Let Me Be Your Truth

by Lynsey M. Stewart

  He picked up his book, slung his backpack over his shoulder and walked down the path away from me, too far away. I wanted to pull him back to exactly where I had felt him warm and close against my cheek. ‘Remember!’ he shouted, pointing to my legs. ‘Skirt.’ He smiled briefly as he walked backwards. ‘Don’t make a habit of disappointing me, Kate.’

  Chapter Eleven

  ‘Mum, can you talk?' I held the phone tightly in my hand as I crouched down on the floor in Ruth's office. She had taken the chairs from her desk into the lounge area because we were so busy. She'd let me take a break before the evening's art class started, and I was thankful for it. I hadn't eaten all day and was in desperate need of coffee after spending all week trying to decide if I was dreading seeing Danny or looking forward to it.

  I also needed to talk to Mum.

  ‘Of course, Kate. I’ve always got time for you.’

  ‘I don't want you to get upset. I haven't done anything yet, but I just need you to understand.' I heard a scrape of a chair against the floor and imagined her barefoot in the kitchen, bracing herself for bad news by sitting down.

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘I’ve been thinking about accessing my social care files.’

  Silence.

  ‘Mum?’

  ‘I’m here. I’m here, sweetheart. I’m just a bit…How long have you been thinking about this?’ I knew that what she really wanted to say was: You always tell me everything. Why not this?

  ‘A while. More so in the past few weeks. I had a counselling session with someone at the centre who’s traced his birth mother; we had a really great talk—’

  ‘I’m shocked, Kate. I just need a minute to process this.’

  ‘Are you upset?’ Please don’t be upset.

  ‘No, sweetheart, I’ve always known this could happen. I’m not upset. I’m just…Have you really thought this through? There’s so much to think about.’

  ‘I haven’t done anything yet. I needed to know you were OK with this. I needed your blessing. I spoke to Abi. I really want her to be the one to take me through this.’

  Silence.

  ‘This won’t change anything. You’ll always be my mum.’

  ‘I know. I know.’ I heard her blow out a breath.

  ‘Abi’s told me about the process. She’s really settled me. I don’t need to rush into anything. She will put a report together with all my details and nothing else will happen until I’m ready.’

  I heard her take another small breath. ‘Have you thought about what happens after? Do you think you will want to meet them?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘I wish you would have talked to me,’ she said.

  ‘I'm talking to you now.' I tried to sound happy, like this wasn't affecting me as much as I knew it was affecting her.

  ‘Whatever you decide, I'll be there for you. It doesn't change anything. You're my daughter; of course I'll support you. Dad too.'

  ‘I love you.’

  ‘I love you too.’

  ‘I'm at the centre, but I promise I'll call you later,' I said.

  ‘Don't call. Come and see me. I need a hug.' I could hear the smile in her voice, but it was alongside the strain of holding back tears.

  ‘Me too,’ I replied.

  I wiped my eyes with a tissue from a box on Ruth’s desk and took a few deep breaths before opening the door of her office.

  ‘Kate!’ I turned to see Oli across the room. I waved when I saw him smiling widely. ‘Guess what; I’m seeing my mother tomorrow. You were right; she was having a bad day and needed some time. Just a few days. We’re going for a meal next week!’

  I put my hand to my chest. ‘That’s great news! You must let me know how it goes,’ I shouted back.

  ‘I will!' God, he was happy, and it was wonderful to see. ‘Wait there a minute.' He put down his mug and made his way through the crowd of people waiting to get settled in the art room for the evening's class. ‘I wanted to give you this.' He handed me a folded piece of paper with a phone number scrawled across it. ‘It's the number for the adoption team in Nottingham. I'm not sure if it's the right place to start, and I know you said you had a friend there, but I wanted to do something to help,' he smiled shyly. I returned the smile. I knew the number; I rang Abi on it every Friday lunchtime to arrange our Saturday night out.

  ‘Oli, I don't know what to say. That's so thoughtful of you.' I rubbed my hand on his elbow and his shy smile returned. ‘I have been thinking about it, and this is the first step. So thank you.'

  ‘I’m ready. I’m ready.’ Ruth bustled through and opened the doors to the art room.

