The Tied Man

by McGowan, Tabitha

  Finn said nothing, just dragged slowly on his cigarette and gave Coyle his finest insolent glare.

  ‘So. I want to hear you ask for this really nicely.’ I couldn’t see Coyle’s face, but I could hear the smirk in his voice.

  Finn slowly ground his smoke into a saucer. ‘Please.’

  Coyle tutted. ‘Now that wasn’t nicely, was it? Try again, faggot.’

  ‘Please could I have my prescription?’

  ‘There now. Not too hard, was it?’ Coyle strolled around the table and held out the packet. As Finn reached out, his grinning tormentor snatched it away again.

  ‘Cunt,’ Finn muttered, and Coyle hit him on the back of the head with a resounding slap.

  ‘You shit-stabbing twat,’ Coyle spat with sudden, chilling hate. ‘I’ll fucking kill you, you speak like that to me again.’ He hit Finn once more, harder this time, back-handing him across the face. ‘You hear me?’

  Finn didn’t even look up, and I started to feel genuinely scared for him.

  ‘You want to try goin’ for a day without these things, huh? Is that what you want? You piece of fuckin’ homo filth, you show me some respect or I swear to God I’ll have you rattlin’ ‘til you howl before you get your hands on these little beauties. You hear me now?’ Another slap. ‘You hear me?’ Another. ‘What, you didn’t get enough of this last night? You want some more?’ Now Coyle bunched his hand into a meaty fist and I had had enough.

  ‘Stop that.’ I stood up from my hiding place by the stove.

  Coyle spun around. ‘Good morning, Ms Bresson. I had no idea that you were there. I do apologise if our banter was distressing you.’

  ‘Stop hitting him, give him what he wants and then get out.’ I could hear an alien, sharp edge to my voice. I had never felt this nervous in confrontation.

  ‘Why? Disturbing your chat, was I?’ Coyle sat back down. ‘Is he telling you how he moans like a schoolgirl when he’s getting screwed up the arse, huh? That’s what his customers like about him, you know. He’s a noisy little fucker, aren’t you, Finn-boy?’ Coyle laughed and ruffled Finn’s hair. ‘I’m surprised you haven’t heard him: Oh yeah, give it to me hard,’ he cried in obscene mockery. ‘Good and loud, so they leave a bigger tip. Or maybe he was describing how he got found by the gardai, passed out on the smack down a Dublin back alley with some old fella’s spunk joinin’ the shit running down his legs?’

  ‘Christ, leave me something, would you?’ Finn pleaded softly.

  ‘Is this intended to shock me in some way, O’Halloran? I asked. ‘Am I meant to blush, or step back in horror, or maybe look at Finn in a new light following your distasteful little revelations?’

  At last the smug grin began to slip. ‘I’m sure I didn’t -’ he began, but I hadn’t finished.

  ‘And do you think for one moment that anything you say to me, any unpleasant, tawdry detail, isn’t a tired variation on something I heard from my own mother over fifteen years ago?’

  ‘As I was saying, I’m sure I didn’t mean to cause any offence. Just having a bit of a crack on, that’s all. I’ll leave you to it, shall I?’ Coyle stood and threw the packet across the table at Finn. ‘Enjoy,’ he called as he left.

  Finn lit up his next cigarette. ‘Don’t.’

  ‘Don’t what?’

  ‘Say a word.’

  ‘I wasn’t going to say anything.’

  ‘Didn’t – fucking – need to.’ Finn popped three white tablets into the palm of his hand in time to the words. He swallowed them with what was left of his coffee. ‘Your face says everything, anyway.’

  ‘What is this, the bloody Thought Police?’ I retorted. ‘I’m being reprimanded for something I’ve never even said?’

  He shot three more pills into his mouth and winced as he swallowed them dry. ‘Yeah. The thought that went, ‘Why the hell does he sit there and let him do that?’ That one.’

  ‘And do I get a chance to defend myself?’

  ‘Nah.’

  I gave a hiss of frustration. ‘God, you can be an arsey little bastard. Okay, not that it’s going to make a blind bit of difference, but that isn’t actually what I thought.’

  ‘Sure it wasn’t.’

  I was sorely tempted to scream. ‘For fuck’s sake.’ I refilled the kettle and slammed it down on top of the stove. ‘He’s hurt you, all right? Some of it’s historical and some of it’s to do with whatever power Blaine’s bestowed upon him but at no point in that scenario did I think I was watching an even fight. More than once you’ll have wiped the floor with that man and that’s what makes it a million times worse that he can do this now.’

