by Gill Mather
"Well I'd buy it," said Don without thinking.
"Really? Would you really?"
"Yes. Really."
"Oh. Thanks."
Don looked around the room. It had been transformed so far as he could see. All trace of algae, mould and spiders had been chased away. The walls of the old brick and mortar and the rafters had been washed with some sort of weak pale emulsion, as a result giving the room a light and airy feel. The slatted table and chairs which were on the grass outside had been given the same wash. Luke had been given a couple of bean bags to put together as a bed and they were draped with one of his mother's old hippie throws.
He'd used the wood preservative on the wooden frames of the glass panels and door and Grace had bought and given to him some cheap roll up reed blinds. She had also, getting into the swing of things, moved a few of the neglected and ill-placed potted shrubs near the house to form the corners and sides of a small area at the front of the outhouse within which the table and chairs stood.
Don was aware too that in the corner, behind a screen fashioned by Luke from some of the old wood after being laid in the sun to dry out and then also white-washed, was the aptly named Kampa Khazi which Luke's ever-loving mother had rushed out and bought for him along with the appropriate chemical that he might not suffer the least minor inconvenience! The screen had also had painted on it in a contrasting colour some vague wafting Isadora Duncan type figures. The effect was, Don could see, most pleasing, especially given the accommodation hidden by the screen. Further the old fridge, which wouldn't have worked anyway, had had the seal removed and wood placed on the shelves. The door was open and Don could see that the fridge held Luke's art equipment with some shoes at the bottom and folded up clothes. The word "homemaker" came to mind and Don couldn't help thinking that quite possibly his daughter had nothing to fear from the young man. However this was an unworthy typecasting notion and he should be ashamed of himself. Still it was somewhat reassuring.
There was of course also lighting when needed provided by the extension lead from the house.
The whole thing had attractively about it now the feel of a South Sea Island retreat, especially with the heat-wave as it was still. Luke saw Don’s eyes roaming around.
"Thanks a lot for this," he said. "I can't remember the last time I felt so happy or contented. It's like peace personified."
Don was extremely surprised at this admission, delivered so matter-of-factly and in so poetic a fashion. But of course, Don recognised, the young man had a passion, a vocation, something which few people were lucky enough to even comprehend let alone actually experience. He knew but suppressed now the fact that he'd felt similarly at one time about the law and the practice of advocacy, a vocation torn from him by circumstance. Had he been a little further forward in his career, he might even have been earning enough by the time Carol became ill to have paid people to look after her. However he hadn’t been, so he'd had to give up. And then Emma had come along, late and unexpected in the circumstances and he got to look after her himself too most of the time but he regretted that part of it not one little bit.
Luke however could see nothing of Don's thoughts.
"If you want to carry on using this building in the winter, it could do with a bit of damp proofing I'd say. Probably nothing very much. Breathable membrane. And it could do with insulating to use it in the winter. Probably a layer of insulation inside with membrane and some wood cladding or something similar. This wash wasn't the best thing really but it was all I had. Old-fashioned distemper would have been a lot better. These modern paints include plastics. They set hard and they're impervious to moisture. I mean they keep moisture in."
Don's lack of understanding was clear on his face. "People," said Luke, "create a great deal of water vapour. It isn't good for wood and other building materials. It can make wood and other natural materials go rotten. It, the moisture, needs to have a route out of a building."
Don looked uncomprehending. Luke continued: "I've been interested in drawing buildings for years and consequently I've become interested in architecture including the preservation of old buildings."
Don still wasn't understanding.
"And I won't be here in the winter," said Luke.
"Oh."
"Well, I can't stay here indefinitely can I?"
"Well I hadn’t actually thought."
"Well I can't. I expect my dad'll come round at some point. Emma'll go back to university. This is a nice interlude but it's not permanent. I won't be able to stay here."
"Oh," said Don again. He tried not to let the relief show on his face. Luke appeared to have it all worked out already. He'd thought it all through. He was miles ahead of Don. It did occur to Don to wonder fleetingly what Emma going back to university had to do with the whole thing, but he dismissed it. They'd have been bound to have met already; they were living in the same house or just about. If Luke felt that he'd be uncomfortable or even unwelcome once Emma had gone back to university, that was hardly surprising.
"Anyway, it's very nice what you've done here and your drawing. Didn’t you think of going to art college or something?"
Luke laughed. "Didn't my mum tell you?"
"Tell me what?"
Luke sighed. "My dad's got loads of cash but he thinks art is somehow inferior. Or at least it isn't what he wants me to do. So if I go to art college, I wouldn't get any grant or loan or anything." Don frowned. "He wouldn't even fill in the forms! I could have completed an application form myself for the tuition fees loan and the basic maintenance loan but my dad refused to let me live at home if I went to art college locally and I couldn't afford to live away from home on the basic maintenance loan. He bullied my mum into promising not to send me any money herself on the quiet.