  ‘Promise me you’ll ring,’ Oli said.

  I nodded as the crowd filed in leaving me alone. I heard movement behind me and turned to find Danny, wide-eyed and quiet as his eyes stayed fixed on the piece of paper in my hand.

  ‘Are you coming in? You’ll be pleased to know Ruth is leading the session today, not me,’ I said coolly while instinctively pressing my hand to my stomach to stop the flutter of butterflies. He really was breathtaking.

  ‘Yeah, I’m coming in.’ He appeared embarrassed and unusually quiet. I wondered if it was after last week or if he had heard my conversation with Oli. ‘Was he bothering you?’ he asked.

  ‘No, he’s fine. He’s just passed on a phone number.’

  ‘His?’ he said rather quickly.

  ‘God, no!’ I said, my eyebrows shooting up. I noticed his shoulders relax. ‘It’s for something I’m considering. It’s the telephone number for the adoption team.’ I flapped the paper in front of us.

  ‘Adoption?’ he asked. ‘Aren’t you a bit young for that?’

  ‘Young for what?’ I frowned as his question sank in. ‘I’m not considering adopting,’ I gasped. ‘Wow, you really shouldn’t eavesdrop on other people’s conversations.’

  ‘I was standing behind you. Couldn’t help but hear.’ He was so bloody moody.

  ‘I’m not considering adopting. I am adopted. I’m thinking about tracing my birth parents. Or at least getting my background information.’ He didn’t speak, didn’t offer any encouragement or tell me that I must be mad. I tried to read him but trying to meet his eyes was an impossible job. He just backed away, nodded a couple of times and walked through to the art room.

  ‘Are you joining us?’ he shouted behind his shoulder.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Good,’ he smiled. ‘You could do with the fucking practice.’

  Arse.

  Chapter Twelve

  The class finished without any major incidents. No cutting banter, no obvious put-downs of my artwork, and no cheeky glances at my breasts. It was a disappointment, to say the least.

  Everyone had left. It was eerily quiet now that the art room was empty. The space appeared much bigger, and my footsteps echoed as I walked across the floor right to the back where four paintings were leaning up against the wall. One of them was the painting of the pig. It was still staring at me, mocking me, telling me with its bright eyes and large round snout that its creator was a stubborn man that never followed the rules. My eyes scanned to the canvas next to it. It was a large square picture showing just one side of a man's face. Thick strokes of paint were layered on top of each other to create a brilliant mix of skin tones. His technique was amazing. I still wasn't even sure how he created the unique lines and blended colours.

  I found my fingertips tracing over the pictures, feeling the textures and trying to take in the magnitude of his talent. Maybe I thought I could soak in a piece of him. I frowned as I remembered him telling me that I would ask them all to use red paint to channel their anger. Danny had anger coursing through him, but his paintings didn't show it all. They were all bright and vivid. He had a preference for using pastel shades and oil paint. Some of his artwork was fun and made my lips curl into a smile. I noticed a beautiful jellyfish that popped with colour, but it was the painting of a rabbit that caught my eye. Its large pink ears were poking out from behind splatters of
blue and white, almost like he had unintentionally spilled colour onto the canvas, but that was impossible because every stroke and line was meticulously thought through.

  If the paintings could speak, what would they say? What secrets would they reveal about Danny?

  ‘What do you think you’re doing, princess?’

  I took my hand off the painting and spun to find Danny looming in the doorway. He was holding his motorcycle helmet before putting it down on the table. ‘Oh! Wow, you scared me.’ I clutched my hand to my chest. This man caused so many mixed emotions in my body. Why was I so jumpy around him?

  ‘I asked what you were doing.’

  ‘I was just admiring your work,' I replied, suddenly feeling very small, like I'd just been caught out doing something I shouldn't when all I was doing was getting lost in his monumental talent.

  ‘Admire with your eyes, not your fucking hands,' he snapped.

  Jesus, he was a confusing arse. A particularly fine looking confusing arse.

  ‘I'm complimenting you, Danny. Take it,' I said as I folded my arms across my chest. His eyes lingered there until he dropped his head and frowned his way through what I wasn't sure was shame, regret, or maybe even embarrassment.

