by Anne Donovan
I hope we’ll see you at the party Saturday, said Clytemnestra. Any time after ten, okay?
I’m no sure. Jas heided out the door.
He’ll be here, said Sanj, following him.
Look at this – nice. Clytemnestra placed the words Jas had chosen on the fridge, under the original poem.
I smear passion on my canvases
approach concrete that shimmers.
I lifted the mugs, took them over to the sink and placed them in the soapy water.
THE HARSH LIGHT of the close glared at me as soon as I opened the door. I sat on the stone stair, resting my cheek against the smooth wall tiles. The cold seeped through me but I didnae care. I wanted to cool doon, escape from the suffocating heat and smoke and mass of warm bodies inside the flat. My throat was sore from talking over the noise of music.
Things had started quietly; a few of Clytemnestra’s dippy pals fae the chanting group sitting round on cushions in the living room sipping white wine. When Nicole brought some folk back after a concert, dressed in penguin suits and black frocks, the room looked surreal as if a black tie do had got mixed up wi some hippy convention. Around midnight Eric arrived with a gang of rugby-playing types who filled the kitchen with loud voices and beer cans, then Sanj showed up with a crew fae the pub. One of the guys was a DJ so the music and dancing started in earnest.
I’d practised in my heid what I’d dae if Jas turned up, alternating between gaun up to him with a casual, How you doing? or waiting to see if he approached me first. I’d taken extra care about how I looked, putting a floaty top over my jeans and winding a piece of chiffon round my hair, even wearing a pair of glittery shoes I’d got at the Mela. But when he arrived, I just felt shy and awkward, and there was a pain in my stomach which might of been from Clytemnestra’s punch. I was squashed in a corner between Elvira and Hannah, who were discussing the merits of reiki as opposed to aromatherapy massage.
What kind of massage d’you prefer, Fiona?
I’ve never had a massage.
They recoiled in horror as if I’d said I’d never had a shower.
You must let me give you one, said Elvira. I’m training so you’d count towards my practice. I’d only charge you a tenner.
Thanks, I said. But I have sensitive skin.
See, that’s why reiki is so good, started Hannah.
’Scuse me, I think I’ll get a drink.
The door of the flat opened and Jas came out. Great minds, he said. Can I join you?
I moved along a bit to gie him room.
It’s mental in there.
Too stuffy.
We sat for a minute in silence then he looked at me and said, Nice top.
Got it out a second-hand shop. I don’t know if it’s really seventies but it looks it. I held out the sleeve which was fluted and hung doon like a mediaeval lady’s. Jas put his haund out and touched it. I felt my face flush.
Someone spilt red wine on it but.
Shame.
I guess it’ll wash out, I said and hauf-turned towards him. Our heids were touching, his forehead and mines, his thick shiny hair against my scarf, the fabric slipping doon over my eyes as we turned tae each other and our lips touched. Almost no a kiss at all so light and soft it was, mair like a butterfly kiss where you flutter your eyelashes against someone’s cheek – the touch so gentle you can hardly feel it. Us moving slightly apart tae look in each other’s eyes but so shy that we looked away again almost immediately, easier tae sit side by side only our heads touching. Then he put his airm round me and bent his heid and this time we kissed properly, softly but deeply, then came apart and looked, and this time he smiled and so did I.
The rediscovery of love is like looking out at the back court tae see snowdrops growing on a piece of wasteground at the bin shelter. Nature goes through periods when everything is buried, nothing visible above the earth, but underneath something’s happening. The bulbs must of been there all the time, deep underground, waiting, but you never knew.
So it was with me and Jas. As subtle and as delicate as snowdrops.
We were that shy with one another at the start. I wasnae even sure we had actually got back thegether the night of the party cause all we done was sit on the steps in silence for ages, till wur bums were numb and cold, then Jas said, I better go, Fiona. This is too … Anyway, I’d walk you home if you didnae live here.
