by Rick Adams
A flash of hurt cut across his features. ‘David,’ he said flatly, ‘is a dick.’
‘He most certainly is not.’
‘He is, Em. I used to play football with him. He’d scythe you down more brutally than one of my mum’s acid stares ever could. Never mind that he was the adult and we were all children. He was savage.’ He leant back, thinking. ‘You can learn a lot about someone from how they conduct themselves on the sports field, not to mention the kind of guy who likes to spend his time with boys half his age.’ He paused. ‘And stealing off after you when he was still married to Carol. Have you any idea how that affected her?’
‘Er, yes,’ I said, ‘we’ve been living through the particular hell of that aftermath for some time now, in case you hadn’t noticed.’
I drank some more tea.
‘What I can’t understand is why she’s gone dolally again at this moment in time, when David’s a thing of the past.’
‘Maybe it’s someone else.’
‘Who?’
‘I don’t know, that Adrian guy perhaps.’
‘Well they’re definitely having a fling, but from where I’m standing it’s not going too badly. She only starts at the champagne when someone’s betrayed her.’
He shifted. ‘Oh enough of her. And David. Come on, let’s talk about us.’
‘There’s an ‘us’?’ I smiled archly. ‘Of course, you’ve been talking to Cynthia. What happened, Matthew?’
‘I’d had enough,’ he explained, ‘I lashed out, and my mum threw me out. I bumped into Cynthia in town, we had a chat, and she invited me to stay.’
I drank some more and motioned to the picture.
‘That’s a dreadful story, isn’t it? It’s obviously scarred her, having something like that happen to her. What is it, Matthew?’
He leant in close. ‘That’s just it,’ he whispered, ‘I think it is a story. A lie.’
‘What on earth makes you say that?’
He remained silent.
‘But she’s given you a bed,’ I said, ‘and, and, she was absolutely torn to shreds emotionally when she was recounting the incident to me. It’s true. It’s true. It has to be true. I mean, look. Look at the painting. She’s bled on to the canvas.’
‘Except she seems to have bled three men there, whilst only two appeared in her version of affairs to me last night.’
I gasped, clamping my hand to my mouth.
She couldn’t be lying.
Not Cynthia.
Entertaining the very thought was opening the floodgates to the right of lies and liars to rule the world, if even a decent, honest, virtuous old lady would stoop to such measure…to such…what?
What could be her motive?
I looked desperately at the painting for an answer, but it simply stared back at me, reading my own reflection, darkly.
My eyes were drawn to the knife.
The bloodied knife.
‘In her husband’s front’
Yet from the angle she’d depicted the figures, I couldn’t see it.
So why had I thought it was ‘bloodied?’
Because my imagination had filled in the gaps.
Because that’s exactly what Carol hadn’t let happen when she’d talked about the knife in her…
It wasn’t even in context.
The knife had not been in conversation.
Not like this one, hidden, so that the painting offered space for the person viewing it to make their own addition.
I mean, that’s why works of art were works of art.
When both parties engaged in the matter entered into contract to share the piece, the experience, the lesson, the…trauma.
‘What do you see, Matthew? In the picture. What does it say to you?’
‘Nothing, to be frank.’
‘Carol,’ I hesitated, ‘she said something horrific to me yesterday.’
‘That sounds about right.’
‘She wasn’t bullying, or threatening, or manipulating, or controlling, it was, well, like all of them combined.’
I paused.
‘I was complaining to her about being overlooked for the Assistant Manager position, in her favour of Ginger. Well, she turned on me, in front of Leafy Hollow, and screamed at me for my affair with David.
‘She told me, accused me Matthew, of ramming a knife in her... I can’t say it.’
I swallowed.
‘No one should say that,’ I breathed after a moment, ‘well not anyone with any sense, or feeling, or emotion, or…’
‘Love,’ he offered simply.
‘Yes!’ I exploded, ‘that’s it. You’ve done it Osgood. Yes. God, you’re good.’ I looked strangely at him. ‘How did you know I meant that?’
