This Love

by Anna Bloom

  Talking of paints, I could waste half an hour mixing up all the tubes again. Every time Aunt May comes in she puts them into perfectly blended rows of colour. I don’t like things perfect anymore, so I mix them all back up again, making sure to put the black somewhere in with the yellows and the pinks in with the greens.

  Fuck that’s the highlight of my day, every day.

  Even I realise how pathetic that sounds. I just can’t be arsed to do anything about it.

  Rebecca

  Town

  There is a huge problem.

  The town planner forgot to actually plan a town. I think someone should contact the authorities and let them know.

  It has taken us two whole minutes to walk the 'high street.' A pub, a newsagents and a few tourist friendly shops does not make a town. Well not in my opinion anyway.

  "Was that it?" I exclaim in despair as I turn on my heel and look back down the path we have just walked. The sun is glaring off the glass pane windows of the limited shops and I’m raising my hand to protect my eyes, causing my bangles to jingle and slide along my arm.

  "I think it might have been." Em confirms as she also glances up and down the non-existent high-street.

  "For fuck's sake," I mumble under my breath.

  "Um, I’m telling, Mum said you weren’t allowed to swear in front of me."

  I glare at Emily but her attention has turned towards the shop behind us. Great it's a bloody art shop.

  I am beginning to realise this town has been created to destroy what little will to live I still have. One of the two shops is a Budgens selling stale bread and overpriced milk to the holiday makers. The other is an art shop, the kind of place my sister would happily spend three hours perusing the shelves without actually buying anything. Bloody great.

  "Can we go in?" She bounces on the spot and grabs my hand all eager enthusiasm.

  I glance up and down the street again, well aware of the interested glances we, or rather I, am getting.

  I’d like to think a village used to holiday makers would be slightly more accepting than most, but you can never be too sure. I might get shouted at sooner than I would wish.

  "Okay, but you only get a fiver." Anything has got to be better than standing on the high street for another moment with a growing audience of grannies staring at my shorts and boots combo.

  Emily gives a little squeal and bounds into the shop. It is one of those ridiculous twee shops where the door rings a bell as you enter. Just in case you plan to dash in and steal a lifetime supply of 2B pencils.

  To be fair, whoever owns this shop is not that bothered about anyone stealing. The music is pounding, and I can't see anyone obviously serving. Saying that, this shop is clearly run by a lunatic. The paints are all over the place. I know nothing about art, but as I scan my eyes along the shelves, even I can see that there is something wrong with the displays.

  Emily glances at me and I shrug in response turning to look at the stock, my fingers itch to put the colours in the right place. Emily starts to rifle through the paints her head nodding in approval when she sees the colour clash on display. Weird. I turn my attention to the pictures on the wall. I may not be artistic myself but I do enjoy looking at the work of others. I might ask Emily to paint me something to take back up to London. Maybe she could paint the beach I sat on yesterday.

  "Can I help you?" calls a voice from behind me.

  "Nah," I shout back, not bothering to turn around.

  I watch as Emily turns to look at the voice and notice her eyes widen fractionally. I refuse to turn around and look. I point blank refuse to be interested in anything this rubbish excuse of a town has to offer. Instead I continue to stare at the art work. All the pieces are abstract, all of them separate from each other and all in varying styles, but there is something that links them all together. I take a step back, nearly knocking over a revolving stand of tubes of oil paint. Correcting myself and ignoring the sarcastic sounding snigger from behind me, I continue to stare at the paintings.

  They are all of the same object. The object being the same person, you just wouldn’t know it because they are only fractured glances of the subject. At a first glance you wouldn’t see it, but stare at them long enough and you can see that the angles and shapes of the limbs are all the same, and all the eyes are all exact same shade of deepest brown.

  Together they are like a complete book of poetry where every line has been written with just one person in mind. A never ending love sonnet.

  Something about it makes my eyes sting a little and my throat thicken in a way I am not used to. I swallow around it hoping the strange sensation will go away.