And also,” Luke started to look furious, “some of my best works mysteriously got destroyed when a water pipe burst in the house and the room I kept my paintings in with some other stuff was flooded out.
“And if you think it’s far-fetched that he had anything to do with that, then as a last resort, he threatened to make it more difficult for me to get into a university by reporting me to the police for something or other or to the examining board for cheating at my A` levels. Whether either would have been believed or come to anything or not, my dad said it would create enough of a stink to affect my chances. I’m pretty dubious now about that, but at the time I was only seventeen and I believed it.” Luke sighed and shook his head.
Privately Don thought that the man had to be barking but he didn’t say this to Luke.
"Oh. And I don’t think my mum knows anything about those threats or what I think about the flood so if you wouldn't mind not mentioning it to her….?"
"No. No of course not. I'm sorry it's been like that for you," said Don. "But you're a good artist anyway. Couldn't you progress without going through a formal course?"
"Maybe, but there's things I don’t know. Things I could be taught. And without a formal degree, lots of people just wouldn't look at my work. And I wouldn't get openings to exhibit."
"But you've got the gift shop to let you put on an exhibition."
Luke laughed mirthlessly. "A small village gift shop exhibition is nothing. If I sell some stuff then great. But no-one of any importance is going to come here and see my work. I might sell enough to buy some more oils and canvas but that'd be it."
"But they're really good!" said Don.
"Thanks Don, but people of any sophistication want to buy semi-at-least-impressionist paintings. Not accurate representations. I have a lot to learn still. It'd be naive in the extreme to think that I knew everything about art. Anyway, I'll sort this place out for you if you want before I go."
Don felt chastened. He had been wishing Luke wasn't here, and now here was Luke fully accepting that he was going to have to leave sooner rather than later.
"Well," said Don, "you must stay as long as you like." In view of what Luke had said, he felt that it was safe to say that.
GRACE HAD BEEN disappointed when Don had told her later as they were preparing the Saturday evening meal together that Luke didn’t plan to stay all that long, probably not beyond the end of the summer. She had looked so glum in fact that he wished he hadn't mentioned it.
"Well I expect he could come back and stay here sometimes," Don had said. To take her mind off the subject of Luke leaving, he decided to break something else to her that had to be addressed at some point. Talking to Luke about educational grants and loans had reminded him.
"With our combined incomes, it's likely that Emma won't get the full grant and loan when she goes back to uni and she'll probably lose her bursary based on parental income."
"But I'm not her mother."
"Doesn't matter I don’t think if we're living together as a household."
"Does she know?"
"Not yet. Unless she's thought of it herself. So the upshot is that I'll have to sub her several thousand a year. I hope you don’t mind."
"Of course I don’t. You have to do it." She was silent for a time as she washed some new potatoes and Don wondered if she did in fact mind. But then she said, "Actually if our being a couple makes a difference to Emma, then surely it'd make a difference for Luke too."
"Sorry?" said Don.
Grace put the scourer down and turned towards him. "It's making me think that Luke could go to college too then for that matter. I ought to be able to find a few thousand a year myself for him without us becoming paupers. And if he was treated as our dependant too, we'd surely get some sort of allowance for him so maybe there would be room still for some grant and extra loan for both of them."
"Well. I suppose it bears consideration."
"Don. It's the ideal solution. I mean now he's here. And it means he'll go off somewhere in September too. Unless of course he takes a course at the local uni."
"Hmm," said Don.
"I'll go and look up on the internet about student finance then. He'll have to get a move on if he's to start a course in a month or so. I hope it’s not too late. If it looks all right from the point of view of finance, can we speak to him about it later? Soon?"
Don looked at her excited, happy face. He could never have refused her anything it was within his power to give her, let alone something that mattered to her so very much.
"Definitely we should," he said.
LUKE WAS QUITE quiet about the whole thing when told about it. He'd looked very thoughtful.
"Er….before we make any plans I'd better see if I can get on a course at all. I'll check the clearing house. But actually Northampton University has a good fine art degree course of the type that I’d like to do. Specifically painting and drawing.” Northampton was of course the university Emma was attending.
“Isn't art the same the whole world over?” asked Grace.
“No. Many of the courses are a lot wider taking in all sorts of materials and media. I really want to concentrate as far as possible on painting and drawing.”
"Oh, well, if it were to turn out that way, that you were in the same place, it would be quite nice. As you're sort of step-brother and sister," Don said brightly.
Luke coughed. "I'll….er….check anyway. Well," he brightened himself. "Thanks!"
And suddenly he had picked his mother up, taken her outside onto the lawn and swung her around as she squealed.
"I wish I could do that," said Don ruefully.
Luke put his mother down. "I suppose I'd better go and see dad sometime soon though. Perhaps I'll pop round one evening next week. If I can get on a course, I'll try not to rub his nose in it too much." Then he looked worried. "Actually, I'd better not mention it on second thoughts. You never know what he might do."
Grace didn’t seem surprised.
