Drawn In

by Nigel Bird

  As we pass the Basillica of Santa Maria Novella, it’s like we’re flying. My hair blows behind me, free like never before.

  We skid to a halt outside the station. I get off first and Arturo dismounts. He removes his helmet and hands it to his friend.

  The men shake hands and Valentino pulls away like he’s got somewhere else important to get to.

  Arturo turns to me. “Are you sure about this?” His voice carries concern. For a moment I doubt myself.

  “I’m certain.” The words are out before I can stop them. He grabs my hand and we run inside.

  The space is huge and elegant. The marble floor wouldn’t be out of place in a palace.

  We stop in the middle of the foyer. Arturo takes the photo out of the envelope and studies it. “We need exactly the right place.”

  I look at the picture to check for clues. “Platform Six,” I say, pointing at half a number in the corner. “It couldn’t be anything else.”

  He gives my hand a squeeze and we set off again. We glide through the crowd as if they’re not there. We arrive at the terminal. Arturo points to an enormous pillar and runs over. He checks the photo again to work out the precise location. Takes off his bag, pulls out his tray of pastels and begins.

  The memories of last night haunt my thoughts as I realise what’s happening. My stomach cringes and the coffee churns inside. I think I’m going to be sick. Breathe deeply and try to gain control. The smell of hot oil makes me feel worse. My body tells me to leave. I battle the feeling and fold my arms across my chest. Wander to the pillar and fall against it. The cold stone chills my spine and grounds me once again. I need a distraction. It doesn’t take long to find one.

  “You know you shouldn’t be here.” Rory’s back. “There’s no need to hang around. All this will bring you is trouble.”

  “I need to find out what this is all about.”

  “He’s no good for you, Nat. Deep down you know that.”

  Rory might be right, but I don’t want to leave. “It’s not about him. I just want to understand.” I shake my head and send Rory away. Go over to see what’s going on.

  Arturo is a genius. His fingers are nimble and quick. Within seconds, he has the outline of a man. The details follow. He adds lines and smudges at them until things come together at once, like a mountain suddenly cleared of mist. Even with the puddle of blood beside the skull, it’s a thing of beauty. I admire it and do my best to block out what I sense is about to happen. Remember that he still has another picture to copy.

  “The time?”

  I check my watch and take a second opinion from the arrivals board. “Quarter to five.”

  He looks pleased. The speed he works, another ten minutes should be enough. He holds his photograph up and studies it. Rushes over to a new spot and drops his bag. Commuters carry on with their business without noticing a thing.

  Arturo kneels and begins.

  His second figure is tiny. Less than half the size of his first. At first I wonder if it’s the dwarf from earlier. But Arturo draws a dress. Shades it in using brilliant blue. Takes a red and adds stains like poppies by Monet.

  As the hair and the face are added, a young girl emerges from the colours, a doll clutched to her chest.

  I scan the crowd and find her. She’s over by the newspaper stand. I doubt she’s even five years old. She runs in circles singing and laughing. The dress and doll are the same as the ones in Arturo’s sketch. It’s uncanny.

  I remember what happened last night. Try to put everything together. Wonder if the girl is going to go the same way as Sergio. If she’s in danger, I need to intervene.

  I could grab the girl and run. It would be worth a scolding from her parents and another brush with the police if I could keep her safe.

  Or I could call for help and hope that someone believes me.

  The clock says four fifty-four. Less than a minute till the deadline.

  My gaze fixes upon two backpackers swigging their drinks. They give me an idea. I’m over there before the bottles leave their mouths. Snatch the water and run.

  “Get off the grass!” the man in the dreadlocks shouts at my back, his Aussie accent giving the statement the inflection of a question. I don’t bother to see whether he’s following and keep going.

  I stand over Arturo. See the detail in his work. The thread in the hairband and the scar on the girl’s knee. I pour the water over his art. The liquid spreads over the dress and the face, but not quickly enough. I stand on the drawing. Rub the soles of my shoes over it like I’m trying to put out a fire. I don’t stop until everything beneath me is an unrecognisable mess.

