by J Wells
“Yeah, but much darker and much bushier.”
“Were all the women the same over there?”
She taps her chin, then shrugs.
“I didn’t see any Turkish women in the resort, but I did meet a couple of his cousins and his aunt; she cooked a meal for us.” She gazes up towards the ceiling as if in thought. “No, no mono-brows, they were really pretty and had lovely eyes. Guess his mum was just unfortunate. While we ate our meal I sifted through Asim’s broken English, and realised he already had us engaged and married.”
“You’re joking!”
“No, no joke. As soon as we arrived back in Marmaris I booked the first flight I could, checked out of the hotel and flew home the next morning.”
“Has he any idea about the baby?”
“No, I’d already deleted his mobile number and he wasn’t on any social media, so I had no way of contacting him.”
“Do you wish you’d given him a chance?”
“It never would have worked; he wanted me to move over there, live in Turkey. I couldn’t imagine living that far away from you, from home.”
Without realising it, Adrianna has just given me an invisible kick in the stomach.
“Anyway, I’m kind of seeing someone.”
I sit forward. “You really are a dark horse. Out with it; who?”
She stands up. “Erm, it’s an ex.”
I pull her back down by the pocket of her trousers.
“It’s not…?”
Her cheeks flush red.
“Danielle ‘Cartwright’, or should I say the one who ‘can’t do anything right!’ Seriously? You must be stupid; she cheated on you.”
“That’s the past, not something to dwell on.”
“People don’t change, Adrianna. If she’s done it once, she’s capable of doing it again.”
“Surely everybody deserves a second chance? And we both know how much she wanted a baby.”
“He’s your baby.”
“Yes, one who’s going to have two loving mothers.”
“You must be crazy,” I hiss.
She bends down, grabbing the DVD remote off the carpet.
“Who are you to judge me?” She holds out her arms.
“Adrianna.” I grab her hand, but she pulls away.
“No, Tash,” she bites, burying her hands in her pockets. “You, with your perfect boyfriend, your perfect life. There’s never any complications, you always land on your feet. I land in shit and you’re the one who comes up smelling of roses. It’s easy for you to say, but when that one person, the one person you’ve really loved, comes back into your life begging for forgiveness, begging for one more chance, tell me honestly, could you turn them away?”
I fold my arms. “Yeah I could, without a second thought.”
“Whatever. Anyway, you’re the only one who knows and I’d like to keep it that way, for now. Next week everyone will. I’ve invited her to Mum’s birthday meal.”
“So that’s who you want your portrait for? To hang on her wall! Well, I don’t approve.”
“I don’t care; I don’t need your approval and I don’t care what you think.”
She says that now, but I’ve got a long memory and remember the hours she spent crying down the phone. I heard the metal scissors open and close as she cut every garment of Danielle’s clothing. Adrianna was a mess, and for months after she popped antidepressants like they were Tic Tacs. She expects me to be happy and wants my approval, but I can’t give it.
Grabbing my car keys, I force a smile.
“I’m off. I’ll be round early to drop off Larry.”
I look out onto a distortion of colour as rain pelts against the long panes of glass.
“What’s up your arse today?” Gabriel probes. “You’ve hardly strung two words together since you arrived.”
I look down into my lap and the glittery varnish I’m picking off my fingernails.
“I’m fine,” I snap.
Mr Pooch jumps up, dashes past Gabriel’s legs and scampers into the house.
His head follows the sound of the tiny bell on her collar.
“Are you happy now?” He screws up his face. “You’re fine? Who you trying to kid?”
Who am I trying to kid? Who’s he trying to kid? Anyone would think the way he speaks he’d known me for years, not a few weeks. I sit up straight, pushing myself into the back of the chair.
“I’m here to be painted, not make pointless conversation.”
He holds up his hands. “Okay, got ya.” His fingers mimic a zip closing his lips.