Good heavens, thought Don, what else is that man capable of? I'd better hope he can't find some way to sabotage my business! Obviously though he couldn't really do that. It was just an idle cogitation.
"EMMA, WOULD YOU mind too much if I came to Northampton and took an art degree?"
"Well no. But how likely is that?"
There hadn't been time to explain the situation to Emma, and Don and Grace had now gone off to church. Luke had laid on his makeshift bed that morning after hearing his mother and Don walk off past the hedge talking and laughing and hoped he might receive a summons. Not long after, he got a text, hopped from one foot to another into his jeans and went and let himself in by the second back door. He'd already cleaned his teeth and scraped a flannel over his armpits and then more gently around his nether regions though he hadn't applied any aftershave or similar. He hated it himself when girls smelled like perfume counters. It seemed to kill all desire. And he didn’t want to leave tell-tale aromas in the house.
Therefore Luke had the job of explaining his mother's and Don's idea to Emma. He had looked and registered on the clearing house and actually applied for the Fine Art course at Northampton. He could hardly believe it. He still didn’t want to get too excited but it seemed to be happening.
"Oh well then. Why should I? You know if we're still seeing each other, all well and good. If we're not then….whatever."
"Oh good. I wasn’t meaning to crowd you. It's just that it’s the course I want to do and that's where I'd like to go if possible. I’ve researched it inside out in the past."
They had already made love once. He'd meant to tell her straightaway but somehow that hadn’t happened. But now he had told her.
"I suppose you'd better let your dad tell you about me and the course and whatever so he doesn’t think I told you," said Luke.
"I don’t see why. Just because you talk to me about your education, doesn’t mean to say we discussed it in bed does it!"
"No you're right. But," Luke laughed, "when I mentioned Northampton, your dad said that it would be nice for us as sister and brother to be at the same university. Or words to that effect. Honestly, I nearly choked when he said that."
Emma laughed too. It was funny of course. But also pretty uncomfortable. She wondered how Luke would feel if the boot was on the other foot, thinking of his father in her father's position. Probably not so cool about it then.
But the morning was yet young. She snuggled up to him and they made the best of the time they had together.
DON BOWED HIS HEAD and prayed. Or at least he put his head down and let his thoughts roam. This was his time of peace for the week, free from those pesky Solicitors, from the need to explain to Emma that Luke might soon be attending the same university as her and why, including the changes that would take place to her income and the way it was paid because he was now resident with Grace. Free from the vague worry that Greg was a loose cannon who might try to interfere with their lives in ways he couldn't quite grasp, nor really why the man might want to at all but it appeared it was what he did.
So he rested his head in his hands and gave thanks for the good fortune he had found with Grace, for his simple life, for his ability to earn a living reasonably easily, even given his travails with the Solicitors. For the fact that he had no mortgage having paid it off over the years and not having re-mortgaged and spent unwisely on things that would now be worthless - expensive cars, holidays, etc.
His life with Grace.
Things could have been so different. After the Christmas night mass he hadn't been able to go back to the church. Carol wouldn't go into the hospice and he wouldn't make her. Thankfully Emma had gone back to university fairly early for New Year's Eve celebrations, Don telling her that he would let her know when and if things got too bad. He had simply soldiered on with the help of MacMillan nurses and those from private agencies but they weren't there all the time. No-one though wanted to be responsible for someone's death. He had people he could call on at any time apparently and some palliative care available to him but it hadn't been enough.
He was alone with Carol the night she had died and he had had
no effective means to make it any better for her. She had screamed at him to end it. Her muscular wasting meant she didn't talk at all clearly any more but he understood her all too well. He should cut her wrists, put a pillow over her head; bring a bowl of water and a toaster into the room, put her hand into the water and plug in the toaster. In desperation, he'd done just that but the trip switch had gone and the house had been plunged into darkness. Feeling his way, he'd had to unplug the toaster, take her hand out of the water, move the bowl, and go downstairs while she screamed at him to end it as he turned the trip and light flooded the house again. "Please," she had said in her distorted voice when he got back up to the room. "Please!"
THEY WERE WALKING home slowly hand in hand. Don was trying to get Carol’s passing out of his head.
“Could we sit down for a few minutes,” Grace said unexpectedly. They passed the bench by the roadside every week but had never loitered there. Admittedly, facing away from the road and across the fields as it did, the view from the seat was spectacular.
“Are you OK?” Don asked.
“Yes. I’m fine. I just wanted stay here for five minutes.”
“Of course,” he said noting as they bent to sit the brass plaque screwed to the back announcing that the wooden bench had been donated by some past village worthy to rest the sore feet of weary travellers. “What’s up then? Hmm?” he nudged her gently.
“You know I can see in church that you spend a good deal of time thinking.”
Don admitted this was true.
“Well so do I. I wanted to finish off something we didn't finish properly before, after Greg came round.”
“You don't have to you know.” Don could reasonably predict what was coming and after almost having driven from his mind the details of Carol’s death, he didn't really want to have to consider the subject that Grace was almost bound to raise.