  ‘Stop doing that weird shit on me!’ Finn hollered.

  ‘And don’t you shout at me like that!’ I yelled back.

  ‘Fine.’ His voice dropped to a growl that was no improvement whatsoever. ‘I don’t want to know any more about what you think. I want to keep hold of just one or two poxy secrets in the car crash otherwise known as my life in the vain hope that once or twice a year I can pretend to have some bloody dignity.’

  ‘Are you quite finished?’

  ‘Yeah.’ Finn continued to glower at me as I threw a teabag into the nearest available mug.

  ‘Is there a problem?’ Blaine asked as she walked into the kitchen in a cloud of perfumed malevolence. ‘Only I could hear the pair of you from my room.’

  ‘No. No problem at all,’ Finn replied nonchalantly.

  ‘Good. Anyway, I’m glad I caught you both together. Lilith – I know we had a sitting booked for this morning, but there’s some business I need to attend to. I wondered if Finn might take my place?’

  ‘You want him in the piece?’ I asked.

  ‘I haven’t decided. But isn’t that part of your method? To make hordes of sketches then decide on the final arrangement at a later date?’

  ‘Yes…’

  ‘Well there we are. Even if I don’t choose them for the completed work, it would still be wonderful to have one or two nudes of my favourite boy for my own collection.’

  ‘Nudes?’ This was the first I’d heard of her plans, and judging by Finn’s thunderous expression, the first he’d heard as well. ‘This isn’t how I work, Blaine. You know this isn’t how I work – I wouldn’t do this to a client who’d requested a portrait, never mind - ’

  Blaine simply raised a hand to silence me as though I were some intrusive child. ‘Is that all right with you, darling?’ she asked Finn.

  He didn’t even look at her. ‘Sure.’

  ‘There you go. I don’t see a problem, do you?’ She reached out and lifted his chin with a smooth, unlined hand and kissed him full on the mouth. Finn responded with instant, mechanical passion and it was the kind of clinch that in other circumstances would have had me asking if the two of them were hungry. Blaine finally broke away. ‘My beautiful boy.’ She smiled at me. ‘I hope you both have an enjoyable morning. I’ll look forward to seeing the results of the sitting when I return.’

  We listened in silence to the receding sharp clip of stilettos on flagstone, and Finn calmly pulled a cigarette from his pack. Only the slightest tremble in his fingers betrayed him as he lit up. ‘You goin’ for your run first?’

  I nodded.

  ‘Right. See you in an hour then.’ He gathered up his cigarettes and lighter and stalked barefoot out of the kitchen.

  *****

  ‘Hi.’ Exactly one hour later, Finn stood at the door of my studio with a face that suggested he would rather be anywhere else in the universe right now. He looked like a cornered animal as his eyes darted around the room, looking everywhere except at me.

  ‘Come in.’

  ‘Sure.’ He reluctantly stepped inside, his arms tightly folded across his chest and his hands hidden inside the sleeves of a grey hooded sweatshirt that currently matched his complexion. ‘So. What d’you want me to do?’

  At that moment, I hated Blaine more than ever. ‘Look, we don’t have to go ahead with this,’ I began, but Finn shook his head.
<
br />   ‘D’you think I’ve got any more choice over this than anything else I do in this fucking place?’ he asked with such desperation that I felt my stomach lurch.

  ‘I swear, this isn’t how I do things, Finn. I’ve never forced anyone to do something they’re not a hundred percent happy with.’

  ‘I’m used to it.’

  ‘Well I’m bloody well not.’ I took a deep breath and felt some resistance, but put it down to the tension radiating from Finn. ‘All right. Let’s try and make this as painless as possible then, shall we? We’ve got all day, after all. You want a whiskey?’ I proffered the bottle of bourbon that I kept in the studio as an occasional reward for a good day’s work.

  ‘Yeah. That’d be good. Thanks.’

  I poured him a quadruple measure that he drank in one mouthful, then refilled his glass. I was running a well-worn routine now, the thing I did for nervous first-time sitters – people who had paid thousands for a Lilith Bresson portrait, only to find at the last minute their courage had deserted them.

  Sure enough, ten minutes was all that was needed for the alcohol to weave its unsubtle magic. Finn’s shoulders dropped a little, and some colour returned to his cheeks.