  "Bex, what are you staring at?" Emily pulls me from my reverie with her words and I come back out of my zone. Giving my head a sharp shake I glance again at the paintings.

  "Would you like to buy one?" the voice asks from behind me. This time the voice sounds bored, like it’s already over serving the public.

  "Yes please, which one costs a fiver?" I turn around to see who the bored voice belongs too.

  It’s the doodle guy from the beach. I feel my mouth fall open slightly, and for the life of me I can’t make myself shut it. Even though I didn’t see him clearly yesterday across the beach I know it is him straight away. The dreadlocks give it away, but my eyes are quick to scan over the rest of him. Low board shorts, snug vivid green T-shirt, and eyes of the deepest green I have ever seen. Contacts, he must be wearing contacts. I don’t even know why I am thinking this. Who gives a shit if he is wearing contacts? Doodle guy is obviously waiting for me to stop staring because he has one eyebrow cocked a little, an eyebrow ring glints in the light through the shop window, and I stare a little more, completely fixated. He doesn’t look amused though. He looks pissed off.

  “So do you?” I push.

  “Do I what?” Doodle guy, places his hands on his slim hips and appraises me with a bored look.

  What a tosser. He’s not going to win any prizes for customer service. “Have any paintings for a fiver?”

  He makes a snorting noise. “No.”

  “Okay then.” I am glaring back. Jesus this guy doesn’t even know me and he is being rude. Normally people at least give me half an hour before they realise I am not worth knowing.

  “So are you buying anything?” He creases his eyebrows into a full on frown, his wide lips turned down at the edges.

  “Well how much are the paintings?” Not that I really want an abstract picture of someone’s elbow, but I can’t back down now.

  The green gaze slides over me again before clearly finding me unappealing and glancing off to the side.

  “More then you could afford.”

  Prick.

  "Emily, have you got what you want?" I call out as I tear my gaze away to find my sister. I don’t have to look far. She is standing at my right elbow grinning at me.

  "Yeah, I think so."

  Scrunching my hand into my shorts pocket I thrust the crumpled money at her, and turn for the door.

  I am just pulling the door, making the bell ring when I turn back and catch him frowning at me some more. “You’re completely shit at customer service,” I shout as I step out onto the sunlit pavement, before he can point his death stare in my direction again.

  Rude much. I want to make a complaint.

  God I hate this town.

  "He said you walk like a percussion instrument." Emily grabs my elbow with an impish grin as she catches up with my pacing.

  "What?"

  "He said you’d give anyone a headache."

  "Who does?"

  "That guy in the shop, you know the sexy one who made you blush." She nods her head back to the art store.

  "Shut up! He did not!"

  "Did not what? Say you sound like jingle bells or make you blush?"

  I stomp away from her down the street, after a few paces I screech to a halt and wait for her to catch up.

  Mum would kill me if I lost her on our second day here. Hell I would
kill me if I lost her on our second day here.

  The whole way back to the cottage I stew on what I could write in a customer complaint letter. The loud music for one. The terrible organization, for two. Thirdly, very rudest sales assistant ever.

  Joshua

  The Curse of Holiday Makers

  Five pounds for five hours stuck in a shop, and the only two customers who come in are holiday makers. That’s just painful on any level. On all levels.

  My dislike for holiday makers is widely known. Why I work in a shop where I have to try and be nice to them is one of the many ironies of my life.

  The customer today was Dan’s grade nine from the beach. Oh that girl’s got attitude alright, just like I guessed yesterday. My mood wasn’t actually that bad, for once, but she’s completely fucked me right off offering me five quid for one of my pictures. I tried to give her the intimidating stare I give to all annoying customers, but she just stood there and stared right back. What the fuck? She wasn’t intimidated at all. A good couple of minutes passed with us just watching one another and the whole time I found myself noticing things about her. Her outfit was some crazy statement, asking for, no not asking, begging, for attention. I found myself wondering who she wanted attention from but shook it away. There was a pulse in the base of her neck, right in the dip where her collarbones meet. The hair on her arms is so fair it glimmered in the sunlight. Her skin was covered in a thick layer of make-up, and her wrists were adorned by more bangles then I could count.