  ‘I don’t need compliments.’ He was challenging me. ‘Not from you.’

  ‘I’ve still not impressed you with my art skills?’ I asked.

  ‘No, still not impressed by your art skills,’ he smirked. There was something hidden behind that statement. I was desperate to know what it was.

  The static was whirling around us. If I were asked to explain it, I would have struggled to find the exact words. There was always a thick, palpable tension between us. Before, it was the dance of needing to be liked on my part and needing to push people away on his.

  He stepped closer, and so did I. He raked his hand through his hair, and I pulled mine softly through my fingers. He breathed harshly and heavily. I matched the jarring pace.

  ‘Is there something you want to say to me, Danny?’

  He took one more step forward.

  ‘You did as I asked,' he replied, looking at my skirt. The same skirt he asked me to wear last week. ‘I like that.' I smoothed it down my legs with my hands.

  ‘Anything else?’ I muttered.

  ‘Nope.’

  He rose onto the balls of his feet.

  ‘Don’t you think I deserve a full apology after last week?’ I asked, licking my lips.

  His eyes didn’t leave my mouth.

  ‘I’m building up to that, princess. Never been my strong point.’ He walked backwards, grabbing his motorcycle helmet off the table. He looked ruggedly handsome and beautifully delicate all at the same time. A perfect mixture of strong and soft. Rough and smooth. He tried to hide it, every day he tried to hide it, but I saw it all until I could hardly breathe.

  ‘Maybe next week then,’ I suggested.

  ‘Maybe,’ he replied as he stepped towards me and ran the tip of his nose down the soft pad of my cheek to the sharp edge of my jawbone. ‘If you stop touching my fucking stuff.’

  Chapter Thirteen

  ‘Ali said you needed to see me.' After opening Ruth's office door, I immediately saw Danny. He had this strange look on his face. A peculiar mix of sternly furious and deeply embarrassed. He had almost scrunched himself completely into the corner of the chair. He looked so uncomfortable that I wanted to laugh out loud at his maddening change in body language.

  ‘Kate, sweetheart, sit down.’ I pulled up a chair next to Danny and rested my hands in my lap, unsure of what to do with them as I had the urge to trace my finger across the beautifully detailed clock tattooed on his arm. ‘How are you this evening?’ Ruth asked.

  I smiled to break the tension. ‘Good, thanks.’

  She nodded. ‘As you can see, I've got Danny with me. I don't want to make this awkward for the both of you, but I feel we need to acknowledge the unfortunate incident from the other day and then hopefully we can move on.' I looked across to Danny. He looked so vulnerable. Not the cocky guy I'd encountered for the last few weeks. ‘I can't have that kind of behaviour here, Danny. I don't want to see that again. You have a great talent and you know I'm fond of you.' She skirted over that statement quickly to stop her smile. ‘But I'm not having Kate spoken to like that.' He was still looking at the floor, barely acknowledging her. ‘Well.' She pushed her hands forward, encouraging him with a firm gesture.

  ‘I was out of order,’ he replied.

  ‘No. It was me. I was unprofessional. You had every right to leave.’

  ‘Hang on, Kate. You had every right to react that way. He was disrespectful, and I won't have it,' Ruth said, staring firmly at Danny. ‘Continue.'

  He cleared his throat and fidgeted with the edge of his shirt. ‘I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that. Sorry.’

  ‘And,’ Ruth pushed.

  He quickly glanced at me but returned his full focus to Ruth. She gave him an encouraging nod. ‘I didn’t mean to make things… uncomfortable. I can be a dick when I want to be.’ I found it hard to recognise Danny’s vulnerable side.

  ‘Apology accepted,' I smiled. He looked surprised, like no one had ever done that so easily before.

  ‘You’re too nice for your own good,’ he mumbled.

  ‘It’s a failing,’ I shrugged.

  ‘No, it isn’t.’

  I nervously pulled at my skirt and slid the fabric under my thighs. ‘I’d like us to start again,’ I said.

  He stroked his finger across his bottom lip. ‘We could. But I need to set some ground rules. I don’t talk about my childhood, or my feelings, or anything else that’s been shit in my life.’