  Arturo gets to his feet. His mouth is open and his hands ask the question.

  The Australian with the locks steps between us before I can answer. I’ve never been so happy about being in trouble. He grabs at his empty bottle. Points a finger in my face.

  Explosions in the foyer stop everything. I’ve heard those noises before. I’m suddenly in Blackpool walking along the sea front with Rory chasing behind. These are gunshots, for sure.

  I turn towards the noise.

  Two men sprint along the platform. The first wears suit trousers, an open-necked shirt and a heavy gold chain. The second is short and dumpy and struggling to keep up. Sweat patches darken the area around his armpits. There’s another bang and the smartly dressed man bends over and limps towards the exit.

  His friend keeps running. He’s not so fast on account of him being on the round side. A third man appears at the end of the empty train track. His stubble is thick and his sunglasses are big round mirrors. He has a gun in his hand and it’s pointing our way. It flashes and the noise echoes around the huge arena. My ears go numb. Which makes me luckier than the fat man trying to get away. The bullet catches him in the head. He clatters to the floor where Arturo was working. Blood trickles from his skull and forms a bright halo on the stone.

  The backpacker falls to the floor. Others do the same. The station is a mass of prostrate bodies and screams.

  I sprint over to the girl in the blue dress who is curled up in the arms of her mother. Stand between her and the gun.

  The man with the gun shoots again. He runs away from us this time, placing his feet between commuters as though he’s playing a primary school game. He disappears from view in pursuit of the injured man.

  I go over to Arturo who is the only other person standing.

  My hands shake. I watch the twitching fingers of the dying man on the floor. Picture Rory lying there in his place. Blink the image away and gulp in a lungful of air.

  My skull empties and I fall. My thoughts disappear down a long tunnel. There are posters on the walls. I seem to be in all of them. In one I’m with my mum. Another with the lacrosse team. There’s Dee at the prom, arms draped over Ian Brown. And finally, Rory.

  I hit a wall. The journey’s over.

  The Australian lies beneath me. His elbow digs into my ribs. “Strewth,” he shouts and pushes me away.

  “Sorry,” I tell him and use his shoulders to lever myself up. I look over to Arturo and can’t believe he would have taken the girl. She’s safe and well, curled into a ball in her mother’s arms, sucking her thumb and clutching her doll to her chest. I turn to the exit. Focus on the daylight outside and run towards it for all I am worth.

  Arturo calls my name over the screams and shouts of the crowd. He somehow understands that he shouldn’t follow.

  I keep running. Collide with a child coming the other way. But it’s not a child. It’s the dwarf from the square I look away for a moment while I regain my balance.

  “Are you following me?” I say, turning, but there’s no one there.

  One thing’s for sure. When I get to my room, I’m chucking my medication in the bin. It might be helping with the depression, but it’s sure as hell not keeping me sane.

  Episode Three

  “Pick up the phone Mother.” On the seventh ring there’s an answer.

  “Sorry I’m not
in just now.” My throat tightens at the sound of her voice. “If you leave a message...”

  How dare she be out? I slam the receiver down and stamp my foot. It doesn’t change a thing.

  I pace the room. Push open the wooden shutters.

  Light floods in. I lean on the windowsill and take in the fresh air. Over the road the baker locks the door of his shop and wanders off towards the bar on the corner. I wish my life were as simple as his.

  I half expect to see the little guy in black lurking in the shadows. Check the alleys and corners. There’s no sign.

  “Jump.” Rory again. And I do. Out of my skin.

  “Don’t say things like that,” I tell him. “You know how bad I am with heights.” But it’s too late. The seed is sown. The urge to throw myself onto the pavement grows inside. I picture myself lying on the floor, my body twisted out of shape just like I’m in one of Arturo’s drawings. My fingers press into the stone sill and I screw my eyes shut. The feeling recedes. I step back inside, close the window and sit at the desk.