  Obviously I didn’t want to notice anything about some shitty holiday maker, so it just pissed me off even more. Then I got even more annoyed when she was stomping towards the door in her boots and turned to catch me watching her legs stride away. The glare she shot me was a killer, but if she didn’t want guys staring at her legs what the fuck was she wearing those fishnets for? She may have some serious attitude problems but those legs are fine, long, slender and never ending. But that is the only good thing about her.

  Bex. That’s what the other girl called her. Bex with the attitude.

  I’ve been so bored the rest of the day I've actually given in and blended some paints, nothing major, just a dib of this colour and a dab of that. The music has been pumping and I’ve been maintaining a steady out of tune singing session all day which I quickly stop when I hear the doorbell chime again.

  “Heard you outside,” calls a voice I have known since I was five.

  “Kiss my arse, Faye, you love my singing.” I turn and face my oldest friend, a grin on my face. There is only one person who has singing skills worse than mine and she is standing right in front of me. I quickly notice she is not looking at me but at the board behind the counter.

  “Josh, when did you start painting again?” She sounds surprised, but then I guess she would be. Six months ago I swore I was never going to paint another stroke.

  “What you talking about, dumbass, I haven’t.”

  She raises her eyebrow and I turn and follow her glance to the board. It’s covered in a rainbow streak of palest yellow to deepest gold.

  Oh.

  “Nice palette,” she says. “What’s it for?”

  I stare at the huge stripe of gold and yellow. “I have no idea, I don’t remember doing it.”

  “Have you been drinking again?” She laughs.

  “Very funny.” I don’t drink. I haven’t for six months, not since the last time I picked up a paint brush.

  Saying that I could do with a cider.

  Hold on. Stop the press.

  “Do you fancy a cider?” I ask.

  Faye leans forward, her dark hair swinging over her shoulder and places her hand against my forehead. I recoil slightly at her touch. I don’t like people touching me, even Faye, sometimes especially Faye. “Are you sick, shall I call Aunt May and tell her you need some of her special tonic?”

  I elbow her in the ribs. “You should do stand up.”

  “You should shut the fuck up.”

  “So do you fancy going for a drink?” I tuck her hair behind her ear as I ask again. It’s an automatic motion for me.

  Her eyes flicker over mine as my hand comes to a rest back on the counter. “Really, you want to go for a drink? I thought you were never going to drink again? Not ever?”

  That’s true, I did say that. More than once. “Maybe I changed my mind. Do you fancy one or not?”

  “Shall we call the others?”

  I glance at the clock on the wall. It’s five in the afternoon. They’ll be preening and smothering themselves in aftershave getting ready to shag some holiday makers. “Nah, just us.”

  She raises her eyebrow again. “Okay then, but Dan is going to be pissed when he finds out you have broken your dry spell and he wasn’t there to gloat.”

  “And that’s why we are not calling them. Come on lets go.”

  The air is warm and dry as we march up the lane to the local pub; August is reigning supreme and supplying the British Isles with a scorching summer. Shame for me this means more holiday makers are arriving every day instead of ripping up Spain or Ibiza.

  We walk in silence to the pub. As we walk through the door the whole place which is packed with local’s, stops and stares at me as we walk in. Then they stare at Faye, and then they glance between us ‘that’ look on their faces.

  I haven’t been in here for six months. I would imagine Faye hasn’t been in here since yesterday, but that’s not what’s causing the strange looks. Whenever Faye and I go anywhere together we get these sympathetic glances. I learnt to ignore them a while back. People can’t help feeling sorry for us. The expression we are normally met with is part sympathy, part hopeful optimism that one day we might get together. Which we won’t. Not that she isn’t beautiful but it would be like shagging a sister if I had one. And I hear that’s frowned upon.

