Laurel Archer, Crow had said, she’s Burke’s goddaughter. She’s an admirer.
Long straight golden hair. A suntan she looked like she was born with. White teeth. Hazel eyes examined me until I looked away. Like I’d come wild out of the forest with drawings and paintings. Wasn’t scared. Waiting to see what I would do.
Army green T-shirt with Namaste, Bitches! printed in pink lettering. Camouflage trousers with lots of pockets.
In the boat Laurel didn’t want to let go of her coffee cup. Kept bringing it to her mouth long after it must have been empty. Laurel was written on the cup in black marker. Starbucks Starbucks Starbucks Laurel Starbucks. When she raised her arm a lot of fabric and plastic bracelets moved from her wrist to her elbow. Then she would hold the cup in her other hand and shake the bracelets back down to her wrist.
Laurel’s mother, Crow said, shouting to make himself heard, knew Ariel. They were great friends.
Standing next to me in the bow. Keeping his balance. Conspicuously not holding on.
If he was worried she could hear him talking about her he didn’t show it.
I must say Terry, this charming ville seems to suit you. I remember finding you in those dreadful rooms.
You didn’t get that tan in England, I said.
You haven’t heard, Crow said.
About what?
Dear Burke Damis has died. The poor man’s heart gave out.
You’ve been in California?
You didn’t know? Crow said. You really have cut yourself off from the real world. We can use that.
Some rich painter dying in California isn’t the real world, I said.
There were still protest banners among the trees and flying from the boats, including one that just said: Get Out.
The death of a great artist is always an historical event, Crow said. In Burke’s case of course there’s a significant estate, the dispensation of which will change lives.
You’re not safe there, I said.
Slack water. The hour before the tide turned.
The river was flat calm, but fast as I was going, the fragile dinghy sometimes lifted off the surface and skimmed or bumped over the water. I was pushing the Zodiac because I could, but I also hoped it would give Crow the shits.
As we flashed by, the trees and water were a display of golden light in fleeting patterns.
You need to sit down, I said. I have to stop or turn fast you’ll be thrown out.
Crow leaned in close and shouted.
I’ll take my chances.
The citrus scent was some kind of insect repellent.
You know, Crow said, Burke always understood that one must keep one’s name before the public. Good or bad, doesn’t matter. They mustn’t be allowed to forget you, Terry, no matter what. That way, they’ll buy anything you sell them.
Even if it’s shit, I said.
Crow flapped his hand like he was waving goodbye.
I need to know you understand Terry, he said. I don’t always want to be looking over my shoulder. You’re very much like Burke. You both hunger for the attention. I’ve always been grateful I’m not like that.
She here for insurance? I said. Case I shoot you, leave your body in the forest?
Crow turned to look at Laurel, talking to Danny on the transom.
Laurel Archer is a very rich young woman as of her godfather’s passing, he said. And she likes your work. What she’s seen of it.
Bet she’s seen more of it than I have, I said.
The girl’s astute, Crow said. She made herself helpful to Burke when others had forgotten him, he said. Burke took it into his mind that he’d failed, and that stopped his hand. He could be a difficult man. Laurel made him smile.
Damis couldn’t paint? I said.
You also fear being unable to work? he said. Well, in Burke’s case it made for horror. For him, and anyone who came near him.
Crow was looking at me so that I could see myself doubly reflected in his outsized sunglasses, surrounded by shining water.
The point is you couldn’t get arrested, Terry, he said, tapping my arm. Nobody significant was interested in our show or your paintings. I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings. I was trying to generate traction against the day your notoriety would pay off. I’m very much hoping that starts today.
I could always get arrested, I said.
I wasn’t trying to be clever, Crow said. The truth is I’ve been waiting for your call. I can’t lie.
I cut the engine without warning and wrenched the wheel round. A dancing skirt of water rose and dissolved. Crow lost his balance and sat down hard on the inflated side of the boat, his hands palm down either side of him for balance. The boat drifted side on in the dark water that was the shadow of the bridge.
We’re here, I said.
The kids had followed Crow from the minute he’d set foot on the island. Never seen anything like him. Laughing at his hair (Oi! Ice-cream head!), and clothes, the thin length and height of him (Oi! What’s the weather like up there!). Kids hiding behind trees and looking in and sniggering at him through the boatyard store windows. Crow must have known he was being laughed at.
Show you round, I’d said, before we go look at the paintings.
Crow snapped away. Laurel filmed everything on her phone. Didn’t ask anybody if it was all right.
A small crowd had gathered at the sight of Crow’s camera, and were crowding into the shop.
A sallow young man with a scowl, holding hands with a blonde girl who was taller than he was, said: Why is she filming you?
He’s a painter, Crow said.
A what?
A painter.
Are you famous?
My name is Sir Evelyn Crow, Crow said. I am Mr Terry Godden’s representative. Remember the name.
Waters looked at me like I’d grown another head.
What kind of painter? the scowling boy asked. Angry. At me, the girl, everything. He had a paperback, title out, in the pocket of his blue canvas jacket. Lord Jim. The girl’s face told me the boy was getting ready to pick an argument.
Two coats, I said, one afternoon.
It was an old joke, but first the girl laughed, and then the boy.
I know that man, Crow had said when we were leaving the boatyard.
Who, the boy?
No, Crow said, putting his sunglasses back on, the chandler.
You follow the fights? I’d said.
Choo-Choo came charging fast around the corner and almost crashed into Crow. Danny came chasing after the deerhound.
Sorry I’m late, he said.
Looked at Laurel and gulped. Red in the face already.