I open my mouth to apologise, but it’s too late; his face dips behind his easel. I blow out under my breath. It’s not his fault, I’m hormonal, and these damn period cramps aren’t helping. Darcy won’t be meeting me for her dress fitting, so it looks like I’ll be a bridesmaid down. Her relationship’s been rocky for a while, but she texted and told me it’s over; a couple of weeks from now she’ll be setting off on a cruise for a year, sailing round the Caribbean. She’ll be working, but I’m sure she’ll get plenty of free time to sightsee and have fun. Adrianna’s fallen out with me big time since I told her some home truths about Danielle, and Josh… I roll my eyes and wonder why he’s avoiding me. We haven’t spoken in four days. Each night at six o’clock I’ve waited for his Skype call, and each night there’s nothing; not even a text. Our wedding’s only weeks away and this should be a happy time, but I feel the exact opposite of happy at the moment. I feel tears creep their way into my eyes and quickly blink them away.
“Everything’s wrong!” I blurt out.
Gabriel leaps back and his brush falls from between his fingers, leaving an abstract of emerald paint on the floor tiles.
“I can’t paint you in this mood,” he huffs. “It’s pissing me off. What say we have a break for half an hour?”
“And do what?” With my head in my hands, I gaze out of the conservatory window. “It’s pissing it down, so we can’t exactly hold hands and skip round your garden.”
“Drop the bitchy attitude, Natasha, it don’t suit you.”
“The name’s Tash to you; only my mum calls me Natasha!” What’s wrong with me today? I need to hold onto my mouth to stop myself from snapping.
“I was thinking more along the lines of you come into the house with me and we have a drink.”
“Already got one.” I reach towards the table, grabbing the handle of my half-drunk mug of tea that’s probably now no more than lukewarm. I’ve been coming here for almost three weeks and not once has he invited me into his home. I thought it might be down to the fact that it’s probably as presentable as his garden!
“I don’t mean tea or coffee; I mean a drink that might lift your mood. Anyway, I thought it’d be nice as I’ve nearly finished. If things go well today, tomorrow will be your last sitting.”
“Bit early, isn’t it?”
I glance at my phone to check the time and my stomach lurches. I’ve received a text from Josh: Sorry, can’t find a sec to talk, mega busy over here, but good news, I’ll be able to make it back for your mum’s birthday, fly home Tuesday.
“If you’d rather, we’ll forget the drink.” Gabriel’s words break into my thoughts.
“No, no, I’d love one,” I chirp with a sudden surge of happiness. He’s coming home; I have something to celebrate.
Gabriel walks through the open door into his house, and I follow. Even with the curtains open, the house sits in shadows. It’s as though I’ve been transported back a couple of decades. I’m met by cream Artex walls and dark mahogany furniture. A drop-leaf table stands in the corner with four chairs and a cumbersome matching sideboard against the wall next to it. I’m glad he can’t see the expression on my face. I glance at the standard lamp with frills around its shade. This is no bachelor pad for a young guy, it’s what I picture a typical granny flat to look like.
“Got some white in the fridge, red in the sideboard.”
My head shoots round to where he stands.
<
br /> “Sorry, what?”
His dark-lens glasses are pushed back and lie with no purpose on top of his head.
“You know, wine, the drink we came in here for.” He grins, showing his teeth.
I can’t escape his lightest of blue eyes, and for a split second I don’t want to.
“Err, red please.”
The sideboard door groans as he opens it. Gabriel’s hand disappears as he searches. With a bottle held by the neck, he strides past me into the kitchen. I stand in the doorway, leaning my elbow against the wooden frame.
“A good dash of lemonade with mine, please; remember, I’m driving.”
“Sure,” he replies with his head down.
He’s fumbling round in a cutlery drawer, presumably searching for a corkscrew. I’d offer to help, but I’m sure he’ll think I’m taking the piss. I wander back into the dining room, gazing at the works of art in bronze-edged frames. One is called ‘The Reader’; the subject wears an old-fashioned bonnet and a pretty pink dress, and I can’t help wondering what words are hidden within those pages she’s reading. Squinting, I lean forward and imagine the picture has swallowed me up. I’m sitting by her side with my back against the hedgerow. But it’s no good, I’m still too far away and so take a step forward. The wooden floorboards creak.