I wish I didnae tonight. This is gonnae go on for hours.
Look, I’ll phone you the morra, okay?
Right.
No too early.
He bent over, kissed me lightly on the cheek and was gone.
When he called and we went for coffee on the Sunday afternoon, it was like friends. He never kissed me when we met and we never held haunds walking alang the road. We sat outside in the April sun and it was nice but suddenly I didnae know what tae say. I didnae want tae chat about the party or what Jas was daeing at uni. It was too much like how it used tae be, but so many miles had passed between us. Jas jiggled his leg against the metal table. He dropped his teaspoon on the pavement. I looked at him as he bent to pick it up, the line of his hair so neatly cut and shiny, the back of his neck dark and smooth. I wanted to reach out and stroke it but my haund would not move.
Later we went to the park and sat on the grass under a tree. Blossom flittered doon and stuck to wur hair and clothes. Jas touched my wrist. I grasped his haund firmly and rolled over close, leaning on my elbows, facing him. He pulled me doon and kissed me, then I nuzzled my nose against his.
It was only after Jas went back tae Aberdeen that we started to talk and even then, only about what was happening, nothing about the past. But we’d talk on the phone and text, and as the weeks went by I started to feel closer to him. I was still working hard at Art School and looked forward to getting messages from Jas when I stopped for a break. I usually went tae Giardini’s for a coffee around three and felt as though Jas was with me, as I sat in the windae, texting him. Jas’s texts werenae like anyone else’s; he was still addicted to Shelley and he’d stick in bits of poetry. He never used text abbreviations – insisted on punctuating everything and putting in capital letters.
It was during one of our phone calls that I explained the installation I was planning.
I just don’t know if it’s possible, but. I mean how can I isolate one section and no damage the rest?
I’m sure it can be done. I’ll have a think about it afore I come down. Hey – d’you have the dimensions on you?
Waiting for Jas at Queen Street Station the next weekend, my stomach was in knots. His train never got in till one o’clock so I’d planned to get a long lie, make up some of the sleep I’d lost over endless weeks of working late nights and early mornings. But I was awake at seven, unable to drop off again. I kept thinking about us, hoping that this weekend there’d be some kind of breakthrough. At the party, it was right that things had been tentative, but noo, after all the messages and phone calls, I wanted to move forward.
When I seen him walking along the platform, I wanted to rush over and hug him, but they have these ticket barriers so there’s a guddle of folk clogging up the exit and other folk panicking, pushing their way on to the platform, scared they’ll miss their train, and machines beeping and folk having to go back. By the time he finally got through we did hug, but his bag got in the way and somehow it wasnae exactly how I’d imagined it.
As we heided towards the subway Jas said, What d’you want to do?
Let’s go back to the flat.
I knew as soon as I opened the door it felt different, as if the house was holding its breath. I’d banked on it being like this, just the two of us. On Saturday afternoons the others were often out somewhere.
It’s massive, said Jas, dropping his bag in the hall. He spread his airms out. There must of been a million people here the night of the party, you could hardly breathe.
Aye, it is big. My room’s the wee-est but even it’s huge.
I opened the door and took him
in. We sat side by side on the bed, no touching, just an inch apart. I wanted to grab him and pull him doon on the bed with me but we just sat and he put his haund on mines. Then he said, I’ve brought the thing for your installation – d’you want to see it?
So we looked at what he’d made and talked about it, and I made us coffee, then Jas said, I better get round to Ma’s. Want to go for a meal tonight? I could meet you later.
I was wondering if you wanted to stay here … the night?
He stared at the kitchen table, an old wooden one with deep furrows and cracks in it, the kind of table that should be scrubbed and oiled and looked after but in our flat just got stained with spilled drinks and littered with crumbs.
Then he looked up. I don’t think it’s a good idea, Fiona.
His face was gentle and open, but I felt as if I’d been punched.