  The village adopted me fifteen years ago when I arrived in town as a five year old orphan. My parents were killed in a car crash, yeah it sucks, but the truth is I only have the faintest memories of my life before that day. Aunt May has been my only real family since then, with the local community acting like an extended unit of well-wishing Aunts and Uncles. I met Faye on my first day. I was getting out of the car, and there was this skinny girl hiding behind a hedge, watching me with over large dark eyes. She ran down the lane, and I chased after her leaving Aunt May calling in my wake.

  “Alright, Josh? Pint of the usual is it?” Eric the barman starts to pull me a pint of the local Scrumpy just like I have never been away. Just like he doesn’t know the reason why I haven’t been in the pub for six months. All the locals spin back around in their seats and also pretend that they don’t know why Joshua Adams has been M.I.A for six months. And for once I am pleased that they choose to ignore me. It’s almost like I can hear them breathing a sigh of relief. “It’s okay Josh hasn’t totally flipped. He can still drink cider. All is not lost.”

  “Thanks, Eric.” I take the pint he offers me, allowing the cool liquid to slosh over my fingers from the over filled glass just like it did in days past. There used to be times when we all used to wear more cider than drink it.

  By the time we have our cloudy pints our table has mysteriously become free. I’m being treated like royalty!

  I should have a psychotic break more often.

  “So, have you seen the new family?” Faye asks after taking a deep sip of her pint.

  “Nope. The only people I’ve seen are some fucking rude holiday makers.”

  Faye rolls her eyes as I take a sip of my drink. It tastes good. Cool and sweet, and easier going down then I would have expected. “What new family?” I ask when I have finished.

  “A couple from London and their two girls, they’ve moved into Bridge Cottage.” Our eyes instantly meet, and her words create a tightening in my stomach. She waits for me to say something, anything. She wants me to show some emotion. But I can’t, and I won’t. I knew that this was going to happen. I knew Bridge Cottage wouldn’t stand empty forever, so I lock an
y emotion I feel away inside me.

  I choose not to comment and instead think about the new family. I did spend a generous amount of time staring out of the window of the shop today but I don’t remember seeing a new family.

  “Nope,” I take a sip of my drink. “Let’s hope they are prepared for a life of seasonal boredom and weathered skin syndrome.”

  “Grump.”

  I flip her the finger. “So why aren’t you out in Newquay tonight?” She would normally be. Getting ready to tease lots of guys on a local dance floor, before telling them all to bugger off at the end of the night. Faye has been in love with our friend Andrew for as long as I can remember. Not that she has ever bothered to tell him. He has also been in love with her for almost as long. This makes for highly amusing nights out as they edge around each other on the dance floor trying to make each other jealous. At least that used to be what it was like, it may have changed now. Hell, Faye and Andrew could be at it like rabbits together every night and I wouldn’t know about it. Not because I don’t care, I just can’t talk about that stuff anymore. It’s not that I don’t want Faye and Andrew to get together and be happy, that’s all I ever wanted for them. I’m just jealous that they still have the option to do that when I know I probably won’t ever be happy again. Not properly happy. Not in laughing and crying together, sharing a life together. My only chance of getting those things died six months ago careering around a bend on a back road from Newquay. Call me bitter but I know I won’t get to do those things again and I don’t want to know about those who do.

  Faye is watching me closely, her dark eyes intent and scrutinizing. “I spoke to Mum and Dad yesterday.”

  She is still watching me so I make it look like I am breathing. Which I’m not. “Yeah?”

  “Yeah. They wanted to know if you had thought any more about Ai—"

  I hold my hand up instantly. “No.” One word. The only word. No one is allowed to say my girlfriends name near me. And yes I know I am being a bastard.

  Sorry I mean old girlfriend.

  Faye shifts a little in her seat and frowns at me. “Okay, okay, Josh. So anyway I heard you fell off your board yesterday so I thought I’d better check on you.”