“You found Monet then.”
I jump, almost tripping as I turn round. I’m kind of expecting him to be standing directly behind me, but his voice trails in from the kitchen.
“How do you know what I’m looking at?” I call back.
“There’s nothing about this old house I don’t know. I know every creak, every echo. I think over the years the rooms have gained a personality of their own.”
I hear the pop of a cork followed by, “Oh shit!”
Rushing towards the kitchen I leave the reader to read her book alone.
God, he’s taken his T-shirt off. My eyes wander down, noticing the way his waist tapers; there’s not an ounce of fat, in fact his body’s pretty damn perfect. The elastic waistband of his black boxers peek out above his jeans. My mouth drops open. Fuck me, I’m staring at his arse.
“Er, er, sorry!” I blurt out.
He spins round and my eyes don’t have time to lift. I’m no longer staring at his arse, but at his crotch. The blue denim creases pull tight against his thighs, hugging everything.
“Sorry for what?”
My eyes immediately jump up above his waistline. He’s wringing his wine-stained T-shirt between his hands.
“Nothing,” I mumble under my breath.
“Slight accident.” He flicks wine from his fingers. “Actually the fucking cork exploded. Go grab another bottle, will ya? I’m guna run upstairs and get changed.”
He tosses his mottled red T-shirt over his shoulder, exposing his ripped chest. I only get a glimpse before he edges past me, through the dining room and up the narrow staircase.
I’ve suddenly gone off the idea of having a drink; the kitchen stinks of alcohol and the faint trace of tobacco is making me feel queasy.
Adrianna’s due for her consultation within the hour, that’s if she turns up knowing I’m here. I send her a text.
Just checking you’re still coming today? x
Yes.
Would you prefer if I made myself scarce? X
She’s typing back, and my eyes stay fixed on my screen.
Tash, I know you’re only looking out for me, but I’m a big girl, and if Danielle is a mistake, she’s a mistake I’m prepared to make, so back off and things will be fine. x
I hear footsteps making their way down the stairs.
Ok x
Pressing send, I slip the phone back into my pocket.
“Did you get the wine?”
I shake my head. “No, I don’t really feel like it now.”
He enters the kitchen, pausing in front of me.
“I’ve been upstairs a matter of minutes, what’s changed?”
“Skipped breakfast this morning.”
He shakes his head. “Getting to be quite a habit; you need to eat, Natasha.”
“I wasn’t hungry, plus I overslept so was rushing to get Larry over to Mum and Dad’s before I came here… So it’s probably not advisable to drink on an empty stomach.”
“Why didn’t you say? I can always whip up a sandwich, or a piece of toast.”
“If you’ve got marmalade, toast would be great.”
He nods. “Sit down.”
I glance round the small galley kitchen.
I assume he means in the dining room. I don’t get chance to take a step before he sweeps me up under my arms and places me down on the edge of the work surface. I gasp because I feel I should more than because I need to. I’m so used to the feel of his hands, so used to his touch on my face.
“So, tell me a bit about Adrianna. Is she anything like you?”
I half smile. “No, not really.”
If a stranger were sitting here watching Gabriel, they wouldn’t guess he had a problem with his sight, but I notice the subtle movements he makes that other people would miss. It’s something I’m guilty of myself. There’s no guide dog, just a bloody cat; no white cane lying around the place. I just take for granted that he can see like everyone else. Then I watch him, really watch him, the way his hands run along the base of the wall cupboards and in a spider-like movement how his fingers open around the handles and then rummage inside.
I see him counting his steps as he walks towards the toaster, before lowering two slices of bread.
“Well?”
“Well what?”
“Your sister.”
“What about my sister?”
“What’s she like?” Laughing, he grabs the toast as it pops up and starts spreading a thick layer of butter.