  “Go on.” He’s nothing if not persistent.

  “Why would you even want me to?”

  “I miss you.”

  “But we’re always together.”

  “Only for talking.” His voice has moved to somewhere else. Behind me, I think. “I want to touch you. Hold you. Kiss you all over.”

  How I loved the way he did that.

  “I’m not sure how jumping would help.”

  “We’d be together, silly. Here. Then this really would be heaven.”

  God damn his smooth talking.

  “So what are you waiting for?”

  I want to see him again, I really do. But if he loved me, wouldn’t he wait until my time was up? That’s what the doctor told me to remember. He has eternity on his hands, why should I rush things?

  I text Dee again.

  Think I’m losing my mind.

  My hand is shaking so much that I almost drop the phone.

  Nothing makes sense. Met the coolest man on the planet. Problem is he may also be the weirdest. Wish we could talk. Get back soon as the anaesthetic wears off. Hope the op went well. xx

  I press send and toss the phone onto the bed.

  Someone knocks on the door.

  I’m not answering. Not in this state.

  “Natalie?” It’s Lucy. I stay as still as I can.

  “I know you’re there, I saw you come in.”

  I still don’t move.

  “You didn’t look right. Is everything okay?”

  There’s concern in her voice. She actually cares. Thank goodness there’s someone in this city who does. “Hang on a minute. I’m just drying my hands.” I pick up a towel and go over to the door.

  Lucy’s fist, about to knock again, almost hits my face when I open up.

  “Thanks.” She pushes past me, sits on the bed and crosses her sparrow legs. “We’re about to go out for dinner. Fancy coming?”

  I think of the date I ought to be having. If things had been different, I’d be sitting down to a plate of crayfish right now. “Where are you of going?” I sit next to her and pretend to be interested.

  “Janet wants to try the vegetarian restaurant on the other side of the river.”

  “I didn’t know there were any vegetarians in Florence.”

  “Janet and Elsie make at least two.”

  If ever anyone needed to get a slab of meat into them to put flesh on their bones, it’s that pair. And it wouldn’t do Lucy any harm either, come to think of it.

  “I’m not sure I can face eating.” It’s the truth. My appetite has disappeared again. “The afternoon didn’t go the way I hoped it might.”

  “Let me guess. He didn’t show.” Her shrug tells me she told me so.

  I wish he hadn’t. Things wouldn’t be such a jumble if he had stayed away.

  “No.” I can’t tell her about the shootings at the station. She’ll just go on about Post Traumatic Stress and won’t leave my side for the rest of the evening.

  “Don’t let it get to you. It was just a brief encounter. What you need is to get your line back in the water as quickly as you can. See if you can’t hook another guy to take your mind off things.”

  I don’t want a man ever again. All I want is to be with Dee and her horses riding through the woods. “I need a quiet night to pull myself together.”

  Lucy reaches over and takes my hand. Her kindness takes me by surprise. She may be the wrong person, but the gesture breaks through my defences. I tense my core to keep my emotions inside, but my resolve breaks. Tears warm my eyes and I burst into sobs.

  My new friend pulls me close. She takes my head and rests it on her shoulder. Strokes my hair and rocks me gently as my feelings pour out. I picture the waiter running over with the cardigan. Hear the gunfire at the station. The dead man’s face flashes into view. It’s as though I’m trapped in a nightmare. All I want is for someone to shake me hard and wake me up.

  “That’s better,” Lucy says. She lets me go and smiles. “How about you get some rest. If your strength returns you can join us at the cinema later.” She stands and turns down the corner of the sheets on the bed. I get under the covers without thinking. Slide over the mattress and curl my legs to my chest. Lucy pulls the blankets over me and tucks them under my chin. “Get in touch if you’re interested.”

  I nod.

  “I should be going.” She pats my feet. “They’re all waiting in the lobby. I’ll maybe see you later.”