‘Because she said the same thing to my mum once.’
‘What!!?’
‘Straight up, she used the same language to my mother.’
‘But didn’t she tear her off a strip for it?’
‘Maybe she would have done,’ he grinned, ‘if she hadn’t been conducting an affair with David at the time.’
‘You what!!?’ I shouted again, so loud that I felt sure Cytnhia would come to investigate the fuss at any moment. ‘Your mother, and David?’
‘Yes.’
‘Before me?’
He laughed. ‘I was going to tell you a minute ago,’ he said, ‘but I wasn’t sure how you’d take it. That’s why the champagne went missing then, David was off with my old dear when Sheila’s first opened.’
‘At last,’ I triumphed, ‘something in this whole affair that make sense.’
‘Good morning,’ crowed Cynthia barging in upon us, ‘how did you both sleep?’
‘Great,’ said Matthew awkwardly, ‘the bed’s surprisingly comfortable actually. I was out like a light.’
‘I’m sure you were,’ she said, winking at me, ‘and how about you, Emily?’
‘Fine, thank you Cynthia. And you?’
‘I don’t sleep too well I’m afraid, Emily. I think it’s an age thing. But never mind, I’ve got plenty of time in the foreseeable future to catch up with it all.’
Matthew grabbed his coat.
‘You’re not staying for breakfast?’
‘We’ve got lots to do in town,’ he said, ‘haven’t we, Em?’
‘Have we?’ I asked flatly. ‘I can’t think of much, apart from getting myself to work for nine.’
‘Which would be now then,’ offered Cynthia gently.
‘Oh no,’ I flustered, trying to find my watch.
‘Well, far be it from me to keep you. And you have quite the suitable chaperone to escort you back to Drotsville. I’ll be in a little later myself. I shall come to Sheila’s, I have some business there.’
‘Would you like me to put anything aside for you?’
‘Just your hearing, when the time is right.’
I looked quizzically at her.
‘Come on,’ said Matthew, ‘let’s get changed and on our way.’ He smiled. ‘I can’t wait to hear the reason you give to Carol for our being late.’
And soon, having thanked Cynthia profusely for putting us up for the night, we were on our way back to town, enjoying the downhill stretch of the road, talking freely and openly now that we had shared ourselves with one another so deliciously just a few hours earlier.
As we walked, a car drew up alongside us.
We bent down and looked in through the passenger side window.
It was Marilyn, offering us a lift to town.
‘So that’s three of us late,’ I beamed as we started off, ‘she can hardly open the shop unless…Marilyn!’ I screamed, ‘what the hell are you doing?’
‘Reading,’ she replied nonplussed.
‘But you’re driving.’
‘Oh, it’s fine.’
Matthew laughed.
‘It’s not funny,’ I chid, ‘we might crash.’
‘Before I drove today, I prayed for peace.’
‘What’s that got to do with anything?�
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‘Now, I read whilst I drive.’
‘I don’t understand. Marilyn, will you stop?’
‘Not at all,’ she replied gently, but with great fixity of expression.
She even looked at me whilst her words sunk in.
‘Now you haven’t even got your eyes on the road,’ I gasped. ‘Marilyn, stop staring at me, and concentrate on the traffic.’
Matthew laughed even harder.
Marilyn returned her attention to the road.
But she didn’t stop reading.
‘What’s the book?’ asked Matthew.
‘It’s about evolution,’ she answered, ‘I’m trying to make head or tail of it.’
‘I thought you were reading about space,’ I said, looking through my fingers now as I held my hands up for cover.
‘Oh I’ve finished that,’ she dismissed kindly.
‘But you’d only just started. And it was massive.’
‘Yes, I do tend to skim. But when you’re faced with such preposterous notions, you do tend to skip over matter.’
‘As space!?’
‘No. The ridiculous theory of our origin as purported by modern day physicians.’
