The Painter

by Will Davenport

'What's that for?' she asked, not very pleased to see him as his attempt to walk off with Amelia's book still rankled a little. She'd left Don looking at the book which troubled her just as much, trapping her in an unexpected cross-fire between her heart and her head. 'I'm just going to wash,' she had said as she put on the clothes spread across his floor like the shrapnel of lust. 'When I come back we'll read some more, okay?'

  Don could have said something tender then, something like don't be long, but instead he just got out of his bed, standing there in slim, sinewy glorious nakedness, and if a burst of noise from beyond the door, the noise of the builders getting ready for their night's entertainment hadn't stopped her, she might have undressed again immediately.

  'I'll just have a look at it while you're gone,' was all he'd said, and in that startling intimacy of unexpected lovers, there seemed no polite way to take the book back from him against his will. It was oddly disturbing, to know that he was back there trying to read it without her, as if he was already being unfaithful.

  Now, out here, Dennis inclined his head at the door leading to the showers. 'Gengko's in there. He doesn't usually bother about the finer points of concealment. Wouldn't want to frighten the horses.'

  'Most considerate of you.'

  He gave her a serious look. 'You're sure you're all right up that end? My offer's still good. You can have my room.'

  'If Gengko wanders round here in the raw, I think I'm probably safer up there.'

  Dennis frowned. 'I don't really know how to say this, love -' and he stopped.

  'Go on. You're not usually tongue-tied.'

  'Well, you know I'm not one of Don's greatest fans and I recognize that he's probably an attractive bloke but … I'd just keep a bit of distance if I were you.'

  'You're not jealous, are you?' she said in a jokey voice, feeling Don still on her and in her.

  'I wish it were that simple,' he said, then he gave her a strange and searching look. 'Am I saying this too late?' he said, and she wondered what was written in her face.

  'Maybe just a bit too late,' she replied slowly.

  'Just go carefully then,' he said. 'People get hurt when he's …' He stopped abruptly as Eric the electrician emerged from the further of the two showers, then he shrugged. 'Go on, get in there before Gengko starts waving his pet python around.'

  When she came out he was still standing there, even though the other shower was empty.

  'I thought I'd better stay here in case any dangerous rapists showed up,' he said.

  'I'm not a dangerous rapist.'

  'Damn, another dream shattered,' said Dennis. 'However, the crucial question facing us all tonight is whether you're coming down to the pub with the rest of us lads, on account of the fact that it's a special celebration.'

  'What celebration would that be?' she asked.

  'The feast of Saint Reginald, patron saint of builders. Martyred on this day when a wall collapsed on him while he was taking a nap, owing to him having forgotten to stir the mortar properly. You'll ruin my reputation if you don't come, Amy, I've told everybody we're secretly married.'

  'You may be, but I'm not,' Amy said. 'I'm not even secretly single.'

  'Transport's leaving straight after the show,' said Dennis.

  'What show?'

  'My best trick yet. I call it the Death-Ride. Outside, soon as we're sure the Hawk's flown.'

  There was a crowd round the saw bench. Don, still trying to make out Amelia's handwriting, had refused to come and Amy arrived at the same moment as Dennis, once more in his white overalls. The fog was blowing away but the light was fading fast and someone had switched on a floodlight so that the sharp crescent of saw blade glinted.

  'For the first time, lady and not very gentlemen,' he called, 'I will undertake the passage of the saw bench from end to end, in the WRONG DIRECTION.'

  There was a collective gasp and some shaking of heads.

  'What does he mean?' Amy asked Gengko.

  Gengko shrugged. 'He means he's a silly bugger.'

  'Why?'

  'Cos that's a good way to die. You feed wood into a circular saw from that end so that the saw bites downwards, right? It keeps the wood down on the table. You put it in from the other end, where the saw's spinning upwards, you're likely to go into orbit is my guess.'

  'Won't his weight hold it down?'

  'Shouldn't think so.'

  Others had their doubts too. When Dennis produced a huge slab of wood, virtually half a tree trunk out of the stack, Eric said, 'Hold on Den, have you practised this?'

  'What, and risk it twice?' he said. 'Yeah, course I have. Up at the crack of dawn, every morning, perfecting my art, that's me.'