“I’ve told you she’s expecting. She’s a little taller than me, short hair.”
“No, no, I didn’t mean that, I mean her personality.”
My face reddens. Opening my fingers, I strum them in a repetitive rhythm against the work surface.
“Normally she’s fine, easy going, but since being pregnant she’s been a hormonal pain in the ass. To be honest, we’re only just about on speaking terms.”
“Sounds a bit like me and my brother.” His lips lift at the corners. “Only difference is he’s not pregnant, but I bet he’s an even bigger pain in the ass.”
“You’ve not met Adrianna yet.”
He walks towards me.
“I hope the marmalade’s not too thick; it’s just the way I like it.”
I glance down at the plate.
“Yeah, it’s fine thanks,” I mutter, nibbling at a piece. “So, does your brother live round here?”
“No, he lives in London, not far from Mum.”
“You the black sheep of the family?” Crap, did I actually say that? I swallow hard; I’m being my usual tactless self.
“No, not exactly. Mum and Dad split up when we were kids; I came here with Dad, and we moved in with Nan and Granddad. It was only supposed to be for a few weeks, but we stayed.” He smirks. “As for Jase, he chose to stay with Mum. Always was a mummy’s boy. I go home most weekends; my bedroom’s just the way I left it all those years back. Spiderman wallpaper.” He chuckles. “But to be honest I don’t just go to see Mum and Jase, I go to earn a bit of extra cash, catch the Tube into the heart of London and spend a fair amount of the weekend in Regent’s Park, painting…” He smiles. “Whoever wants to be painted. Been doing it for a while now; getting quite well known, and the heavier pockets suit me fine.”
My work takes me to London at least once a month, and when the weather’s kind I often sit in Regent’s Park eating my sandwiches. Strange to think I could have walked past Gabriel and never known.
“And your dad?”
He lowers and shakes his head.
“Oh, sorry,” I mumble.
“Me too. Life I guess, she can be a bitch.”
“Yeah, she sure can. So you got any family round h
ere?”
“Yeah, my Aunt June lives a couple of streets away. Lucky really; she calls round every week, checks the post and gives the place a once over. Sometimes she drops in unannounced, and I’m sure it’s just to have a look at my paintings. Which reminds me, we’re pretty much done here, so do you want to have a peek at yours, see what you think?”
“No ta, I love surprises.”
My mind wanders back to all those Christmases ago. ‘Open your damn presents,’ Adrianna’s voice rings clearly in my head. All that paper strewn over the carpet and my presents still wrapped beautifully in their Santa sacks. Adrianna had opened all of hers in a matter of minutes and was already bored. I’d take my time, opening one before dinner, usually while Mum was cutting the turkey, then another when everyone had sat down to watch the Queen’s speech. The rest I’d sneak up to my bedroom and leave them there until I woke up on Boxing Day.
There’s a knock, followed by another a couple minutes later.
“Can’t they read? It’s there to see in plain English: Round the back.”
“Are you talking about that tiny Post-it note stuck to the window in your porch?”
He nods. “I never use the front door. It’s buggered and I don’t intend paying £500 for a new one.”
“Well, it won’t be Adrianna; she’s not due for another half hour.”
“It’ll be one of those cold callers, but they’ll get bored and piss off.”
I’ve eaten my toast and slide down from the work surface. On doing so I hit the edge of the empty plate with my hand and it flies up in the air. I reach to grab it, slip and catch the heel of my shoe between the floor tiles. Gabriel’s glasses fall back over his eyes as he lunges forward to catch me in his arms. I hear the plate shatter.
I lean back, freeing myself from his personal space.
“Thanks.”
“Times like this it’s a good job I’m not totally blind, eh? Especially with you being on the clumsy side.”
“Cheeky git,” I snigger.
“That’s twice now. Why do you wear those ridiculous heels?”
“How would you know that?”
“When you walk all I can hear are those damn stilettos of yours; you sound like a pony trotting down a cobbled street. Four inches I’d guess, but whatever they are, why wear them?”