  I close my eyes. Hear her pad across the carpet and close the door. It was nice of her to come along. And she might be right about the movie. I could have a good time. Forty winks and I’ll be good to go.

  Everything is safe again. I curl up tight and wait for sleep to arrive.

  Another knock on the door gives me a start. I leap out of bed. What can Lucy have forgotten? I scan the room for anything that might be hers. There’s nothing.

  I open the door. Arturo stands where Lucy should be, a bunch of yellow roses in his hand.

  “Get away from me you creep.” I push the door hard. It doesn’t close on account of his foot being between it and the frame.

  “I need to talk.”

  I shove with all my might. His boot stays where it is.

  “Please.” His voice carries a thousand years of persuasion. Something inside me melts.

  I step back in surrender.

  He walks in and tells me thanks.

  Looking up, I see all the reasons I was drawn to him in the first place. He’s a European prince out of a book of fairy-tales. I want to kiss him and kill him all at once. The urge to hurt him wins. My hand flies his way, palm open and ready to strike.

  He lifts the flowers to defend himself. My skin collides with thorns.

  “Ouch!” I jump in the air and suck blood from the wound.

  Arturo throws his head back and bursts into laughter. His arms open wide. I walk forwards and allow him to wrap me up. His heart beats quick and even like a metronome at a barn dance. I want to stay there. Keep the moment pure. Prevent him from opening his mouth and spoiling things.

  He seems to understand. Doesn’t say a word.

  I clutch at his shirt like I might fall if I let go. “How did you know where to find me?”

  “It’s a long story.” He eases away. Slips the bag from his shoulder, opens it and takes out a bottle of red wine and two glasses. Sets them down on my desk. “We’ll need something to help us along.”

  He unscrews the top and pours. The wine looks deep and dark. He hands me mine and I sample it. It’s soft and warm. Like drinking plush velvet.

  “You like?”

  “It’s marvellous.” I sip more. Enjoy the glow it gives my insides. If this doesn’t calm me down, nothing will. “But it will take more than a drink and a bit of flirting to win me over.”

  “Who says I want to do that?”

  “The way you look at me it’s obvious.”

  “Then I guess I have a lot of explaini
ng to do.”

  “You better believe it Mister.”

  “I’m not sure where to begin.”

  “How about drawing a waiter just before he was mown down by a car? Or those killings on the railway station?”

  He gestures for me to take a seat on the bed. I make myself comfortable and wait for him to start.

  “Are you religious Natalie?”

  “You’re kidding, right? This is the twenty-first century.”

  “Is that supposed to make a difference?”

  “Of course.”

  “So you don’t believe in God.”

  “Uh-uh.” I shake my head in case he isn’t getting the message.

  “In that case, you’ve got it all wrong.”

  Next he’ll be announcing that he’s a Jehovah’s Witness. I half expect him to produce a copy of The Watchtower and ask me to memorise it.

  He puts his drink down on the table and leans forward. His brown eyes are as delicious as the wine. I could lose myself inside them for hours. “God. The Devil. They’re as real as you and I. They’re everywhere, yet we’re all too busy to notice.”

  If his expression wasn’t so blank, I’d think he was messing about. “And I suppose we all end up in heaven and hell just like it says in the bible.”

  “Not just the bible. There’s something similar in all the major texts.”

  I give him my best mocking laugh. “You’ll have to forgive me for not reading them cover to cover.” Or even many of the pages. My parents made certain of that.

  “I leave the forgiveness side of things to those with the power to offer it.”

  Is he for real? “Forget I said anything.”

  He scratches his head. Looks to the ceiling. Perhaps he’s waiting for divine intervention.

  “People die. It happens. And most transitions are straightforward.”

  “Transitions?”

  “From this world to the next.” The guy’s nuts. “For others it’s not the same.” He clears his throat. “There’s a trauma of some kind. A disaster or a moment of madness.”