by Shaun Hutson
‘I’m a failure until someone pays me for my work.’
‘But if you haven’t sold any paintings, how do you survive? How do you manage to live here and support yourself?’
‘There’s no mortgage on the house, and I’ve got money in the bank. When my grandmother died, she left me some money. It’s been in a trust fund since I was a child. It keeps me going if I’m careful: the interest is enough to pay for my expenses every month. I just paint every day. I love it. I still submit things to publishers and record companies, and the rejections still keep coming back. But, you never know, one day I might crack it. Perhaps with your help.’
She nodded.
He moved towards one of the sheet-covered canvases, took hold of one corner of the material and gently pulled it free.
‘I did this for you,’ he said quietly.
Hailey stepped forward, eyes widening.
‘Adam, it’s beautiful,’ she whispered.
The painting was of Becky.
Hailey reached out to touch the image. It was perfect. As if her daughter had sat for hours while Walker painstakingly fashioned this portrait.
‘From memory,’ Hailey murmured, still awestruck by the painting.
‘It’s what she was wearing the day she got lost,’ he reminded her. ‘The day I found her.’
Hailey nodded, her eyes drawn particularly to the bright red coat. It was virtually luminous in its brilliance.
‘I hope you don’t mind,’ he said, almost apologetically. ‘I wanted you to have it.’
‘Thank you,’ she murmured, turning towards him.
He smiled. ‘At least someone likes my work. I hope Becky likes it too.’
‘She’ll love it,’ Hailey told him, reaching out to gently brush his cheek with her hand.
As she did so, she stepped forward.
He leant towards her and their lips brushed.
She closed her eyes as they kissed more passionately. Hailey pushed her tongue past the hard white edges of his teeth and stirred the warmth within.
He responded with surprising tenderness, drawing her closer to him, into his arms, kissing her deeply.
When they finally parted, she was breathing heavily, gazing up into his eyes.
‘I want you,’ she breathed and kissed him again.
She felt his erection pressing against her as they clung to each other, and with one hand she squeezed it through the material of his trousers.
Walker groaned as he felt her urgent movements and he allowed one hand to glide up inside her skirt, brushing the smooth flesh of her thighs, his fingertips trailing over her skin with featherlight delicacy.
Hailey parted her legs slightly, allowing him better access.
Wanting him to touch her in that most intimate place.
When his fingers caressed the damp cotton of her panties she gasped aloud, feeling the pressure slowly and gloriously build.
Walker’s touch was expert, teasing. Allowing her excitement to build to even greater heights.
She allowed her head to loll back, allowed him to flick his tongue into the hollow of her throat, and then across to her earlobe.
He pushed her back towards his worktop, closing strong hands around her waist. Lifting her until she was sitting on the edge of it.
She lay back, stretching one leg out before her.
He slipped off her shoe, his gentle fingers stroking her foot, gliding between her toes. Then he dipped his head and took her little toe into his mouth. He sucked it gently for a moment, then moved to the next one, and the next, his tongue now probing where his fingers had been.
Hailey arched her back as she felt that slippery tumescence gliding up the inside of her ankle – then her calf. He paused at her knee, kissing the soft flesh at the rear, and she gasped aloud as he pushed up her skirt and continued to lick his way up her slender leg.
She felt his warm breath between her legs, even through the flimsy, sodden material of her panties.
He kissed her there, tasting her through the cotton.
Hailey lifted her bottom slightly, gripping the edge of the desk with both hands, pushing her pubis towards his eager mouth. Allowing him to slide her panties down her thighs.
Her skirt was up around her waist now.
She opened her eyes as she felt his tongue glide into the slippery wetness of her sex.
The pleasure was exquisite and growing by the second.
When the tip of his tongue slid across the stiff nub of her clitoris, she felt the first unmistakable feelings of warmth spread through her lower body.
She gripped the worktop even more tightly, her breathing now almost uncontrollable.
Hailey pushed herself against his tongue and mouth, her back arching once more as the sensations became stronger.
She turned her head to one side.
The portrait of Becky stared accusingly at her.
What are you doing?
Hailey could feel his tongue working more urgently, playing in and around her swollen vaginal lips and clitoris, as anxious to bring her to a climax as she was to reach one.
No, you can’t do this.
She felt two of his fingers outlining her labia, smearing her moisture through the downy hair of her pubis.
Stop it now. Stop him!
She stared across at the portrait of Becky, and those painted eyes fixed her in a piercing gaze.
No more. This isn’t just betraying Rob. It’s betraying Becky.
The waves of pleasure were building. Her climax was seconds away.
No.
She said it aloud.
‘No,’ she gasped.
For a second, Walker continued with his expert ministrations.
‘No,’ she insisted.
This time she pulled away from him, squirming across the worktop, her face flushed, and flecked with the perspiration of pleasure.
Walker stared at her.
