothes she had on yesterday. Coloured streaks of paint and food stains smeared down the front. Lucy can’t help but sniff at the air. God only knows the last time this woman showered.
‘Diana, about last night…’
‘Did I see you? Please forgive me if I said anything embarrassing…’
Lucy tilts her head, narrowing her eyes.
‘Too much wine. It was such a beautiful day, and I have been working on a new painting. I got carried away. I apologise if I was a little boisterous. Did I sing? Oh God, please, tell me I didn’t sing!’
Lucy sits down in an old, high-backed wooden chair, eyeing Diana suspiciously.
‘You… don’t remember talking to me last night at all?’
‘No… I’m ashamed to admit I don’t remember anything at all, if I’m entirely honest. I recall the man finishing the floor and telling me to try to keep from walking on it… after that… it’s a blank.’
She squints, as if she is trying to piece things together, shaking her head.
Lucy lets out a long breath. Her shoulders relax, and she forces a smile.
‘Not to worry. It was nothing important. We’ve all been there.’ She looks away quickly, hoping Diana won’t see the guilty look on her face, or the colour in her cheeks.
Diana turns, staring out through the window, fiddling with a thick strand of hair, winding it between her fingers. Lucy stands from the chair, scraping it across the tiles. She watches the woman for a few minutes; she seems completely oblivious.
‘I’m going to get Richard up,’ she says.
‘Okay, dear.’
Lucy walks casually from the kitchen, feeling relieved, yet troubled at the same time. Richard is in his bed, eyes wide open. Pulling back the covers, she uses the hoist to lift him into his chair and wheels him into the bathroom. She unbuttons his pyjamas, tossing them into a pile. Diana was not exaggerating. The bruises are immense. Lucy traces her fingers across one on his shoulder, chewing at the inside of the corner of her mouth. After washing him down thoroughly with a sponge, she crosses to the cabinet. Searching through various empty pill bottles, lotions, and potions, she finds what she was looking for. She knew she had seen it last week when she had been cleaning. She takes the bottle of arnica gel, returning to Richard. She squirts a little into her hands and after rubbing it between her palms, massages it into his skin.
‘My grandmother was really into her homeopathy,’ she tells him softly. ‘This should help. Though from the looks of these, it may be too late.’
Wheeling him back to his bedroom, she fishes around in the wardrobe, but there are no clean shirts, so she dresses him in yesterday’s. It still smells fresh. A pair of navy chinos hang on the rail, and she slides them onto his legs, tucking the shirt in neatly. She slips some brown loafers onto his feet, then lifts them onto the footrests of his wheelchair. She takes a comb and a tub of Brylcreem from his dresser, and neatens his hair, slicking it into a side parting.
Wheeling him to his usual spot in front of the window, she positions him staring out to the loch, smiling sadly. She strokes his shoulder as a family of swallows dart around outside, skimming the surface of the water playfully.
Backing away, she hovers in the doorway for a moment, watching. The little finger of his right hand twitches up and down on its armrest. Lucy cocks her head, frowning, and closes the door.
32
Diana
Staring at a blank canvas, Diana throws her paintbrush down onto the floor of her studio. It clatters across the ground. The new piece is leaning against a wall opposite her. Her eyes drift to it now and then. It stares straight back at her, screaming. She even thinks she can hear it.
A long, anguished drawn-out wail.
The voice is Lucy’s. Or maybe it’s Claire’s. She can’t tell anymore. She blinks it away, shaking her head vigorously. The place is silent again.
Each time she attempts to make a mark on the surface of the canvas her hand shakes uncontrollably. The room is swirling around her. Spinning manically, making her want to spew up her guts. She knows she is hungover. She drank far too much yesterday; threw out six empty bottles this morning before Lucy was awake. And the vodka had gone down substantially too. Even for her, that’s a lot. She hopes to God Lucy hadn’t noticed them.
But this is more than a hangover. Different. Worse.
She can’t seem to form clear thoughts. Can’t concentrate. Her mind runs away at tangents mid-thought. Is this what it feels like to be going mad, she wonders?
She closes her eyes, trying not to think of her mother at her worst as she scratches at the bites on her arm. They are driving her insane. A new one has appeared overnight. As her nail rubs over the red blotch, a tiny drop of blood appears on the surface. She wipes it with her hand. Her nails have left angry-looking tracks on her skin.
The creativity is completely gone from her. Each time she tries to paint, she draws a blank. She glances back towards the portrait. Hopefully, Valentina will be able to sell this one for a nice sum.
She picks up the brush from where it landed, stabbing it into her palette, loading it with thick globules of colour. Raising it up, her hand hovers in front of the canvas, as she looks it up and down, wondering where to make the first mark.
She swings her arm over the surface. It glides across, leaving a rough smear of black from the bottom corner to the top, opposite. Instead of a smooth arc, she’s practically painted a zigzag.
She curses, slamming the tool down again. Standing, she grabs one edge of the canvas, pulling it from her easel. It clatters to the floor as she hobbles away.