  'I think we might all agree to let you off this one,' said Eric doubtfully, but there was a chorus of whistles and cat-calls.

  'Bollocks,' said Dennis. 'Press the button and let's get on with it.'

  The saw whined into life and accelerated into a screaming blur, designed for damage, ready to bisect anything that came near it.

  'I really don't want to watch this,' Amy whispered, but she couldn't turn away.

  'Go on somebody, say I'm too young to die. Please,' said Dennis.

  'Too daft to live, more like,' said Eric. 'I'm not pushing you. I'd be an accessory to murder.'

  'No need,' said Dennis, jumping up on the saw bench, and before anybody else could object, he gave the log a mighty shove, jumped on and rode it down the rollers towards the saw blade.

  At the moment when the log reached the saw, it became immediately clear that he had got the whole thing badly wrong. The saw howled and smoked for a fraction of a second as it bit into the wood, then it simply picked up the log and hurled it into the air.

  Dennis fell off, straight towards the blade.

  The log crashed down among the scattering builders, felling two of them. Dennis, twisting in the air like a cat, landed on his shoulders right next to the whirling blade, rolled with one leg just above the spinning teeth, then bounced away from it, down on to the ground. Eric rushed to kill the power and the blade rapidly came to a halt.

  There was chaos for a few seconds as people ran to Dennis and to the other two lying on the ground, but it was soon clear that they had all got away extraordinarily lightly. The leg of Dennis's overalls was ripped and he had just the slightest graze on his skin where the blade had sliced past. Tel and Scotch Jimmy were both rubbing bruised legs where the log had knocked them over but that was the entire sum of the injuries.

  'I know what went wrong,' said Dennis. 'I can fix that. It'll be a bloody good trick when I get it right. Let's have another go, I'll …'

  'No way, Dennis,' said Gengko. 'I don't care about you, mate, but I'd like to stay alive. Let's go to the pub.'

  'All right, then. You coming, Amy?' Tel asked.

  'Yes.'

  'What about Don?'

  'I'll see if I can persuade him,' said Amy. 'We'll join you down there. Mine's a pint.'

  The cavalcade of cars left.

  Don was standing just inside the front door.

  'Were you watching?' she asked, in surprise.

  He shrugged, 'I wouldn't mind seeing him kill himself but I'm not about to join his fan club. Anyway, who says you can persuade me? I heard you.'

  'You don't have to come if you don't want to.'

  'I don't.'

  'Look, just come for a walk, with me, right? We'll go down the road.'

  He looked at her and with a widening of her eyes, she blew on the embers of the passion they had just shared. It reached him. 'If you want.'

  They walked down the rutted track, through the little wood to the bend in the road, and then down it towards the village, a mile or so away. The great river glowed bronze in the low evening sun away to their left and the loom of Hull was visible far ahead. She wished he would take her hand but he seemed to think he owed her no special affection. Halfway down the road, the church stood all on its own beside the road. Don turned in through the gate, and Amy followed, sensing thi
s was as near the pub as he was likely to get.

  'Is this Paull church?' she asked.

  'Yes. There's an old saying round here. "High Paull, Low Paull and Paull Holme, there never was a fair maid married in Paull Town."'

  'That's not very polite.'

  'It's a joke. There never was a fair maid married in Paull Town because the church isn't in Paull town, it's out here,' He went into the porch and tried unsuccessfully to open the door. 'Oh, bloody hell. It never used to be locked. Anyway, come and look at this. Where is it?'

  He found it after a search, a gravestone, 'See what it says?'

  Amy stooped to read it in the gloom. This one? John, son of Johnson and Ann Millson who was drowned at Hull September twenty-first and came ashore at Paull October tenth, 1872, Aged twenty-four years. Ugh, three weeks in the water.'

  'They often fetch up here. There's another one. Look. James Palmer CE in charge of Coast Guard Station Paull who was drowned by the upsetting of his boat on the Humber December the twenty-sixth 1876 and interred here January the second 1877, aged forty-nine years. It's a dangerous river.' He looked at her as though that should mean something special to her.

  'Right, well let's not go sailing. How old is the church?'

