by Allan, Gilli
‘And I never realised you had such contempt for me and what I’ve done … or not done … with my life.’
‘I don’t have contempt, Fran. We were arguing. Things were said …’
‘Things you really think?’
‘Wildly exaggerated things.’ A silence developed, which Fran eventually broke.
‘So …’ she said with a sigh. ‘Now we’ve cleared the air, I’m still left with my problem.’
‘Like I said, I’ll come over on Sunday, when Peter’s out. I’ll have a look. You’ve probably nothing to worry about.’
Fran bit her lip. ‘You couldn’t come and look now, could you?’ she asked sheepishly. ‘I think I’ll go mad with that hanging over me until Sunday.’
Peter’s Audi stood un-garaged on the crescent driveway of the beautiful house. Fran called out a ‘hello’ to him the moment she’d shut the front door behind them. There was a faint smell of lavender polish, Dory slipped her socked feet out of her shoes and padded after her sister across the herringbone woodblock floor and towards the study.
‘Dory’s here as my IT consultant.’ Fran called out again. ‘Maybe he’s out with the dogs?’ she suggested over her shoulder when there was no acknowledgement from the sitting room. ‘That would be handy.’
She opened the door to the study. The desk light was on. Peter wasn’t out; he was sitting in front of the PC. He turned towards them, grim-faced, the telephone clamped to his ear. Out of context, Dory doubted she would have recognised her brother-in-law. This was a Peter she’d never seen before.
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘As soon as possible … Bangkok airport … Suvarna … what? OK … New Bangkok Airport … from Heathrow …’ His cold eyes were directed at his wife. She had blanched white, her hands balled into fists, but her eyes flickered to the monitor and she visibly relaxed. Peter placed his hand over the mouthpiece.
‘Have you any possible explanation for this?’
Chapter Thirty-three - Stefan
Stefan already suspected that Fran’s hasty exit from his class had something to do with Dermot. Dom, whose view of the model had been almost as full-frontal as hers, suggested it wasn’t the man’s stare that had upset her.
‘Should I cross him off the list of potential models, or is the life class providing a valuable public service?’ Stefan had suggested, not entirely seriously. ‘Without the opportunity to pose naked in front of a room full of strangers, he might be driven to less socially acceptable alternatives. Bushes and dirty macs spring to mind?’
At least he’d made the boy laugh. He didn’t know who or what had amused him the most; the model, whom Dom saw as a pathetic loser, or Fran, who’d demonstrated female feebleness by allowing such a sad wanker to intimidate her. It was just good to hear his throaty chuckle.
Steadily, over the months since the start of the year, Dom had grown quieter and more withdrawn. There was one positive – he hadn’t been going out for nights on end anymore. Most evenings, he stayed in his room, assembling and painting miniature orcs or elves and arranging them into battalions. His music, and the musky aroma of marijuana, seeped out onto the landing. He’d even started doing some art during the day. Art materials – paint, paper, and other related clutter – had gradually filtered back into the barn, and Dom was often found working out there, steadily adding to his portfolio.
There was still no news about the probate of Grace’s will. At least the antipodean relations had gone quiet, which was more of a relief than he’d anticipated.
‘They’ve probably been advised a contest is unlikely to succeed. It’d be throwing good money after bad,’ the executor – Grace’s solicitor – had suggested. Given that the house could not be sold for an indefinable time, Stefan regretted the rent committed until September, to pay for the Wyvern Mill unit. Dory was right. The barn was the perfect space to work in. All he wanted was to get on with his sculpture, to produce more pieces, to try to market himself more vigorously. But everything in his life was in stasis. The single-mindedness he’d always relied on had deserted him. There seemed nothing he could do about developing his own career while he was still so oppressed by concern for Dominic.
Always pale and slight, Dom was paler and thinner than ever – his cheeks more hollow, his eyes more shadowed. It was now five months since his Christmas ‘bender’ but if Stefan ever attempted to introduce, even in the most general of terms, the subject of a retest at the STI clinic, the conversation always ended in impasse. Dom wouldn’t even talk about it. So it continued to hover, unresolved, over every exchange between them. Unnecessary to spell out the specific concern, they both knew it.
