Masterpiece

by Janet Pywell

  ‘Yes.’ He looks at his watch. ‘I’ll pop back later.’

  ‘What about the man outside? Were you joking?’

  ‘No.’ He reaches out and gently touches the tips of my fingers. Then from the doorway he winks and blows me a playful kiss.

  They have told me I’m on heavy painkillers and strong medication to combat the infection of my swollen organs. I’m drowsy but the first thing I notice is the faded Iron Maiden T-shirt and my senses are suddenly alert. It was a Christmas present I gave him eight years ago. There are sunburnt laughter lines around his scrunched up eyes and I wonder if he needs glasses. Chest hairs grow up to a scraggly beard and his long hair is tied back with a leather band.

  ‘Hola.’

  ‘Papa?’

  ‘How are you?’

  ‘Fine,’ I lie. ‘How are you?’

  ‘Like you care?’ He sits on my bed and reaches for my fingers.

  ‘Why are you here?’

  ‘Josephine called me.’

  I stare at him wondering who we both are and how well we know each other.

  ‘Did she tell you that I know?’

  He rubs the back of his hand across his nose and won’t look at me.

  ‘I’m adopted,’ I whisper. ‘I’m not yours.’

  ‘What happened to your forehead?’

  ‘Tell me the truth, Papa.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’

  ‘Why did you and Mama want a child? Why did you want me?’

  There is silence while he thinks. ‘Your Mama and I loved you very much. She would be very proud of you if she were alive today.’

  ‘Are you proud of me? Have you ever taken an interest in my career?’

  ‘You know I don’t like London. I hate big cities.’

  ‘I have proof that you’re not my parents.’

  ‘Don’t be crazy, cariño. Our names are on your birth certificate.’

  ‘You both lied.’

  ‘Why would we do that?’ He won’t look me in the eye.

  ‘Because you were paid well and it allowed you to live the life you both wanted. But I was an inconvenience. I was a burden to you. That’s why you left me in churches and monasteries, and–’

  ‘That’s not true–’

  ‘Mama never really wanted me. She was jealous when you spent time with me and then she would have an affair to punish you.’

  ‘That’s not true, cariño’

  ‘You know it is.’

  In the silence he lets out a sigh and his shoulders droop. ‘Josephine said you would insist on knowing the truth and I have thought about it a lot.’

  ‘She came looking for me. She hired a private investigator to find me.’

  ‘I know, she phoned me. She thought it would be a good idea for me to visit you – I came as soon as I could but if you don’t want me here…’

  ‘I do.’

  He settles himself into the chair beside me but I am uncomfortable turning sideways to look at him.

  ‘It has been over eight years,’ I say. ‘But I’ve managed. I’ve done well. I’m a photographer now.’

  ‘We brought you up to be independent – to be tough.’

  ‘I can look after myself.’

  ‘That’s good.’

  ‘I had to.’

  ‘You’re still angry.’

  ‘I am far angrier now. Now, I know you’re not my parents.’

  ‘Your Mama and I are your parents. We brought you up. We raised you. We did the best we could.’

  ‘Mama was jealous and angry. She hated me…’

  ‘Only as you got older, when you grew taller and more beautiful and then she was frightened that I would take advantage of you. She didn’t want anyone to know that you were not our daughter.’

  ‘You wouldn’t have taken advantage of me. You’re not like that. You barely spoke to me.’

  ‘She was very possessive. I had to be careful for both of us.’

  ‘She hated us laughing together but you never stuck up for me.’

  He doesn’t raise his eyes to look at me so I continue speaking.

  ‘I was fourteen when she died. We could have been friends afterwards.’

  He shakes his head. ‘I was filled with guilt, Mikky. We had argued about you and she was drunk. She took my motorcycle and I couldn’t forgive myself – all the guilt – and after she died when we were on our own I couldn’t comfort you. I was frightened her predictions would come true. It was like she was still taunting me even though she was dead. I loved you so much. We both needed comfort but I couldn’t trust myself. I couldn’t tell you the truth, so–’

  ‘You didn’t want me around.’