He spoke slowly, measured his words. It’d be very easy … but I don’t think it’s the right thing just now.
What d’you think is the right thing?
I think we need more time. To talk, to be thegether, to see how things work out before we go further.
Though his face and words were calm I could feel, across the space that divided us, the heat of the fire he was trying to subdue in hissel.
I know that sounds dead sensible, but it’s … I wasnae sure how tae go on, to find the right words. When I was wee, at primary, I was in the nativity play one year as the back of an ox. I couldnae see anything, couldnae hear properly and I could only feel the world through this great muffle of material. And that’s how I feel now. I know there’s something out there, I know there’s something between us but I cannae feel it, I cannae break free of this big thick costume I’m wearing. We’re sitting here on either side of a table and I don’t want to be – I want us tae be close.
Jas stood up and came round to my side, pulled me to my feet, put his airms round me. As we held each other I thought he was gonnae change his mind, he kissed wee dry kisses on my face and my foreheid. Then he came apart fae me and said, I know, I know. I want us to be close too, but so much has happened …
I know it’s my fault. I know.
It’s not your fault, Fiona, things happen.
But Amrik …
I don’t want to talk about Amrik.
But how can we move on without talking about Amrik? What I don’t understand is how come you’re no even angry at him or me?
I cannae be angry. I love you both. Don’t let’s say any more. Let’s just give it time.
I WAS WORKING in the studio when Shazia appeared.
Hi Fiona? I’m Nadia’s sister.
Nadia was wanny the other students. She’d tellt me her sister was trying to break intae PR and was looking for students tae practise on, but I’d forgotten.
I have a degree in marketing but it’s so hard to find a job and you need to be prepared to, you know, just seize opportunities. So I’d like to publicise your event. Free of course – you’d just pay for printing costs and so on. I guarantee I will get a fantastic audience.
I looked at her, speechless. Shazia was slender with dark shiny hair tied back in a pony tail that swung from side to side as she talked animatedly. She was wearing a carefully pressed red blouse and neat jeans with very pointy shoes poking out from under them. I’d of thought she was the kind of girl who could get a job in marketing by snapping her long, beautifully manicured fingers.
Listen, Shazia. Nae offence to you – I’m sure you’d dae a great job, but I don’t want a big fuss. I don’t know if it’s even gonnae work. It might be a disaster – it’s a huge risk.
That’s what it’s all about isn’t it? You could have played safe with paintings or whatever. But you’ve chosen a risky medium so why not make your risk worthwhile? If it fails, it fails – a smaller audience will only make it less embarrassing, not less of a failure. And if it’s a success, don’t you want that to be in front of the biggest possible audience?
There was nae doubt, this lassie was in the right job.
Mona, Rona, Declan and Grace sat at the front of the audience with my da and Janice. Since Declan had helped make the house I couldnae avoid telling them about the event, but I hadnae banked on it becoming a family outing. I’d tried to persuade my da no tae come but he insisted on taking the day aff work, and Patric had flown up too, bringing Amrik.
Behind them stood a handful of students and a couple of lecturers – my tutor and an external examiner – as well as a few other folk I didnae recognise. I hoped Shazia wasnae too disappointed with the turnout. She’d put flyers in local offices and shops, the Drama School and even the Dental Hospital – I guessed the two guys in white coats were on a break from there. In the leaflet she’d persuaded me tae write, I’d credited Declan for help in making the house, so Mona was happy and kept showing it to everyone, telling them he was her fiancé.
Jas was at the back with his camera, and he smiled at me reassuringly. I smiled back but all I wanted tae dae was run away. All these months I’d been fixated on my ideas and dreams, on my art, on bringing all my obsessions thegether intae this one-off piece of work. But noo, my family ranged on plastic seats in this scabby room, all I could think of was how this would appear to them.