She reaches the door, pausing, hand gripping the knob. Holding her breath, she gently pulls it open, afraid to look outside. There’s nothing there. No stack of stones. No ghostly figure.
Relieved, she steps into the garden, crossing to the kitchen. As she enters the cottage, she hears a knock at the front door.
‘I’ll get it!’ Lucy calls from her room. Diana hears her skip down the stairs. She waits in the entrance to the hall as Lucy answers. Diana’s view is blocked, but she knows the voice immediately.
Confused, she steps forwards, steadying herself on the wall.
‘Val, what on earth are you doing here? Did we have an appointment?’ Hearing herself, she is surprised at how slurred her words are. Lucy moves aside, and Valentina Moretti glides inside the cottage.
She sees the bemused expression on Diana’s face and sighs.
‘I called at the weekend and spoke to your girl here. Told her I was swinging by today to see what you’re working on. You’ve been quiet of late. I was… concerned.’
She looks Diana up and down, grimacing. Diana glances down at herself. Her usually well-groomed hair is loose and wild, flying off in every direction. Her sweater, black as always since the accident, is filthy. She has paint all over her clothes, face and hands.
‘You look like shit,’ her friend says, deadpan. ‘I hope the work is better.’
‘Why didn’t you tell me Valentina was coming?’ Diana hisses at Lucy. The girl appears confused.
‘I did,’ she says defensively.
Diana moves forwards.
‘No… no, you didn’t. I’m certain. I would rem
ember. You never mentioned anything about Val coming.’
Lucy’s face crumples, she looks as if she might cry.
‘I swear I did. Don’t you remember? We were standing in the kitchen, I told you as soon as I hung up the phone, because I knew it was important.’
Diana squints, holding her hand to her temple. She shakes her head. But her eyes flicker as she tries to remember if what Lucy is saying is true.
‘Heavens…’ she says to nobody in particular. ‘Is it Thursday already?’ She fiddles with her hair, noticing Valentina shoot Lucy a look.
‘Oh well, no bother. I’m here now.’ Valentina says matter-of-factly. ‘Diana,’ she continues, ‘why don’t you go and take a seat in the lounge? I’ll be right there.’
Diana hovers for a moment. Her friend motions towards the doorway, and she obediently goes in. Valentina pushes the door shut behind her, but Diana lingers at the threshold, and holding her breath, leans her ear against the door so she can hear.
‘I’m so sorry. I promise you I gave her your message,’ Lucy says, her voice wavering on the edge of tears. ‘She even wrote it down somewhere. I’ll try to find it if you want?’
‘It’s fine. I’m sure it was simply a misunderstanding.’
Diana hears footsteps, as if they are moving away from the door. She cranes her neck, pulling the door open a crack.
‘Is she okay?’
‘I don’t know. She’s been behaving erratically. I’m a bit worried.’
‘How so?’
‘Forgetful. Not just this. We had an argument last night, nothing major, too much alcohol involved on both sides… but today she has absolutely no recollection of it.’
Diana’s cheeks flush as she hears the words. It’s been a while since she was so drunk she lost a whole evening. But the revelation there had been an argument sheds some light on the girl’s behaviour earlier. Diana thought she had been sheepish. Now it makes sense.
‘I can’t quite put my finger on it,’ Lucy continues, ‘but her behaviour has definitely become odder over the last few days. She’s been… drinking an awful lot too.’
‘Nothing new there.’
Diana hears her friend tapping her stiletto on the hall floorboards.
‘Leave it with me. I’ll get her sorted. I’m sure a shower and some clean clothes would help.’
She hears Lucy heading up the stairs and moves away from the door as quickly as she can. She perches herself on the settee just as Valentina enters the lounge. She tries to hide the panic from her face. Tries to keep her voice level. But inside she feels furious about Lucy’s words to her friend. Making out like she’s mad. Or an alcoholic. Or worse still… both.
‘Val, I’m so glad you’re here.’
Valentina sits beside her on the couch, crossing her legs.
‘What’s going on with you?’
‘I’ve… not been feeling well. I can’t explain it, but I just don’t feel myself.’
‘How much did you drink last night?’
‘What’s that got to do with anything?’
Valentina stands, moving to the window, staring out at her car. She turns to face Diana.
‘We are friends, Diana, we have been for a long time. So I’m going to be honest with you. You look like hell. You reek of alcohol, and your clothes are… filthy. This is not the Diana Davenport that I know.’ She strides back to the sofa, looking down at her friend.
‘You need to pull yourself together. God knows what that poor girl upstairs must think of you.’
Diana shakes her head, giving a small laugh.
‘I’m trying… but things feel so odd right now. It’s like there’s a cloud hanging over me… I can’t explain it, but I can’t shake it. I’m struggling to sleep… even with my pills. I’m a zombie during the day, I can’t eat, I feel nauseous all the time.’
‘Then speak to your doctor. You don’t need me to tell you how important it is that you look after your mental health.’
Diana holds her hands up in surrender.