  ‘I wanted you to be self-sufficient and not to need anyone. I wanted you to be strong emotionally – in here.’ He thumps his chest with his bunched fist. ‘But I did miss you.’

  ‘I went looking for love from anyone who would give it to me,’ I say.

  ‘I couldn’t stop you.’

  ‘You didn’t try.’

  He strokes the edge of the sheet folding it over his calloused, oil ingrained fingers as if testing its softness.

  ‘Did Michael send you money?’

  ‘That’s how I afforded to send you to University.’ The irises of his eyes are pink and bloodshot as if he was drinking until late last night. ‘We were young when we agreed to take you. Your Mama had an abortion before I met her and it had gone wrong. We were working in the same hotel and we needed money.’

  ‘How much?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘How much did he pay you to take me?’

  He pauses. ‘Ten thousand pounds.’

  I stare at him. ‘I was sold.’

  ‘It allowed us to start a new life and he paid each year until he died.’

  ‘That was only last year.’

  ‘Yes. Then the money stopped.’

  ‘But I never saw any of the money.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Did you know Josephine was my mother?’

  ‘Not until two days ago – she phoned me. We guessed you were special because of all the secrecy but Michael never told us that you were his daughter. Michael was your Mama’s cousin and when your Mama couldn’t have children I was devastated but then Michael said that we could register you as our own and we jumped at the chance. We didn’t ask questions, we took off to Spain and never looked back.’

  ‘You never thought I looked like Michael?’

  He shakes his head. ‘She – we never noticed.’

  ‘Mama wrote to the nurse who delivered me in London just after we arrived in Madrid. I went to see her.’

  ‘I remember her writing to say we had arrived in Spain and we were happy. I found work in the Imperial Hotel near Los Cibeles. We were very excited. It was a new adventure for us.’

  ‘Why didn’t we stay there? Why did we live like gypsies – always moving around?’

  ‘Because that’s who I am cariño, your Mama and I – are – were free spirits, wandering through life. We wanted to have fun. We laughed a lot and made friends.’

  ‘I hated it. I had no stability, no home life and no comfort. Look at this.’ I hold out the hideous six–inch scar that runs on the back of my hand from my middle finger to my wrist. ‘It could have been my face.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Mikky.’ He brushes away a tear with the back of his hand. ‘I’m truly sorry. You have no idea how sad I am to see you like this. You’re like an injured sparrow. You look so poorly. I wish I could help–’

  ‘You never helped me when you had the opportunity.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he whispers and gazes down at his oil stained fingers wrapped in the sheet.

  ‘You can go now.’

  ‘Go?’ He looks up.

  ‘Yes.’

  There are footsteps outside in the hallway and the trundle of trolley wheels. He waits until they pass and then he says:

  ‘Will you forgive me?’

  I don’t answer him instead I look over his shoulder at the palm trees
waving, bending and rustling in the breeze.

  After a few minutes he stands up and hovers beside the bed, eventually shuffles pathetically to the door looking older than I remembered and I suddenly wish Josephine were with me.

  ‘Papa,’ I call.

  He turns around with hope and half a smile on his face.

  ‘I do forgive you.’

  His face lightens into a small smile.

  ‘But I will never forget her cruelty.’

  ‘Take care of yourself, cariño. Let your mother look after you now as she should have done thirty-years ago.’

  ‘Thirty-one, Papa. Thirty-one years ago.’

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  ‘No longer shall I paint interiors with men reading and women knitting. I will paint living people who breathe and feel and suffer and love.’

  Edvard Munch

  You hardly think I would go through all this for nothing – to plan so meticulously only to fail at the last minute and, you hardly think that I will be affected by a selfish, greedy and oafish man I have called Papa for thirty-one years.