I’d put a screen in front of the installation, like a curtain in the theatre – Shazia wanted drama. At ten past one I took the screen aside to reveal a metal table on which stood the wooden model of a tenement building, five feet high and open at the front like a doll’s house. Two flats on each landing, the close stair in the middle. I’d painted the landing windaes with a floral design and smeared them wi Vaseline to gie a veiled effect, cause of course the windaes in the close are never cleaned properly.
There was a neat wee auld-lady flat on the top right; two figures sat on chintzy armchairs, hauding cups made out the washing up liquid tops. Opposite them was a student flat, with purple walls and a glitterball suspended fae the ceiling. It looked great and was dead easy – aff a keyring I’d bought in a cheapo shop. One of the students was on the phone, a plastic toy mobile of Evie’s stuck to his ear. The ground-flair flat had several fat figures, stuffed wi auld tights, squashed on a settee in fronty a television showing an ad for a burger – just as well the Flanagans hadnae come too. The second-left flat had cream walls and a rust-coloured settee on which sat a man with a tiny can in one haund and a piece of rolled-up paper with a red tip in the other.
Above the house was a screen on to which was projected a video, very grainy and blurred. I’d got two other students to help me make it; I filmed their shadows, then touched the images up with the computer. A skinny guy wi a shock of hair waved lit matches in the air and appeared tae set fire to something above his heid. Then a figure in a long skirt rushed in carrying a bucket and threw it over him, putting out the fire. As she did so a voice repeated, Branwell is a hopeless being he is a hopeless being he is a hopeless being, then faded out.
The audience shuffled in their seats, nae doubt wondering if this was it, and, if so, what all the fuss was about. It was Mona noticed it first; I could see her stiffen as she spotted the glow on the end of the bit of paper held by the figure in the second-flair flat. The speck of light grew bigger until it became a flame; Jas had figured out a way of using a flint and spark tae start the fire so it would look spontaneous. I still didnae know if it would take properly and I held my breath at the tension until the flame dropped on the carpet; it went up instantly and the whole flat was blazing. There was an intake of breath fae the audience and folk at the front moved back slightly. I’d used petrol on the interior surfaces of the flat and it bleezed away, flames creeping out and charring the edges of the walls.
It seemed like a long time, but really it was only a few minutes afore it started tae fade. I could see some folk were disappointed – the guy fae the paper shop on the corner nudged his pal and nodded in the direction of the exit – obviously they’d of preferred pyrotechnics. But everyone else watched as the fire in the flat burnt itsel out without da
maging the rest of the building. It had worked.
As the blaze died doon and the audience began to relax, the video appeared again above the house. The guy set the curtains on fire, the woman flung water over him but this time the voice at the end said, Mr Brontë has a horror of fire Mr Brontë has a horror of fire don’t tell papa don’t tell papa.
A skitter of clapping started tae make its way through the audience, growing louder and louder till it was proper applause, with some of the students shouting and whistling. In the front row Mona, Rona and Janice looked stony, and my da sat with his heid in his haunds.
I took a step towards him but Shazia took my airm and steered me to where a big guy in a creased suit and a wee wumman in combats and hiking boots were standing. Local paper and online art mag, she whispered.
So, the guy said, waving at the installation. All very interesting, but what makes this kind of thing better than a painting?
I opened my mouth and shut it again. I’d nae idea what to say. I don’t think it is better. It’s just, this is what I do.
He scribbled away.
So where is the art in this, then? It says in the leaflet you didn’t actually make the house.
I think you’ll find, Shazia interjected, that it’s very common for contemporary artists to use assistants to carry out their design ideas, just as they always have. In fact Leonardo and Michelangelo didn’t actually paint every …
I did make all the furniture and people.
Don’t you think that’s more ‘Blue Peter’ than art?
I don’t see what you’re getting at.
Look, don’t take this personally … eh … Fiona. I’m being devil’s advocate here for the sake of our readers so, to put it plainly, where exactly is the art in you setting fire to a nice doll’s house that someone else made?
It’s symbolic. It’s the context …