  'Pretty old.'

  'Older than the 1600s?'

  'Must be. I remember Mum saying it was burnt out in the civil war siege, then they repaired it later.'

  'So when Amelia and our painter were doing their thing, it might have been a ruin?'

  'I suppose so.'

  They both looked back at the same moment towards the wood, higher up the road, which masked Paull Holme Manor.

  'Imagine it,' said Amy. 'Look hard at the church and see it with no roof, all blackened. Then see if you can see the painter wandering round it, peering at it.'

  'How do you know he would?'

  'It's such a strong visual image, a burnt church. Any painter nearby would come and have a look.'

  They stood together in silence, Amy tried to visualize the painter inspecting the church but the choices were too wide. Was he young or old, short or tall, fat or thin? She thought she had no idea, little realizing that the limner's face was almost as familiar to her as her own.

  'All right,' she said, 'come on, I need a drink.' She wanted him to say come back to the house, come back to our quiet room with no one else around. Come back and do it with me again. Instead he just looked towards the village and shook his head.

  'Listen, Don,' she said, 'I want to go down there. Just to be friendly, just for a short time. I'd like you to come too but I can't force you.'

  'I'm going to sit here for a while.'

  'All right. You do that. If you're not there in half an hour, I'll come back here.' She looked at him but he was staring at the church. 'I'd really like it if you came.'

  At the outskirts of Paull, where the road bent past the little lighthouse to run along the sea wall and the Humber rustled and splashed close to her in the failing light, she paused and looked back, hoping to see him following her down the road, but there was no sign of him. She found them, most of them, in the first pub on the right. She walked in unnoticed and saw Dennis was in the middle of the crowd performing some complicated trick, involving a lot of full glasses of alcohol. Gengko saw her and winked.

  'He's showing off again. What are you drinking?'

  'A pint of whatever you've got, thanks. Where are the others?'

  'Bit of an altercation,' he said. 'I had to send Eric and his mate out for being a naughty boy. Threatened to come to blows. I think they're sulking in the other bar.'

  'About?'

  'Somebody.'

  Amy could guess who that was and Gengko's tone didn't encourage her to take it further, then Dennis noticed her.

  'Here you are, darling,' he said, 'just in time to witness my moment of triumph. Old Gordie here reckons he can drink these four single whiskies before I can drink these four pints of beer.'

  Gordie was not one of the builders. He was a grizzled sixty-year-old with tattooed anchors on his forearm.

  'So do I,' said Amy. 'What's the catch?'

  'Have you no faith in your husband, my dear? The rules are simple. Neither participant is to touch the other person or the other person's glass, nor knock them over by any means. Loser pays for all eight drinks.'

  'I don't know,' said Amy, putting her arm round Dennis. 'Leave you alone for a moment and you're betting and boozing.'

  There was a raucous cheer from the others.

  'Did I ever promise you anything else?' asked Dennis.

  'I don't remember you promising me anything at all.'

  'Side bet,' said Dennis, 'What about a kiss if I win? We are married after all.'

  'What do I get if you lose?'

  'I'll use my powers of persuasion to get Gengko to buy you half a packet of cheese and onion crisps.'

  'Oh, you know how to tempt a girl all right. Done.'

  'Quiet, everybody. Serious concentration. Amy, you give us the countdown.'

  'Five four three two one, GO.'

  Gordie downed the first scotch before Dennis was a third of the way through his first pint. He laughed a derisory laugh at Dennis's foolish presumption and raised the second one to his lips as Dennis passed the halfway mark of that first drink with three and a half more pints to go. Gordie had the second scotch empty, back on the table and was just starting the third when Dennis came to the end of his first pint, looked at it meditatively, upended it to shake out the drops and calmly placed it, upside down, over the last full glass of whisky on the table.

  'I win,' he said.

  'The fock you do,' said Gordie, reaching out to remove the glass.

  'No, no, naughty boy,' said Dennis, 'remember the precise wording of the rules. You can't touch the other person's glass.'

  Gordie stared at the table, thwarted. 'Buggroff,' he said, 'bastard. Focking bastard.'

  'Do you mind,' said Dennis primly, 'my wife is present.'