  ‘I’m better now.’

  Better. As I’d planned. The next stage would be to sit and make smalltalk until his nerves receded into nothing. But Finn wasn’t nervous: he was terrified, visibly shivering despite the warmth of the room. So different to Blaine’s willingness to reveal all on her very first morning.

  ‘This really isn’t how it’s meant to be, Finn.’

  ‘Ignore me. I’m being a dumb bastard.’ He compulsively picked and bit at the dead skin around his thumbnail until he drew blood. ‘Could you wait half an hour?’

  I narrowed my eyes. ‘Why?’

  ‘Maybe if I take something – y’know, a bit extra – just to take the edge off…’

  ‘No. It kills your face for a start, and let’s be honest, if you need to get completely wasted just to sit for me, something’s gone horribly wrong.’

  ‘So order me.’

  ‘Do what?’

  ‘Give me a direct order. Tell me to stand in front of you and strip. It’s easy.’

  I slapped my forehead. ‘Now why didn’t I think of that? Oh, I know. Because it’s the most ridiculous suggestion I’ve ever heard in my life.’ I hid a dry cough behind my hand.

  ‘Oh God, why not?’ Finn pleaded. ‘It’d hardly be the worst thing I’ve ever been asked to do.’

  ‘Apart from it being morally repugnant, you mean?’

  ‘For fuck’s sake would you for once just stick your sanctimonious bullshit up your arse?’ Finn snapped. ‘Y’know what my job is, huh? It’s to say ‘Yes’ and keep saying it until whoever’s paying decides they’ve had enough. It doesn’t matter if I’m not happy, or if it disgusts me, or even if it hurts like I’d rather fucking die. So deal with it. I have to.’

  I opened my mouth to answer him, but as if I were trapped in my own nightmare, no words came out. Instead I could only make a noise best described as a death-rattle.

  Finn

  Any momentary triumph I might have felt at scoring a rare point against Lilith vanished the moment her lips turned blue. Initially I had no idea what the hell was wrong – the last time I had seen anyone do anything like this was when one of my old Phoenix Park colleagues had unwittingly shot a syringeful of pure pharmaceutical heroin into the last functioning vein between his toes, thinking it was our dealer’s usual street-sweepings. He had made this same surprised, choking grunt before falling head-first at my feet, already dead as he hit the filthy pavement.

  True, Lilith hadn’t actually toppled yet, but she didn’t look so far off as she grabbed at the back of the nearest chair, simultaneously giving me the death-glare and pulling in meagre air with an unearthly squeak.

  I must have stood and stared like a complete fuckwit for a good ten seconds before I figured out what was happening. ‘Oh shit, asthma!’

  Lilith managed a nod. She started to pat at the pockets of her track pants, each move becoming a little more desperate as whatever she was searching for failed to materialise.

  ‘Your inhaler. You can’t find your inhaler,’ I realised, the second-best mind reader in the room.

  Another frantic nod, and more of that noise that sounded like something being strangled.

  I shoved my guilt back into its box – I could always do the self-loathing thing later, once Lilith had decided not to die on me – and moved to her side, crouching so that my face was level with hers. ‘Okay, sweetheart – try to stay calm and let me help you. Is it in this room?’

  A shake of the head.

  ‘Your room?’

  Nod.

  ‘Good woman.’ I tried to think where Lilith’s organised mind would put the bloody thing – imagined her waking up, maybe, and reaching out for it. ‘By your bed?’

  One last nod.

  ‘I’ll be back before you know it,’ I yelled, already halfway down the corridor.

  *****

  ‘Thank fuck for that.’

  If it were my room, I’d have been long-dead by the time anyone found anything under three years of accumulated shite. But this was Lilith Bresson’s corner of the planet, and sure enough, the blue plastic inhaler was set neatly parallel to the edge of her bedside table. I grabbed it and hurtled back towards the studio, hoping that my efforts wouldn’t be too late.

  *****

  I handed the inhaler over and Lilith grabbed at it with both hands. The cylinder hissed twice and she gulped back the spray as best she could. She didn’t resist as I put a guiding arm around her rigid shoulders and brought her to the floor. I was terrified that maybe she was too far gone for this to work, that her lungs had shut down and refused to allow the drug into her system.