‘I know, I know.’
Valentina sits again.
‘And on a professional note, I need you to be producing work. If you don’t earn money, I don’t earn money. And then we have a problem. The one small blessing is that you are covered in paint, which I suppose means at least that you’ve actually been painting.’
Diana stands.
‘Oh I have. Well, I’ve done something at least. It’s only one painting so far, but it’s… new. I think you’ll like it. I’m quite sure it will sell.’
‘Great. Can I see it?’
‘It’s not finished, but I can show you what I’ve done.’
She picks up her stick and walks towards the kitchen. Valentina follows behind. They cross to the back, exiting to the garden. Approaching the studio, she notices the door is wide open. She can’t remember shutting it earlier, but she is usually so methodical about keeping it locked. She mutters to herself as she approaches. Valentina watches, narrowing her eyes, but says nothing.
As they step inside, Diana appears agitated. She begins to sway.
‘No… no! What have you done?’ she screams. She drops her stick, limping towards a huge canvas which is sat on her easel. Valentina lingers in the doorway, her eyes drift to the painting.
‘Is this supposed to be funny?’ she says.
‘This wasn’t me. I swear to you. Somebody has been in here.’
She steps closer to her easel. Whatever the picture was has been obliterated. An empty can of red emulsion lies at the foot of the easel, spilling the remnants of its contents onto the concrete.
The rest is splattered all over the canvas.
Huge scarlet splodges and drips run down the front. Small areas of whatever was underneath show through. An eye? The corner of a mouth. But the vast majority of the canvas is a mass of red.
The paint is still wet, and as it runs to the bottom edge, it drips messily onto the floor.
Like blood.
‘Val, someone has done this. Lucy!’ she screams, spittle bubbling at the corners of her mouth.
She whirls, barging past her friend. She moves as fast as Valentina has seen her go in a long time, heading towards the house.
‘Lucy, get down here!’ she shouts as she enters the kitchen.
The sound of footsteps padding down the stairs, and the girl is standing in the doorway.
‘Why have you done that to my painting? I told you never to go into my studio… let alone… touch my work!’
Valentina steps closer to her friend, placing a hand on her arm. She eyes Lucy, who stands in the entrance, looking afraid.
‘I haven’t been in your studio. I would never–’
‘Liar! Why would you do that?’
Tears well up in the girl’s eyes, and as Diana hobbles towards her, she backs away into the hallway.
Valentina grabs her friend’s shoulder.
‘Diana, please try to calm down. If she says she didn’t do it…’
‘But she must have! Because… well, can’t you see… she simply must have!’
‘I promise you, Diana, I haven’t set foot in there since I arrived.’
Valentina eases Diana into a chair, moving towards Lucy. She looks her up and down.
‘Diana… I don’t think it was her. Look at her. There’s no paint on her. There’s no way she could have done… that without getting a spot on herself. Her hands are clean.’
She pulls Lucy’s palms in the air. The poor girl is trembling.
‘And besides, we were in the lounge the whole time. We would have heard her coming down.’
Diana stares, aghast, at Lucy’s palms. She shakes her head.
‘I suspected that she might be here… but I never… I couldn’t believe it. But… I think she’s here. She’s trying to get me. She must have done this.’
Valentina crouches beside the chair, taking Diana’s shaking hands in her own.
‘Who? Who do you think has done this?’
She looks
up, eyes wide and wild.
‘It’s Rose, of course. Who else?’
33
Lucy
It took a while to calm Diana. She’s now in her room having a lie down. Valentina closes the door, stepping into the hall, where Lucy is lingering nervously.
‘She’s sleeping. I must apologise for that.’
‘No, no, it’s fine. I’m worried about her, that’s all. I’m okay though.’
Valentina looks back towards Diana’s bedroom, shaking her head. She leads Lucy into the kitchen.
‘I’ve never seen her like this. She’s… terrified.’
Lucy leans against the worktop, running her hands through her hair.
‘That’s as bad as it’s been. She’s been a little scatty up until now. This is a whole other level. But if someone has destroyed her painting, then I suppose it’s understandable.’
Valentina bites the inside of her cheek. Her eyes linger on Lucy’s.
‘But did they?’
Lucy cocks her head questioningly.
‘I mean… did anyone do that? She had red paint on her clothes. I clocked it when I walked in. I remember thinking how odd it was because she usually takes more pride in her appearance.’
‘You can’t be suggesting she did that herself? Why would she?’
‘I don’t know. It’s… strange. But what other explanation is there?’
Lucy fidgets with the hem of her sweater.
‘What she was saying about Rose…’
Valentina sighs.
‘Do you know who Rose is?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then you’ll also know she is dead. And as much as I have an open mind about most things, I don’t think the ghost of her former nursemaid has broken into her studio and thrown a can of paint over her canvas.’
Valentina stands, arms folded, tapping her foot on the tiled floor.
‘No, I think there is probably a much simpler explanation than ghosts and ghouls.’
She glances at an expensive-looking gold watch on her wrist.