It was cool but bright. As Stefan walked from the house to the barn, he saw a violet haze, wreathed smoke-like beneath the trees. Bluebells plus sunshine should have raised his spirits but, since the death of his neighbour, he’d yet to fully appreciate a lifting of his sense of responsibility. Was it because that weight had been replaced by another burden that touched his emotions far more closely? As he pulled open the barn door he was relieved to see Dom drawing at the table.
‘There you are.’
Dom grunted a reply. As he neared the boy he realised, with a pulse of pleasure, that Dom was drawing the bronze winged figure, which stood poised, arms spread as if about to take flight. Stefan moved behind him and looked over his shoulder. The strength of the charcoal drawing was impressive; he’d even devised a way to indicate the striated texture of the bronze. But beside the technique and the confidence Dom now displayed in his work, there was something else – pathos. Stefan recalled making the piece. He had tried to convey a sense of doomed optimism as the figure leapt into the void. He was never confident he’d achieved this ambition. But it seemed that Dom had seen and captured it.
‘I see you’re doing a self-portrait,’ Stefan said neutrally. ‘Dominic as Icarus.’ Dom glanced up and nodded. The pleasure he’d felt at the boy’s choice of subject died instantly.
‘Hey, what’s the matter?’
Dominic’s head drooped. He dropped the charcoal and sniffed, wiping the back of his hand under his nose.
‘I don’t know,’ Dom said thickly. ‘It’s just so beaut … not me, I mean, like, your sculpture.’ The boy straightened and looked up. ‘I found my mum, when I was … was in Painchester.’
It was the first time Stefan had heard this. ‘But that’s a good thing, isn’t it?’ he ventured.
Dom shook his head, his eyes glassy. ‘No. Not good. Waste of space,’ he uttered and to Stefan’s distress, began to weep, bringing his hands up to cover his face. Minutes passed. Stefan patted the boy’s back and muttered rubbish about things never being as bad as they seemed.
Eventually, he said, ‘Hey. Stand up. Come here.’ Surprisingly, Dom obeyed, and allowed himself to be hugged. ‘It’s all right. It’ll be all right,’ Stefan continued, patting and rubbing his back and occasionally stroking the back of his head. They stood like this until the heaving sobs subsided into snuffles against Stefan’s shoulder. Dom’s arms came up to hug Stefan in return. His clutch tightened. With a final pat to his back Stefan grasped him by the shoulders and firmly, but gently, pushed him back a pace. Dom raised his head with another loud sniff. His face was wet and smeared with charcoal. Stefan pulled a large, already grubby handkerchief from his pocket and cleaned his face as if he were a child. ‘Please? Is this just about your mother?’ The damp and now filthy handkerchief was pushed back into his pocket.
‘No. I’m just, like … you know … hacked off,’ Dom said.
‘And why is that?’
‘You know!’
‘Maybe, but I can’t be sure unless you say it.’
Dom sniffed and swiped his hand under his nose again. ‘I’m just sorry that I’ve only just discovered what I want to do with my life … and …’
‘And?’ Stefan prompted.
‘It’s too late. I’ve messed up. I’m going to die, aren’t I?’
Stefan pulled him into another brief hug. ‘You don’t know that
, do you?’
‘Yeah, I do. I’ve been ill, haven’t I?’
‘You were on the streets for nearly a fortnight in the middle of winter! It’s not exactly surprising you developed bronchitis.’
‘It was months ago. I’m still coughing.’
‘You’re still smoking! You promised to give up. We had a pact.’
‘I have given up. Kind of …’
‘And that is?’ Stefan indicated the saucer in which a squashy looking roll-up was balanced.
‘It’s just skunk.’
‘And your point?’
‘It’s not so damaging, is it?’
‘Arguable.’
‘But anyway, why does it matter? If … if … I might as well die happy.’ His attempt at bravado fizzled out as his eyes filled up again. He looked away, up to the skylight, hands slotted into the back pocket of his jeans.
‘Dom, listen. We’re all going to die!’
‘You know what I mean. I haven’t felt well all year.’