  I gaze out of the window at the palm trees bending and straining in the wind formulating my plan and calculating my actions. I have been in hospital nine days. It’s time for me to go. I test my weight on my feet and hold onto the bed. The pain is excruciating and nausea invades me. I pause thinking I may be sick and when it passes I begin inching my way slowly to the cupboard. I take off my gown. The bruises around my waist and my back have turned from blue and black to yellow and brown giving a strange colour to the artistic pictures tattooed across my body.

  I’m pulling on a T-shirt when Eduardo appears in the doorway.

  ‘Por Dios, Mikky – que haces? You shouldn’t be out of bed. Here, let me help you.’

  I let him guide me slowly back to bed and I’m relieved and exhausted when I lay down. My swollen face is perspiring and my throat is dry. I can’t tell him my plans or my fears.

  ‘Mikky, you are severely bruised. Liver and spleen injuries very often accompany traumatic kidney injuries. You must be careful. You’ve been very sick. You’ve suffered a serious assault and your body will take time to heal. You cannot go anywhere at the moment – perhaps in another day or two.’

  ‘I need to move. I need to get out of here.’

  ‘You can’t leave just like that. You can’t go – besides where would you go on your own?’

  I allow him to settle me back onto the pillow and I bathe in his tender actions and kind words. His calming presence and genuine smile envelop me in warmth and I feel that he actually cares about me.

  He’s a professional. I chide myself. He is a nurse. This is his job.

  ‘I have never experienced this before. When I was a child I was left to fend for myself. Tough love they called it. I – I wasn’t allowed to be sick. I just had to get on with it.’

  ‘Things change,’ he replies, ‘and you’re not a child any more.’

  ‘I’m not used to all this attention. There was never a doctor. Mama and Papa never had enough patience to wait in a clinic. They were always in a hurry; Papa had a bike to fix or money to collect and Mama was constantly harassed so she smoked cannabis to calm her nerves.’

  ‘Mikky?’

  I blink.

  ‘Are you dreaming?’ Eduardo perches on the bed beside me and takes my hand in his. ‘You need looking after,’ he whispers, bringing my fingers to his lips.

  I want to smile but hot burning tears form behind my eyes and I wipe them on the back of my hand willing them to stop and cursing myself for being so weak.

  ‘Shush, it will be all right. Josephine will be here soon. She loves you. She is determined to get you the best cosmetic surgeon.’

  ‘T–H–I–E–F,’ I spell out the letters. ‘They haven’t caught him yet.’

  ‘Josephine told me about it. She said it was a huge misunderstanding and that you left London because you were in shock about some news she told you. They will catch him.’

  ‘I’m not a thief,’ I insist. ‘I’m not a bad person.’

  ‘I believe you.’

  ‘I don’t think he couldn’t spell opportunist – either that or my forehead was too small.’ I laugh, although tears continue to fall. ‘If only I had more energy...’

  ‘What do you want to do?’

  I turn away and close my eyes.

  ‘If you cannot tell me perhaps you can speak to Josephine?’

  I ignore him.

  ‘Mikky, you have to learn to trust. You have to learn to confide in those people around you – in the people who love you. Can you learn to trust me?’

  Josephine leaves a trail of lavender scent in her wake as she glides around the room fussing over me. She regularly brings fresh flowers and fruit, and magazines and puzzles lay untouched and stacked in a pile on the cabinet beside me.

  I sleep for a few hours forgetting that she is beside me and I am comforted when I open my eyes to find her there. She leans across the bed to hold my hand. ‘Are you ready to speak to my friend, Joachin?’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Joachin, my friend in the Guardia Civil.’

  ‘What for?’

  ‘So we can get to the bottom of this mess about the painting. He wants to know about Roy and what happened in Arta.’

  ‘I thought it was all over and forgotten. I spoke to Inspector Torres – isn’t that enough?’

  ‘Roy must be caught. He must face charges. He must learn that he cannot go around beating up young women and Joachin wants to speak to you.’

  ‘I can’t remember anything.’

  ‘Nothing?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘But you must,’ she insists.

  ‘I don’t.’