‘The Big Bang?’ laughed Matthew.
‘Honestly, have you ever heard such a load of hokum?’
‘But it’s been proven.’
‘Of course it hasn’t. The cosmos never had a beginning. It always was.’
‘What do you mean? We originated from a single point. Isn’t that what everyone believes?’
‘Only those with a linear frame of mind,’ she said turning round again. ‘Growth, expansion, development, progress, quite nonsensical ideas. If the history of the world teaches us anything, it’s that life rises and falls, and very often collapses altogether before pulling itself together once more. You only have to look at nature…’
‘Watch out!’ I screamed.
She swerved to avoid a head-on collision, returning her attention to the road.
And her book!
‘I mean, look at this nonsense. Mankind compared to the animal kingdom, mammalian, of course, even from a common ancestor, I believe, but directly evolved from the family of primates who to this day still gibber and squeak round forests and trees, quite unable to have a coherent conversation, to draw, to write, compose or craft, design dwellings, skyscrapers, tunnels and bridges, well only somebody stuck in the straitjacket of linear thinking could envisage such a thing, let alone allow its perpetuation so that now we’re all conditioned to think only the fittest survive and that there’s no morality, no point, no purpose, no…’
‘God,’ I offered.
‘The foundation stone of my creed, Emily, is love - its meaning, is search, its truth, whereas these theories seem to lead to nothing but disillusionment, depression and worst of all, an utter displacement of mankind from any position of importance, or influence, or infinity even. Just now,’ she said, ‘when you shouted at me to avoid that car, you were scared of dying. But such end is part of the natural world,’ she opined, ‘and as the seasons cycle through, so in turn must we.’
Matthew smiled as I grimaced.
‘Well it’s either that,’ she continued, ‘or believe in the fossil record and get excited about the fact we’re all going to be bones and husk once we die. No,’ she finished as we drew up outside Sheila’s, ‘skeletons don’t love, and since the universe is predicated on love, I choose that warmth over scientific cold any day.’
‘But how can you believe love governs the universe?’ I protested, ‘isn’t it the exact opposite?’
‘And where do you see hatred, Emily?’
‘Everywhere,’ I blurted, ‘on the news, in the papers, on the very streets themselves. Well, not so much on the streets. I mean, not that often. But it’s there. Of course it is. That’s what they tell us. And they’re there to keep us informed. Up to date.
Safe. Their duty of care to present the fairest, truest picture of things. That’s why I want to be a journalist. That’s always been the reason.’
‘You get out here,’ she smiled at us, ‘I’ll go and park the car.’
Carol met us at the door.
‘Where the fuck have you two been?’ she blasted as she ripped it open.
Matthew opened his mouth to speak.
‘It’s my fault,’ I said over him.
‘I’m sure it is,’ she replied, ‘so why don’t you tell me what’s kept you?’
For a moment, I thought about doing just that.
Telling her I’d just had the best sex of my life with the boy she was making moves on yesterday.
To see her face crumple would have been the most thrilling sight.
But something within held me back, so instead I looked gormlessly at her.
‘Well?’ she leered at me, ‘what is it, Tranter?’
‘I was up in the attic,’ I lied, ‘over at Adrian’s. I was getting the place ready.’
‘Were you now?’
‘Yes,’ I said uncertainly, ‘I was.’
‘You’re lying.’
‘I am not. I’ve been adding the last touches to the tables this morning.’
‘That’s interesting,’ she murmured, ‘because there aren’t any tables up there.’
‘Yes there are.’
‘No, there aren’t.’
‘Yes there are. I’ve seen them.’
‘Not anymore. Which means you haven’t been up there this morning. So you’re lying.’ She advanced on me. ‘Where have you been?’
‘Well how are we going to seat people then?’ I panicked, ‘it won’t do to have everyone standing round drinking champagne and clinking flutes without anywhere to perch themselves once the meal gets started.’
‘We’re not having a meal.’
