by Jenny Harper
‘Why not? A good home—’ Martha’s voice quavered a little, ‘—is all I want for his things.’
Lexie drew a long, careful breath. ‘We’re doing the right thing.’
Martha sank onto the bed and laid her hand on the black Prince Charlie jacket with its silver buttons. The heavy wool weave must be sixty years old at least, but it showed no signs of wear.
‘This was your grandfather’s jacket.’
‘You know I love the idea that something of the wearer stays with the clothes. We can imagine Jamie chatting away to all the people who buy or inherit this stuff—’
Lexie swept an arm in the direction of the bin bags. “Get a move on,” he’d tell the lazy kid who should be putting on his socks, “don’t just bloody lie there”.’
Martha laughed and Lexie’s heart twisted inside her chest at the sound.
Martha said, ‘That sounds like Jamie. Or, “Mum, this shirt needs cufflinks and I can’t find any.”’ Her laughter faded. ‘I’d tell him, “That’s because you never put them away in the right place—”’
Lexie let the memory lie between them for a few moments, then she reached into the wardrobe and pulled out Jamie’s rugby boots. ‘What about these?’
Martha’s cheeks were hollow and her eyes puckered at the corners.
‘His boots. Oh Alexa, his boots—’
Lexie had run out of strategies for distracting her. The trouble was, she thought, I feel Jamie in all of these things too. He inhabited them, his boots most of all.
Martha clutched the studs to her chest, unheeding of the dirt that caked them. She held them as Edith had cradled the baby bootees.
Charlotte and I would love to have our picture taken.
Shoes tell stories.
Jamie’s boots, perhaps more than anything in this room, told his story.
Lexie said, ‘Will you let me take some photos of these? Like I did for Edith?’
‘Photos?’
‘I’d like to draw Jamie’s boots. Paint an oil picture.’
Martha’s face was grey. Once she’d been a lively, interesting woman, who’d lived for others more than herself. Now she was little more than a shell, her spirit caged by grief. Bastard, Lexie raged again, you made her old before her time. She wasn’t even sure now that she did want to paint Jamie’s boots, because surely her work would betray the anger she couldn’t help feeling?
‘Oh, never mind,’ she started to say, just as Martha held the boots out towards her.
Their laces dangled forlornly, still caked with mud from the last game Jamie played.
Chapter Twelve
Catalogue number 10: Clown’s shoes. Donated by Frank Dawson, Broxburn. Blue, yellow and red leather brogues with red laces. ‘These shoes help me to get into character,’ says Frank Dawson (aka ‘Booboo’). ‘They are just as important as make-up, if not more so.’
‘I’m going to paint again, Pavel, but not the same kind of things I was doing before. Nightmarish scenes don’t do it for me any more.’
‘Darling, what has happened? You look so perfectly joyous.’
‘I had a revelation.’
‘A revelation? Shining lights and angels singing? Ooh, sweetie, do tell.’
‘The idea was that you would get some extra rest,’ Lexie tutted, ‘not hang around here chatting.’
In the elaborate Venetian mirror above his head she caught a glimpse of her own face – clear, pale skin and large brown eyes set off by the ruby-red hair. She ruffled her crop until it stood up and considered her reflection. Pavel was right – there was a luminous quality about her appearance today, as if she was reflecting some ethereal radiance. She had been aflame ever since Edith’s visit. Her new idea was burning inside her head, scorching her imagination until she knew that soon nothing would stop her from making a start.
She looked at Pavel sternly. ‘I can tell you everything another time. This is meant to be your morning off. And by the way, if you’ll just give me a spare key, you won’t even need to get up on Saturdays.’
Pavel blinked at her, unmoving.
‘Honestly. You’re meant to be resting. I can do everything for you.’
‘Darling, I know you can—’
‘Did you go to the doctor for a check-up?’
‘I’ll phone soon and—’
‘You mean you haven’t phoned yet?’
‘It’s been busy,’ Pavel pleaded, picking at a fragment of thread on the sleeve of his striped boating jacket and flicking it to the floor. ‘I had a fair and two auctions this week. Now do stop nagging me, sweetie, and sit down and tell me about your idea.’