  ‘That’s fine,’ I smiled, desperately trying to think about changing the direction of the conversation safely. ‘We won’t go there. I want you to be comfortable.’

  ‘I appreciate that,’ he replied, shifting in his chair again.

  I remembered what Ruth had said to me about getting him on side. ‘So, let’s talk about one thing we do have in common,’ I smiled. ‘Tell me about your passion for art.’

  He immediately sat up, pushing his shoulders back in an instant, changing in body language. ‘What do you want to know?’

  ‘When did you start?’

  He sighed. ‘I've always liked painting, and I've drawn for as long as I can remember. It's an escape for me, and it's something I know I'm good at.'

  ‘I agree. Your work is…so individual. Beautiful. I saw the jellyfish you painted the other day. The colours you chose were outstanding. It made the jellyfish so rich but still gave the illusion that it was translucent. Amazing.'

  He spread his arms across the back of the chair. Very distracting. He was built to perfection. Every teasing bump of muscle was on display through his tight t-shirt. ‘I’m glad you liked it.’

  ‘Maybe you could give me a lesson sometime,’ I asked.

  ‘How about now?’ he said as he stood up. ‘Fuck knows, you need the advice.’

  Deep breaths…

  ‘I'll set up an easel and you get the paints,' he said, nodding briskly.

  ‘OK, great!’

  ‘Tone it down a notch. You’re a little too positive. Are you always this fucking happy?’ he asked.

  ‘I want you to show me how you get those bold, thick strokes of paint. The way you layer the colours and the textures is unlike anything I've seen before,' I said, shouting from the cupboard as I rifled through the paints. I knew he preferred pastel colours, so I picked a selection that I thought he would like.

  ‘I paint with a palette knife. Not the smaller ones usually used with paint; the kind you use in the kitchen to ice a cake. It's thicker and flatter. See that one over there?' he pointed to the square canvas depicting just one side of a man's face. ‘Do you see the thickness of the paint on the chin? I just scrape the paint on with the knife. It gives it that texture.’

  ‘That's clever. Do you mind if I try it?'

  ‘It's a lesson, isn't it? That's why we're her
e.' He’s here to teach. What do I want to know? ‘Load up the paint and make the first stroke with the knife. You can build it from there.' I tried to mimic him but I didn't quite have it. ‘Here.' He wrapped his fingers around my hand and arched them so the knife was at an angle, brushing it downwards creating a thick, sharp line. ‘It's great for faces because you can build up different tones of colour. Otherwise, using just a brush makes it look flat.'

  ‘Thanks; I'm going to try it on something I've got planned for a friend. I want to depict water. Swift, flowing water. I think this would work to build up the illusion of movement. I'll let you know how I get on,' I replied with a bright smile.

  ‘If you need any help, just let me know,’ he shrugged.

  I frowned at him before laughing. ‘You’re being uncharacteristically nice. I can’t keep up with you.’

  He stood back to take in the painting. ‘I need someone on my side. Ruth gangs up on me,’ he said as he continued to paint, a slight smile reaching the corner of his mouth.

  ‘She looks out for you,' I said. ‘She has a soft spot, and you know it.'

  ‘Can't blame her,' he joked. It was the first time I’d ever seen him genuinely relax.

  ‘Do you come here every day?' I asked.

  ‘Not every day.' His curt replies made me bow my head. I heard a deep sigh when it finally registered with him how much he sounded like a ginormous dick. ‘I do some courier work, so I never really know when I'm going to get called in.'

  ‘Ah, that explains it,’ I said.

  ‘Explains what?

  ‘I’ve seen your helmet.’

  He smirked. ‘And what did you think to my helmet, princess? Impressive?' I blushed as I processed the innuendo of my words. I shook my head and walked past him quickly, like a whirlwind, only stopping at the sink to lean against it to try to gather myself. He had the ability to knock sensible thoughts out of my head. I'd never come across someone so infuriating yet so vulnerable in all my life. One minute I had the urge to slap him, but in the next breath, I wanted to do so much more. I had a strange, dangerous urge to know absolutely everything about him.