‘But it’s a party.’
She laughed in my face. ‘Eating at parties went out with the ark, Tranter. Nowadays, we dance, and that’s it, until we drop.’
‘But you’re forty three.’
Matthew chuckled.
‘Where have you been this morning?’ she snapped at him.
‘In the attic,’ he rushed, ‘with Em.’
‘Em,’ she sneered, ‘what kind of stupid name is that?’
‘Mine,’ I said firmly. ‘Honestly Carol, you sound more and more like Ginger every day.’
I swallowed, seeing the look on her face.
‘Where is she anyway?’
‘How was the attic?’ Carol asked instead. ‘Cosy?’
‘Dark,’ Matthew grinned.
I laughed.
‘How was the fucking attic?’ she screamed at him.
He flinched, but regained himself quickly.
‘As Em says,’ he replied, ‘we’re a bit worried about the champagne and the flutes up there.’
‘And why’s that?’
Now he swallowed. ‘Because we’re not sure we have enough.’
‘And how many do you have?’
He looked desperately at me. ‘Not enough.’
‘That’s right,’ she said lulling us into a false sense of security, before exploding, ‘because there aren’t any fucking bottles or glasses up there.’
‘Why not?’ I asked.
‘Because the attic’s empty now.’
‘Why?’
‘Because we’re not having the party there anymore.’
‘But I’m in charge of it,’ I protested, ‘it’s my project.’
‘That’s why the plans have altered. The only project you’ve ever been in charge of is planning how to steal another woman’s husband, even if she is your long-suffering Manager.’
‘Hey,’ said Matthew, ‘that’s unfair.’
‘Shut up, hypocrite!’
She looked at him steadily, examining his demeanour towards me.
And then she went for it.
‘You two are mating, aren’t you?’
I looked behind her.
Several of the customers who had already stopped at her language were now ac
tively listening in to our conversation.
‘Not now, Carol,’ I whispered.
‘I bet you didn’t say that to him the first time, did you? I bet you shouted the opposite. Didn’t you?’
‘Is the party cancelled then?’ I asked, my voice shaking.
But she had the scent that came from jealousy, and she wasn’t about to back off her prey, nor her competition, not for an instant.
‘You’re disgusting,’ she snarled, ‘the pair of you, like pigs rolling in the muck of the pen.’
‘That’s enough,’ said Matthew, his voice something edgy now.
‘I’m surprised you’ve got it in you,’ she leered at him. ‘From what I’ve seen, and from what your mother tells me I doubt you own masculinity enough to give any girl any pleasure at all, ever!’
‘I said, that’s enough.’
‘What’s she got, eh, Matthew the Innocent? Does she smell good? Is that it? Does her scent make you dizzy, send you wild so you can’t resist getting down and dirty in the doghouse she calls home…’
‘Shut up!’ he screamed at her, ‘shut your mouth!’ He advanced on her. ‘You revolting woman!’ he yelled in her face, ‘I don’t want to hear any more of your diseased, twisted, repressed, desperate perverseness. None of it. Again. Ever!’ He towered over her now. Do you understand?’
But she was struck dumb.
‘Do you get it? Carol!’
But it was no good.
She was speechless, and did what all cowards and bullies do when they’ve been bested, she legged it back into the main body of the store and straight for her office.
I gawped at Matthew.
He smiled.
Marilyn appeared beside us.
‘Have I missed anything?’ she asked absently. ‘Has Carol noticed we’re late?’
‘Where have you been?’ I grinned at her.
‘It took an age to park the car,’ she replied, ‘and then I reached a good part in the story, so I dallied for a few minutes.’
‘It’s not a story, Marilyn’ I laughed, ‘it’s non-fiction.’
‘Oh let’s not get into that now,’ she returned, ‘has she noticed?’
‘I’d say so.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Let’s not get into that now,’ I winked at Matthew before returning my attention to her, ‘come on, we have a shop to run.’
And run it we did.