Lexie crossed her arms mutinously, but Pavel outfaced her.
‘I’m not moving, Lexie, until you tell me about revelations and transmogrifications.’
They were well matched for stubbornness. Today she allowed Pavel the victory in the battle of wills. She laughed.
‘All right, you win. I’ll make some tea then, shall I?’
When they were settled, she regaled him with the story of Edith’s visit and the discovery of the baby bootees up the chimney in Jamie’s room.
‘That’s so sad!’ Pavel produced a large cotton handkerchief and blew his nose delicately. ‘Fancy keeping a secret like that all those years.’
‘I know. My heart almost stopped in sympathy, but do you know something weird? Edith just sat there and beamed.’
‘Oh my God!’ Pavel sniffed. He dabbed at a suspicious glint on his cheek with one finger.
The transparency of Pavel’s emotions was one of the most endearing things about him.
‘She’d kept a lid on her emotions all these years, but as soon as she saw the bootees, instead of crying, she just sat there smiling, as if she was at peace at last. That’s when I realised that we have to deal with what happened – Mum and Dad and me – or none of us will be able to move on.’
‘Ooh, you are so right.’ Pavel pushed his handkerchief back into his pocket and sat up straighter. ‘It took me years to come to terms with poor Guy’s death, but the day I said to myself, “Pavel, darling, he’s not here but you are, so just mop up those tears and get on with it,” was the day I started to stop aching.’
He hardly ever talked about Guy, and Lexie was touched.
She confided, ‘That’s why I started to clear out Jamie’s room. I didn’t think Mum would help me, but she did, and now I’m certain I was right. It was the first time we’d been able to talk about him. We even laughed a bit.’
‘And your father?’
‘Oh Dad— Dad’s impossible. He’s so determined to be strong that he refuses to deal with his emotions. I’m certain that’s what’s driving him down the wrong path at work, too. He’s got his head down, he’s in such a deep rut that there’s no way he can see over the top. Have you finished your tea? Let me wash the mugs out.’
Pavel snatched his mug away from her.
‘Not likely, not till I’ve heard the rest.’
‘And then you’ll go away? Take a break, like we agreed? Deal?’
‘Deal, Miss Bossyboots.’
‘Okay. Well, it was Edith who gave me the idea.’
‘About painting again?’
‘Yup. Stay with me here, Pavel.’ Lexie leant forward. ‘Shoes. Wearers. Occasions. Shoes you walk in, dance in, play games in, get married in. They tell stories, right? Something of the wearer stays in them, just like it stays in clothes. Yes?’
‘Oh yes, ducky. You and I, we know that.’
‘Right. My head was in a whirl after that scene – Edith perched on a pile of cushions like a tiny old leprechaun or something, hugging those woollen bootees to her chest and smiling. Just grinning as if she’d discovered some hidden treasure. The story moved me, but it was the image that haunted me. I couldn’t get that picture out of my head, and it came to me that I really wanted to paint the bootees. I want to see if I can capture the spirit of baby Charlotte that still lives in those little sherbet-pink bootees. That’s the challenge.’
&
nbsp; ‘So if someone stands in front of the painting, they just have to know why you painted them? I love it, Lexie darling, I really love it.’
‘I knew you’d get it! Edith got it too, for all she’s muddled. Do you know what she said? She said, “Charlotte and I would love to have our photograph taken.”’
‘Oh, that’s so sweet!’
‘Isn’t it? So I took some photos. Funny, it was only a couple of hours later, but because of her dementia it was like the first time all over again.’
‘So you’re inspired.’
‘It’s not just Edith. It feels like a beginning. Seeing the effect of the discovery on Edith prompted me to ask Mum if we could clear out Jamie’s room. She wasn’t going to let me, then she did. Then she wasn’t going to join me, then she did. Carlotta talked her into it.’
‘Oh, Carlotta—’ he began dismissively.
‘I know you’re not a fan of Carlotta’s, Pavel, but she did persuade Mum to help. And she knew when to leave us to get on with it alone. She was quite tactful and sensitive.’