  She regards me with intensity and I turn away. ‘There’s something you’re not telling me. You’re not being honest with me, Mikky. The art dealer was convinced–’

  ‘I will be honest with you. I need you to help me. I’ve got to get out of here.’

  ‘The doctors said in a week or so. Look at the pain you are in when you move around.’

  ‘I have to leave today.’

  ‘You can’t.’

  ‘Next week will be too late. Close the door. I want to tell you something and there’s no one else I trust.’

  She glances in the corridor before closing the door.

  ‘Sit here,’ I pat the same spot where Eduardo sits on the bed and she obeys me. ‘I have to go to Malaga – urgently.’

  ‘You can’t. Why?’

  ‘Then there is something you have to do for me. I’ll never ask you for anything else but I have to be able to trust you.’

  ‘Stop talking in riddles and tell me.’

  ‘You’re my mother. You owe me this or you will lose me forever.’

  We stare at each other for a few heartbeats and I wait for her to speak. I will not be the first one to break our gaze.

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘Promise?’

  ‘I promise,’ she says.

  The following day when I wake up from my late siesta Eduardo is beside me. He is out of his hospital clothes and he wears mustard coloured jeans and a tight navy T-shirt revealing well-toned muscles and tanned arms. He spends time making idle conversation, passing me pork and potatoes from a tray and encouraging me to eat.

  ‘I want proper food,’ I complain, ‘and I didn’t like the lunch either.’

  ‘I’ll invite you for dinner soon enough.’

  ‘I don’t recognise you in normal clothes.’

  ‘I’ve had a day off. I’m still me.’

  ‘I prefer my guardian angel in white.’

  He turns his mouth down at the corners, which make him endearing and I wonder if he has practiced this on many women before.

  ‘Is there anyone else I have to protect you from?’ he asks. ‘Any other people with a grievance that you may have upset?’

  I smile feebly. ‘I’m a natural disaster. I have nothing to offer you. You should leave now while you can.’


  ‘I can’t walk away.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because I am fascinated with your body art.’

  I smile. ‘Um. All done during my renaissance phase.’

  ‘My Grandma is very religious.’

  ‘Which would she like the most?’ I eat another fork full. ‘I could murder a paella.’

  ‘Perhaps the Last Supper she is particularly fond of the Easter processions in Cadiz.’

  ‘Not Scream then?’ I offer him my arm.

  ‘It’s a brilliant tattoo but perhaps a little too depressing. But maybe we should find out one day – and ask her?’

  ‘That’s beginning to sound like a date.’

  ‘Does that frighten you?’

  ‘I’m not sure. I haven’t got a great track record.’

  ‘Maybe you’ve just never met the right person?’

  ‘Maybe.’ I grin at him and a warm feeling spreads though me.

  ‘And, I make a great paella–’

  There is a light tap on the door and we both turn.

  Josephine is dressed in a black leather jacket and beige chinos. Her hair is swept off her neck into a chignon and pearl earrings dangle from her ears. She looks tired but triumphant. She greets Eduardo with a warm smile and a kiss on both cheeks.

  ‘Lavender?’ I say referring to her perfume as she leans forward to kiss my cheek. It’s warm and comforting.

  ‘We’ve missed you today,’ Eduardo says. ‘Where were you?’

  ‘I had to run an errand for my demanding daughter.’ She maintains eye contact with me and then says icily. ‘We need to talk.’

  Eduardo looks at me and raises his eyebrows and I smile back at him and wink.

  Josephine waits until he is gone then she takes his place on the bed. She smells of outdoors, fresh air and wind and sunshine, and I want to drink in the smells that she has brought in on her clothes.

  ‘Have you got it?’ I ask.

  She opens her bag and pulls out a cardboard cylindrical tube and places it on the bed.

  ‘Are you going to lecture me?’

  ‘Would it make a difference?’ She keeps it slightly out of reach so I settle back against the pillow.

  ‘I know how important this is to you.’ She taps the cardboard with her fingernail teasing me. ‘But I want you to think carefully about your future and the person you are or who you want to be–’