‘I’ve noticed, but we all go through periods of feeling a bit off. It doesn’t have to mean anything. Perhaps it’s just stress. Look, I take what you’re saying seriously, but …’ Perhaps now was the time to lay the cards on the table, Stefan thought. Once it had been said, would Dom be better able to face up to it? ‘You can’t know anything for sure until you get yourself down to the doctor’s. There isn’t just one STI, remember. Most are curable. When you went to the clinic last year …’
Dom shuddered. ‘Don’t remind me!’
‘They advised a retest for HIV six months after the “risky behaviour”. Only you will know precisely when that is, but … wouldn’t it be better to know, Dom? You may be worrying for nothing.’
‘I’m not.’
‘How do you know for sure?’
‘I’ve got symptoms.’
‘Tell me.’
Dom was shaking his head, biting down hard on his lower lip. ‘I don’t want to talk about it.’
Chapter Thirty-four - Dory
‘Dory? It’s Stefan Novak.’ Consumed by anxiety, Dory had been pacing up and down, her arms clutched around her. Snatching up the phone, she expected to hear her sister’s voice calling from Heathrow.
‘Stefan? Is it Friday? Shit! I’m sorry, but …’
‘It’s all right,’ he said. ‘It’s half-term.’
‘Oh, I’d lost track. Everything’s topsy-turvy at the moment. I expected you to be Fran. Her husband is fetching their daughter from Bangkok today.’
‘I’m sorry. Shall I ring back later?’
‘No. It’s all right.’ She expelled her breath on a sigh. ‘You took me by surprise, that’s all. They’re due in about now. Even if the plane’s landed, it’ll be a while before they’re disembarked.’
‘I’d hoped to discuss something with you?’
How had he got her number? ‘OK. What is it?’
‘You sound a bit tense. Look, I won’t go into detail now but I thought … wondered … if we could meet? It’s about Dominic.’
‘Dominic?’ she repeated blankly. Then, ‘Oh, Dom!’
‘I’m very concerned. He refuses to go back to the clinic, or even visit the doctor. He’s obviously worried, but I can’t get through to him. He won’t talk to me. I’ll understand if you don’t want to discuss this with me. At best you’ll think it’s a cheek … at worst, unethical and inappropriate, but …?’
You said it, chum, she thought. ‘How did you get this phone number?’
‘It’s in the college records.’
‘I see.’ He’d either psyched himself up to make this call, or had a very thick skin, given their last conversation on the subject of Dom.
‘I’m sorry to call you like this on a personal matter. But I’m at my wits’ end. I can’t force him to go for the retest. With your experience, I hoped you might be able to give me some advice. Off the record, of course.’
To be quizzed during her time off, on the subject of a third party’s sexual health, was bang out of order and the very last thing she needed right now. And yet … He sounded so apologetic, as if conscious of overstepping the mark. Dom wasn’t just a number on a file. Stefan wasn’t just her teacher. She suddenly recalled their collision at the top of the stairs – he’d said then there was something he wanted to talk to her about. Though the contact was brief and scarcely reflected upon at the time, the textures, the smells, the warmth, all invaded her mind now. She found she was smiling.
‘I’d be happy to talk to you,’ she said, and could hear his relief when he thanked her. ‘But I’m sorry. I’m not really with it, just now. We’re actually in the middle of a family crisis. My niece, Melanie … I don’t really know the details, but she’s had a bad experience in Thailand, that’s why her dad’s bringing her home. Can I call you back when I know how she is? When everything’s calmed down a bit?’
It was the following week before Dory got around to phoning him back. She suggested he come over to her flat the next day at six o’clock. Stefan wasn’t sure he could make it by that time. He was in the middle of another garden ornament commission and preferred to work on until he was satisfied with what he’d done.
‘Come over later, then, whenever’s convenient,’ she suggested. ‘I’ll make supper.’
Chapter Thirty-five - Stefan
Exterior steps led up to Dory’s first-floor flat. Standing on the little landing outside her front door, Stefan hesitated. What had begun as a need to talk over the ‘Dom problem’ had escalated into something uncomfortably close to a date. The door opened before he knocked. For just a second, he was struck dumb. The woman he knew had disappeared. T-shirt and jeans had been replaced by a calf-length, jade green, silky dress. He noticed her bare ankles and feet, her painted toenails. Even her face was somehow transformed. She looked pleased to see him, her smile bright and welcoming.