Pavel lifted his nose to the ceiling. ‘If you say so, darling.’
‘When Mum found Jamie’s rugby boots, they had a profound effect on her, too, just like baby Charlotte’s bootees did on Edith. I asked if I could paint them and Mum said yes.’
‘What a lovely idea.’
Pavel started to drum his fingers lightly on the desk, deep in thought. He stopped drumming and started to lift his head, then dropped it again and drummed even faster. At first Lexie waited patiently, but the repetitive noise began to get to her and she was about to beg him to stop when he lifted his hand in the air with an elegant flourish and declared, ‘I’ve got some special shoes.’
‘Oh, really? That’s terrifi—’
‘I’d love you to do something like that for me. I’d pay you, of course.’
‘Oh, I couldn’t possibly—’
‘Not only could you possibly, you will accept payment, and a realistic payment at that. This is your profession, Lexie, professionals get paid.’
‘I really don’t—’
‘If you say no, darling,’ Pavel said with a poker face, ‘I won’t tell you my story. And it’s a really good one.’
‘Your story?’
He sat back and crossed his arms, his mouth pulled into a twist of amusement at his own private joke.
‘What story’s that, Pavel?’ Curiosity was Lexie’s weakness, and her strength. She always hungered to know – what made the sun orange or the sea blue, or Jamie die? Now she wanted to know what it was that Pavel was hiding from her. She prodded him lightly, conscious of the slightness of his frame. ‘Tell me!’
‘You’ll let me pay you for a painting?’
‘Oh good gracious, Pavel, you’ve worn me down! Yes, I’ll let you pay if that’s what you want, now tell!’
Pavel uncrossed his arms and stood up. He started to walk across the room, his gait still uncertain, Lexie noted with fleeting anxiety.
‘Where are you going?’
‘I’ll be right back. Just you sit there, darling.’
Frustrated, Lexie did as she was told. After a minute, she had a poke around the rummage box. A hat pin emerged, decorated only by a plain black bobble. She tossed it back. In the corner of the box she spotted a card with six bone buttons sewn onto it. She picked up a tiny barrel-shaped tape measure. Pavel had clearly bought a sewing basket and emptied it into the rummage box. Nothing of promise. Where was he?
A business card had fallen into the box and was lying under a broken watch and some fine chains, probably not silver. She fished it out, thinking it might be important.
Patrick Mulgrew, it read, Director, Capital Art Edinburgh.
She dropped it onto the desk as if it was burning hot. What was it doing there? There was something scribbled on it. Curiosity got the better of her and she picked it up again. Sheraton table, the note read, with a price that made her eyes water. What did it mean? Was it random, had Pavel scribbled it on the first bit of paper to come to hand? She remembered the Sheraton dining table that had sat in the front for so long and disappeared a week or two back. Did Patrick buy it?
In her shoulder bag, her mobile rang and she dropped the card again. So what if he did buy it? He could afford it. She fumbled for her phone, saw Molly’s name come up and pressed Accept just in time.
‘Hi.’
‘Where are you?’
‘Cobbles. I’m helping Pavel out on Saturday mornings.’
‘Lexie!’
‘What?’
‘You do far too much for other people.’
‘So everyone keeps telling me. Actually, I’m planning to do something all for myself, so there.’
‘Really? What?’
‘Are you still on for dinner?’
Molly had an evening off and Lexie had booked a table at Besalú for Molly, Jonas, Cameron and herself. Carlotta would be busy but might join them for a drink.
‘You bet.’
‘Then I’ll tell you this evening.’
‘Shit, have I really got to wait till then?’
The door into the cobbled courtyard at the back of the shop opened and Pavel reappeared.
‘Must go, Moll. See you later.’
Pavel was carrying a small carpet bag.
‘Clear a space on the desk, darling, there’s a sweetheart.’
Lexie picked up the rummage box and dropped it onto a nearby chair.
‘Thank you, sweetie.’ He placed the bag with great precision onto the desk.
Alexa’s curiosity grew. The bag was crafted from an old kilim and its rich, earthy colours glowed enticingly in the light from the desk lamp. ‘What is it?’