At the expression on her face that had turned from one of pure pleasure to one of
(shock?)
distaste.
‘What’s wrong, Hailey?’ he asked, genuinely concerned.
‘I can’t do this,’ she breathed, pulling up her panties, pulling down her skirt.
He opened his mouth to say something.
‘This isn’t right,’ she said, stepping into her discarded shoe. ‘I can’t.’
Walker was also breathing heavily, his own excitement evident.
‘I’m sorry,’ she told him, and she was already heading for the door.
‘Take the painting,’ he called helplessly, motioning towards Becky’s portrait.
He heard the front door slam.
Heard the sound of her car engine bursting into life.
Walker bowed his head and exhaled deeply.
Almost painfully.
43
SHE WASN’T EVEN sure where she was when she at last stopped the car.
Hailey had been driving as if she was in a trance, grateful that the roads had been so quiet.
Now, finally, she pulled the Astra over and switched off the engine, her breath still coming in deep, racking gasps.
For what seemed like an eternity she sat behind the wheel, gazing aimlessly out of the windscreen at the trees that rose tall on both sides of the road. A light breeze whipped along the road, stirring fallen leaves – occasionally scooping them up into miniature whirlwinds that died as quickly as they had risen.
When Hailey shifted in her seat, she could feel the wetness between her legs – the desire still strong.
She looked into the rear-view mirror.
The face of Adam Walker looked back at her.
She blinked hard and looked again, but the image was gone.
She was looking at her own flushed features.
Hailey fumbled in her handbag for a cigarette and lit up, the Superking quivering between her fingers.
She closed her eyes and allowed her head to slump back against the headrest.
She thought about Walker.
> About his tongue sliding so expertly between her legs.
Her eyes jerked open, as if to banish that image.
To force such feelings from her body.
You wanted him.
She sucked hard on the cigarette, took another couple of drags, then clambered out of the car.
The wind ruffled her already unkempt hair and she pulled her jacket tightly around her as she walked, unsteadily, along the path at the roadside.
There was a wooden bench about twenty yards further along, and she made for that, finally seating herself. She sucked in deep lungfuls of air, glancing up and down the road as if expecting to see Walker’s Ford Scorpio approaching.
What did you think you were doing back there?
She massaged her forehead with her fingertips.
You wanted him, and then you turned your back on him. Why?
Hailey knew that what she had intended was wrong.
But it felt so good, didn’t it?
Becky?
Becky wasn’t there. She would never have known. You led him on. You’re to blame.
Such thoughts whirled around madly inside her head.
You had your chance. You wanted revenge against Rob. You wasted that chance.
Becky?
Hailey still felt the excitement she’d felt as Walker had held her. As he’d lifted her onto the worktop. As he’d explored her most intimate desire.
She got to her feet and walked back to the car, the passion still burning between her thighs as she opened the door and slid into the front seat.
Barely thinking, she slipped her right hand down the front of her panties, her other hand gripping the steering wheel.
The sensations built quickly as she used the tip of her index finger to stroke her inflamed clitoris.
Her orgasm hit her with a speed and intensity that surprised her. She clenched the wheel, her knuckles whitening, her breath loud and guttural inside the car.
For long seconds she writhed in ecstasy, squeezing her thighs together to increase the sensations. Her body shook violently three or four times, then she lay back in her seat, her eyes half open.
A car drove past, but she paid it little attention.
When she pulled her fingers free they were glistening.
She glanced at the dashboard clock and knew she had to leave now.
Hailey started up the engine.
Adam Walker leant on the desk, head down.
He’d remained in that position ever since Hailey left the house. It seemed to take a supreme effort of will from him to straighten up and look around the room.
He could smell her: the delicate scent of her perfume; the musky aroma of her desire. He could still taste her in his mouth.
Walker let out a long breath and shook his head.
He couldn’t understand what he’d done that was so wrong. What awful act had he perpetrated to make her rush out of the room so quickly?
Walker wandered round behind the desk and slumped down in the high-backed chair, gazing slowly around the room. The eyes from all his paintings stared back at him blankly. There was no sympathy in those blind orbs, no understanding in those expressions.
He wanted to hold her in his arms again. To ask her what he had done wrong. To enquire how he could put it right.
Perhaps he shouldn’t have told her what happened between himself and his father.
The abuse he had suffered.
Some things were best left unsaid, weren’t they?
He shouldn’t have burdened her with that kind of knowledge. It was bad enough having to live with the memories, without sharing them with others.
And yet she had said she wanted to know.
She had said she wanted him.
She wanted him to hold her, didn’t she? She had told him she did.
A great feeling of sadness enveloped him like a shroud.
He looked across at the portrait of Becky.
He had painted her smiling.
Walker wished that Becky could see the painting. It had been done for her.
It was only right that she should see the painting.
If only Hailey had taken it with her.
If only . . .
Outside in the hall, the phone began to ring.