  All I could do was kneel beside her and wait. Despite the risk, I found myself running the flat of my palm from the nape of her neck, between her shoulder blades and down the length of her spine in slow regular strokes. I couldn’t remember the last time I had voluntarily touched anyone, and I half-expected her to shrug away from me. Instead, as I watched, her lips returned to their usual hue and her breath came back, mercifully slow and steady. I stopped my stroking, suddenly aware that it might not be the most appropriate of moves.

  ‘No. Don’t stop,’ Lilith’s eyes were tightly shut as she focused on regaining control. ‘Helps. Lots.’

  So I kept going, feeling each muscle release its grip as the minutes passed. Finally her eyes opened, bright and blue if slightly unfocused. ‘Well that was fun. Well done.’

  ‘Yeah, genius, huh? Sending you over a cliff on a wild horse didn’t work, so I decided to asthma you to death instead.’

  ‘Interesting verb,’ Lilith smiled.

  ‘Yeah, it’s about to be made into a new offence. Asthma-ing an artist to death. Automatic life sentence.’

  ‘Wasn’t being sarcastic for once. Meant it. Well done. For not panicking. Doing what you did. Spot on. Did it once when I was a boarder. French mistress hit the floor with me. The moment my face turned indigo. Thought I was. Dead.’

  ‘I can understand that.’ I tucked my hands into my pockets. ‘So. Shall we give this another go?’

  Lilith

  ‘No we shall not,’ I got to my feet and feeling the world spin beneath me. I rested my hands on the back of the chair. ‘I am not bloody well dying. For my art. Especially. Not here.’

  I was furious with myself. For missing the tell-tale struggle to pull in a full breath and the vice that had been tightening around my ribs since my altercation with Coyle, but mainly for this obvious, terrifying regression. I resigned myself to using the dull brown steroid inhaler every day until my escape, consoled by the thought of the velvet warmth of the Spanish autumn that would soothe away the resurgent curse of asthma as soon as I managed to escape.

  ‘What would you have been doing if you weren’t with me?’ I asked.

  ‘Dunno,’ Finn shrugged. ‘Fuckin
’ about in the gardens, probably. Weeding. Shit like that.’

  ‘Right. Change of plan, on health grounds. I get to go outside for some fresh air to aid my recovery, and you get to keep your clothes on.’

  ‘Lilith, I need to do this – I mean, we can’t -’

  ‘I’m still going to draw you. I’m just doing my best to find a professional compromise despite an unexpected problem.’

  Finn ripped another strip of skin from his thumb as he considered this. ‘Might work. Not more than the once, and she’ll be as pissed as hell, but yeah, we might just get away with it.’

  ‘Well that’ll do me for now.’ I began to gather together my sketch pad and a handful of pencils. ‘Do me a favour and roll that rug up, will you? I could do without a damp arse on top of everything else this morning.’

  *****

  ‘It’s nothing glamorous,’ Finn explained as we emerged from the Hall, blinking against the bright daylight. ‘Just weeding, that’s all – I sorted out a herb garden for Henry last year. All that organic bollocks, no weedkiller, so I need to keep on top of it.’

  Despite Finn’s low-key introduction to his other world, I was left speechless. The garden, hidden by the vast servants’ wing and therefore something I had not seen on my morning run, was amazing: Finn’s own artistry.

  Herbs that I recognised – lavender, chives, clary sage, mint – stood in gentle regiments alongside a good many I had never seen. He had arranged the textures and colours with an eye for structure that many of my fellow so-called-artists would never be able to achieve. Even in the morning sun, the scents were beginning to mingle to create a heady perfume.

  ‘You undersell yourself. It’s beautiful, Finn.’ He spread the rug on the grass for me. ‘How the hell did you get into gardening?’

  ‘Ah.’ Finn glanced up, squinting in the sun. ‘I got put inside when I was eighteen. ‘Possession with Intent to Supply’. Nothin’ major, more like buying in bulk and sharing it out – keeping the cost down for a group of us that worked the Park, but I still got two year. Served one. I did this horticulture course to pass the time. Turned out it was something I could do. That, and I discovered the library. Pretty much read a book a day, every day I was in the place.’ He sat back on his heels. ‘It sounds mad, but it was probably the happiest I’ve ever been. The safest, I know that. If I’d have known what I was coming out to, I’d have kicked off, trashed my pad or taken a screw hostage. Something – anything to get the extra year.’ He gave a remorseful smile. ‘Hindsight, huh?’