Pavel loved drama. He stretched out as if to open the bag, then clapped his hands round his chin and said, ‘Oh heavens, sweetie, I haven’t talked about this for years. Everyone’s forgotten.’
‘Talked about what?’
‘Maybe I shouldn’t ... maybe I should just—’
‘What? Pavel, I swear I’m going to shake you. You can’t stop now!’
He stood up straight, took a deep breath, placed one hand theatrically on his chest, and used the other to fan his face.
‘You’re quite right. Time to reveal.’
He opened the bag. Lexie craned forward, but the holdall was a deep one and she couldn’t see what was inside.
‘Here.’
He reached in and lifted out a tissue-swathed parcel. ‘Open them, darling.’
‘No you open them. Go on,’ she encouraged, as Pavel hesitated.
Hands a-flutter, he peeled back the tissue to reveal a pair of white canvas ballet shoes.
‘Ballet shoes? But they’re huge.’
‘Thank you, sweetie,’ Pavel said, clearly affronted.
‘They’re yours?’
‘Yes, they’re mine.’
‘I didn’t know you were a ballet dancer.’
‘I wasn’t. Not exactly. Oh dear, my legs are all a-tremble, just remembering it all.’
‘Here, sit down.’ Lexie guided him onto her seat, then picked up the shoes curiously. They were white canvas and scuffed with wear. She turned them over. The sole was fashioned in two parts to allow the foot to flex. ‘You wore these to dance? Where?’
‘Have you ever heard of Bad Boys?’
‘Bad Boys? They were a glam rock band, weren’t they? Didn’t they have a hit called “Love Your Blooming Cheek”?’
Pavel’s smile had become positively beatific.
‘Pavel? Were you in the band? Oh my God, you were, weren’t you?’
She racked her brains feverishly, trying to remember who’d been in the Bad Boys line-up. She was sure there was no-one called Pavel.
He inclined his torso neatly towards her in a bow of acknowledgement.
‘I confess, darling. I didn’t call myself Pavel Skonieczna, of course, I was Paul Scotland. And yes, I wore these shoes to prance around the stage, darling, positively prance.’ He laughed. ‘It must have looked a l
ittle pathetic, I suppose, but you see, my absolute hero was Freddie Mercury and I didn’t quite have his originality, so I, well, I paid my tribute in my own way.’
‘Pavel! You’re a rock star! How could I not have known this?’
‘It was another era, darling Lexie. But do you know, I would so love to have a painting of these.’
Lexie was thrilled.
‘And you shall have it, Pavel. I’ll do yours first of all.’
Chapter Thirteen
Catalogue number 20: Running shoe. Modern white trainers. Donated by Ellis Ruthven, Hailesbank. ‘Years ago, my wife kicked me out. She called me lazy, a slob, a leech, and so I was. Someone bet me I couldn’t run a marathon, and so I did. I began to raise money for charities. Running became a way of life. I discovered a new energy, and a new purpose. After a time, my wife took me back. Over the years, I have raised more than a million pounds for charities.
Cameron had abandoned his jeans in favour of dark chinos and swapped the customary sweatshirt for a pale red pullover in fine wool. It was the first time Lexie had seen him smarten up and she rather liked it. He pulled her close as they strolled through the park towards Besalú and her body melted where it touched his. I’m ready, it was telling her. I’m so ready.
‘Tell me what happened with Molly. I know her marriage failed, but you didn’t say why.’
‘It happened soon after Jamie died and I feel really bad because I wasn’t there for her – well, not enough, anyway. Things were difficult at the time.’
‘She must understand that.’
‘Yes she does, but still, I feel I let her down. She’s always been so strong for me. Anyway, she took on this job soon after that. It came with an apartment at the back of the house, so she thought it was perfect. It meant that Adam could still live in the house till they decided what to do with it.’
‘In Edinburgh?’
‘Yes. She won’t talk about it.’
‘I thought you girls were as tight as wheel nuts.’
‘So did I.’
He dropped a kiss on top of her head and she felt herself melting all over again.
Besalú was busy. It always was these days.