  'If she's your wife, I'm a pig's arse,' said Gordie.

  'So where's the rest of the pig?' Dennis asked, and from the way the landlord was watching nervously, Amy wondered if Gordie's record was perhaps not a very peaceful one.

  'Wife, I claim my prize. A kiss,' said Dennis, puckering his lips.

  'Certainly,' said Amy, seizing Gordie's face between her hands and kissing him straight on his mouth. The overwhelming flavour was scotch. Spirits, she thought, at least they're a disinfectant.

  An astonished look spread over Gordie's face.

  'Hold on,' said Dennis. 'Not him. Me.'

  'No, no, naughty boy,' said Amy. 'Remember the precise wording of the rules. You just said a kiss. You didn't say who I had to kiss.'

  Everybody roared, including Gordie.

  'Where's Don?' asked Gengko when the laughter died down. 'Did you tell him to come?'

  'Have you tried telling Don anything?' she replied. 'Don does what Don wants to do.'

  'Probably for the best,' said Dennis. 'He'd only be jealous with me here. When are we going to tell your mother?'

  'I told you,' said Amy, 'don't mention my mother.' And Dennis couldn't quite tell whether it was meant as a joke.

  'Come on,' said Gengko, 'I'll buy you a packet of crisps anyway.'

  She went with him to the bar.

  The Jamaican was oddly hesitant. 'Is Don, er … is he all right, like?'

  'God knows,' said Amy. 'Who can possibly tell? I know I can't.'

  'It's just that we're all a bit worried that …'

  'Come on Gengko.' said Amy. 'I've had quite enough people telling me that Don's had a bad time and that I need to be responsible or careful with his emotions or some crap like that. I don't know why everybody thinks I'm so bloody dangerous that I can't be trusted not to screw him up. I'm not on some mad ego trip, I'm really not. What do you think I am, some leggy blonde tart who wants him to fall in love with me so I can carve another notch on my … on my …' She couldn't think of anything suitable and saw that Gengko
was watching her as if she might bite him. '… On my fanny? Is that what you think? There are two of us in this, you know. Him and me. I didn't plan any of it. I'm not exactly enjoying it, either. He really upsets me sometimes, I don't know who he is. Do you understand that?'

  'Um, no,' said Gengko, 'not really, but thank you for sharing it with me. All I was going to say was some of us are a bit worried that he never comes down to the pub any more on account of the fact that he used to be the life and soul of the party, but thanks for that. Most exciting stuff. A far fuller answer than I was expecting. I suppose that puts me out of the running then?'

  'Oh bloody hell, Gengko,' she said. 'What have I said now? Come here,' and she gave him a hug.

  'Hang on,' said Dennis, coming up behind her. 'You're cuddling him and you kissed that old bloke,' he said plaintively. 'What about me?'

  'Good God,' she said. 'Come on then,' and she kissed him quickly on the mouth.

  None of them saw Don halfway in through the door and none of them saw him turn and leave again straight away.

  THIRTEEN

  Friday, January 17th, 1662

  In the fine English city of York, Marvell found out who I really was. On the way there, a journey which took the best part of two days, I found out a great deal more about who he really was and came to like him rather less as a result.

  For the first part of the journey, I was left to the tender mercies of the carter. Marvell, detained by private business, intended to overtake us later. The carter, a man who spent his life persuading his ghastly horse to plod up and down the highway, collecting and delivering on his way, was not a man in whose company anybody would want to spend two days. He was clearly discontented with his lot. At first I rode next to him on the seat of the cart but he insisted on trying to talk to me to fill the immense amount of time created by the slow pace of his spavined nag. He seemed entirely unfamiliar with the idea that there might be more than one language in the world and simply shouted louder when I did not answer. Angered when this didn't work, he took to punching me on the shoulder as if to drive his words in by force. After an hour of this, I climbed over into the empty body of the wagon and sat on a pile of sacks. This brought its own hazards. The carter had a supply of saliva which would have been enough for five men and to get rid of it, he spat constantly over one shoulder or the other. As I was riding behind him, I found myself having to watch him like a hawk – to be ready to bend my body one way or the other to avoid the flying gobs brought sailing back towards me on the wind.