44
HAILEY WAS STARING at the VDU screen when she heard a knock on the door.
Without looking up, she called for the visitor to enter.
James Marsh peered around the door, then walked in.
‘I won’t be a minute, Jim,’ she said, scribbling down a phone number from the vast array before her.
‘Take your time,’ Marsh said, wandering further into the office.
He walked around slowly, finally crossing to her desk and reaching for a small framed photo of Becky that he picked up, smiling at her image.
Hailey finally turned to look at him.
‘She’s got her mum’s looks,’ said Marsh, replacing the photo.
‘Thanks.’ Hailey smiled.
‘I just nipped in to check that this meeting with Waterhole is going ahead.’
‘I rang the hotel this morning and checked. I’m due there at one.’
‘They’re staying at the Crest, aren’t they?’
‘Two of them: Craig and Matt.’ She grinned. ‘The others are doing interviews in London. Their PR girl said they were very busy. We’re lucky to have two of them.’
Marsh snorted indignantly. ‘Jumped-up little shits,’ he said irritably.
‘Their manager’s with them, too. And their girlfriends. And a couple of people from their record company.’
Marsh shook his head.
‘What’s their manager like?’ Hailey wanted to know.
‘Ray Taylor? He’s like most managers. As long as he gets his twenty per cent, he’s happy. He’s been in this bloody game for years. I knew him when he was a record plugger. He’s got plenty of rabbit, but he’s bearable – you know the type.’
She nodded.
‘What’s Rob said so far about you coming back to work for me?’
‘He doesn’t mind,’ she lied. ‘He knows how much I like this job. Besides, he’s got his own business to keep him occupied.’
‘Did you tell him you were meeting Waterhole?’
She nodded. ‘He wasn’t very impressed.’ She smiled.
‘I’m not surprised.’
‘My little girl was excited about it. She asked me to get their autographs.’
‘You’d better check if they can write first,’ Marsh chuckled.
‘Is there anything specific you want me to go over with them, Jim?’
‘Just make sure they know the deal. That the gig’s for charity. That there’s a big party afterwards. That they’re expected to meet a few local big nobs. That sort of thing.’
‘Shall I mention the auction for the signed guitar?’
‘Did you get that sorted then?’
‘I got them to agree to it. They’re bringing a mobile unit with them too, to record their set. The record company have agreed to press a limited edition of twenty thousand CDs. Half the proceeds will go to charity.’
‘And Ray Taylor agreed to that?’ Marsh said, grinning.
‘With a little persuading,’ she told him.
Marsh laughed loudly. ‘Jesus, that must have hurt him.’
‘Jim, I’d better get going.’ Hailey glanced at her watch.
He nodded and headed for the door.
‘Let me know how it goes,’ he said. Then he was gone.
Hailey waited for him to disappear, then picked up her handbag.
She was fumbling for her car keys when there was another knock on the office door.
‘Come in,’ she called.
The flowers seemed to appear like a huge multicoloured cloud, the cellophane sheath crackling in the hands of the young woman who carried them.
‘These just arrived for you,’ said Emma Grogan.
Hailey looked surprised, and took the immense bouquet from her secretary.
‘I wish I had someone to send me flowers like that,’ said Emma, staring at the array of blooms longingly. She stood a moment longer, then left.
Hailey pulled a card from the small envelope stapled to the clear wrapping and glanced at it.
Dear Hailey
Sorry about yesterday.
Adam
She held the card in her fingers for long seconds, then slid it back into the envelope.
Sorry.
She glanced down at the flowers.
Sorry.
‘So am I,’ she murmured.
Hailey picked up the bouquet and dropped it into the waste-bin.
45
ADAM WALKER HAD seen the same words before. Many times.
And one in particular.
Rejection.
It appeared in nearly all the letters he had received from publishers or record companies over the years.
He had assumed that the idea of rejection, the very act and process of being rejected, would somehow lose its sting. Surely if he suffered rejection often enough, it would become easier to live with.
He had found that wasn’t the case.
It still hurt.
Perhaps that was a good thing. Perhaps when rejection ceased to bother him, then that was finally the time to give up. But that idea never entered his thinking.
Yet it hurt. Every time it happened, it hurt. And it angered him. To think that someone could dismiss his work so easily was annoying.
He looked at the letter again, re-read it.
The record company thanked him for sending samples of his work (he always sent transparencies), but they didn’t use freelance artists for their album sleeves. Hence this latest rejection.
Rejection.
He crossed to a small filing cabinet in his study and slid open one of the drawers.
From inside he withdrew a black clip-file and flipped it open.
There were over forty rejection letters and slips inside it already.
He knew, since he had placed each one there carefully.
Walker found the hole-punch, snapped open the file and added the latest letter to the batch, then he shut the file and slid it back.
Out of sight, out of mind?
If only it was that easy.
He looked around at his canvases, his work.