‘Feels like I invited myself. And to add insult to injury,’ he looked down at himself, suddenly embarrassed, ‘I should have gone home to change.’
‘That would have been daft.’
‘But I have washed my hands.’
‘Your studio is so close I expected you to pop in straight after work. That’s why I suggested six. I didn’t want you to think …’ In the pause, he handed over the bottle of wine, which had been tucked under his arm.
‘You needn’t have. I love Rioja! And I’m pleased to see you’re supporting the cork forests.’
He waited for enlightenment. The bottle had come out of the cellar. He’d wiped off the dust but had thought no more about it.
‘Screw tops are handier than corks, but think of all that unique ecology that’s under threat.’
He really ought to take a closer interest in what was going on in the world. Inside, the window was open and the balmy scents of summer filled her living room. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d managed to open any of his front sash windows. And unlike Kitesnest, everywhere here was bright, clean, and sparkling. Remembering his manners, he bent to remove his trainers.
‘Don’t worry about that. Shall we open the wine? Supper is already simmering. A chilli, if that’s all right? I’ll do the rice when we get hungry.’
He’d already kicked off his dusty trainers and padded after her across the blonde wood floor. She handed him the corkscrew and he applied himself to removing the cork from the bottle. It was too soon to broach the subject that had impelled him here, but he needed to say something.
‘Is everything all right with Fran and her family?’ he asked when they sat down, the wine and a bowl of olives on the low table between them.
Dory sighed. ‘Short answer, yes, I think so. Long answer … do you really want to know?’
‘Only if you want to tell me,’ he said. ‘I don’t want to intrude.’
‘It will be a relief to tell someone.’ Relaxing back into her chair, Dory crossed her legs. He heard the faint shimmy of the fabric against bare skin. She seemed to be looking into her wine for inspiration. ‘My niece got herself
into a bit of bother out in Thailand, but part of the problem stemmed from my sister’s neglect.’
‘Neglect?’ The word raised all sorts of extreme connotations in his mind. Dory raised her eyes to his then shrugged.
‘Afraid so. Perhaps it’s too strong a word. I don’t mean the misery-memoir kind of neglect. Mel is a well-loved child, but lately …’ She drew a breath. ‘Fran has allowed herself to be distracted from her responsibilities as a mother.’ Dory sipped her wine. ‘It’s to do with her age. I don’t really understand it, but I’m younger. Perhaps staring down the barrel of my fortieth will have the same affect on me? This is very nice.’ She reached for the wine bottle and looked more attentively at the label. Her eyebrows went up. ‘No wonder!’
‘Your niece?’ he prompted.
‘How can I explain? It’s almost like Fran was still waiting for her life to begin when four things happened. Our mother died, her husband, Peter, took early retirement, her daughter left school, and she suddenly realised she’d soon be forty. The tabloid explanation would be a mid-life crisis. Instead of seeing it as an opening up of new opportunities, Fran saw her options shutting down. You already know a symptom of it, her ridiculous schoolgirl crush on Dominic.’ Dory raised her glass. ‘I think she just wanted to prove to herself she was still young enough, attractive enough to …’ as she took another sip, her eyes engaged his across the rim of her glass, ‘… pull.’
‘She is an attractive woman but she chose the wrong target.’ His reply was disconnected from his thoughts. There were beads of wine on Dory’s full lower lip. He watched the tip of her tongue lick them off.
‘You were a witness to me telling her so.’ Her eyes shifted away from his. ‘But by that time her interest in Dominic was already being superseded by another obsession. I wouldn’t have found out if she hadn’t been upset by the … tumescent Dermot.’ She smiled wryly.
Aware now what a challenge a model like Dermot could present to the women drawing him, Stefan felt the need to explain. ‘There was no other model available. I should have thought about his … tendencies and supervised the pose. If he’s not looking at anyone, anyone female, he’s a great model,’ he shrugged. ‘I shan’t be using him again.’