You’re here now, I said.
Danny’s my crewman, I said to Crow. Plus he knows more about the island than I do. You’ll need to pay him. Hey Danny, no room for dogs this trip.
Danny said something I couldn’t hear to the deerhound. The dog walked away and then stopped and looked back over its shoulder.
Go back Choo-Choo! Danny said, go back!
The big tall dog seemed to gather herself up before exploding into a hooping run and disappearing.
The fights? Crow said as we went into the forest. No. That man works for Alex Kaplan, surely?
How well do you know Kaplan?
Alex has bought some paintings from me over the years, Crow said. A man smart enough to take my advice.
In the dappled clearing near Michael’s stones the trees were full of little pictures and mobiles chiming and swinging in the wind.
Below the branch, one of Michael’s woodcuts swung back and forth.
Tell me about this, Crow said.
He was your friend, I said to Danny.
Danny put his finger on Michael’s woodcut so that it stopped moving. Looked Crow up and down. Glanced sideways at Laurel, blushed.
I don’t want to talk about that, he said. You wouldn’t understand.
Yes, well frankly I’d like to see what we came all this way to look at Terry, Crow sa
id, looking at his big watch. Sorry if that seems a bit brusque.
Don’t you want to know what’s happening here? I said. It’s all connected. This place, the kids, Michael, what happened to him, the fight to save homes, the paintings, everything.
I’d like to hear about it, Laurel said.
Are you recording this?
She nodded and looked down at the screen of her phone.
Tell us what’s happening here, she said.
This community is under threat from an owner who wants to redevelop the island at our expense, I said, and then kick us off.
You’ve lived here a long time? Laurel said into the phone.
Crow had begun taking photographs.
I haven’t lived here long – a year – so really I’m an outsider, I said. Sometimes that’s even better though as people want to tell you how it is, if you’re not trying to take the place over. People just want to live without being worried their homes will be taken away. It’s pretty fundamental. I’m not new to this kind of place, or the kind of process that’s happening here. I’ve heard it called social cleansing. It happened to my people, where I come from.
Danny had disappeared into the trees when Crow had started taking photographs.
Anyway, I said, you’ll see.
Totally, Laurel said.
Crow slapped the back of his neck with an open hand.
If it’s not too much trouble, Terry, Crow said. The paintings.
I was willing to bet he’d seen the pictures already and was already making plans, but I went along with him.
Don’t take pictures when the kid’s around, I said.
Why ever not? Crow said. He’s a comely lad.
Just use it for the paintings, I said, all right?
Danny! I shouted, let’s go!
At the bridge I said to Danny: Take the wheel mate, will you?
The faces of John Rose, Michael, Stella and Danny, monumental, permanent, looked down at us.
How do you like being on the bridge, Danny? Laurel said.
It’s fucking brilliant, Danny said.
Glanced at me, then back to the wheel. Expertly holding us before the bridge.
Water stains made fantastic shapes on the paintings. Bird shit dripping down. Big dollop on John’s face. The paintings were already sun-faded and blistered.
On clear days the big faces reflected the river, and seemed to be alive with movement. Kids climbing down from the bridge or hanging over the edge had tagged them with marker pen and spray-paint graffiti. Stickers, burn marks from who knew what, unknown smears on John’s black hat.
They looked even better than I’d hoped.
Like they’d always been there.
We did say, did we not, Terry . . . Crow began.
I didn’t listen to the rest of it, Crow praising me and the girl agreeing how wonderful I was. Crow was into the paintings, that’s what mattered.
Fetched out my flask from where I’d stashed it in the bow.
This is excellent coffee Terry, Crow said. You do very well for yourself here.
You really think we could make money from all this? I said.
Crow looked at me hard.
You do understand I’ve always been thinking ahead Terry, he said. On your behalf. I want you to remember that.
I get it, I said. You’ve explained it.
We should start with a film, Laurel said. People see that, they’ll want to come and look for themselves. There are multiple ways to monetize that, as my godfather understood.
Smart, lovely to look at, but iron-hard.
What are you thinking? I said.
Well, Laurel said, a gift shop for starters. You’d need to establish ownership of the paintings and reproduction rights. I could look into it for you, she said, and smiled a brilliant smile.
Crow was smiling too. He looked up at the faces on the bridge, and spread his arms as though embracing them. Like a man whose horse has come in. The outside bet.
There are historical precedents, he said. This could really blow up into something big.
Does this mean you’re gonna be rich? Danny said.
When we got back I had to remind Crow to give the boy the tenner we’d agreed on.
I piloted the Zodiac towards the line of draping willows on the far side of the river. The water and the trees, the vertical lawns and Spanish tiled roofs of the big houses were all coming in violet as the sun disappeared.
The tide running inland from the sea. Water levels rising.
Cold air edged the river funk into hard shapes.
Felt naked without Red in the boat, her muzzle resting on the inflatable bow, watching the standing finger waves race.
Fallen leaves made patterns on the water, turned in circles, drifted, carried on the tide. The fall of leaves still new enough to notice. Slow flames on the water. Running colour.
Looked back the way I’d come. The high trees made the island a dark shape, pinned with weak and low lights. Hoped Red was all right. I’d cleaned up the boat and fed her before coming back out. Made a lead and collar out of a boat rope and my belt and took her into the forest. When I didn’t let her go she looked at me like she wanted to rip my throat out. Locked her in before I left.
Could hear John saying: There’s people around here will shoot a strange dog on sight.
Darker now. Violet to purple to dark chocolate. Cut the engine so that I was drifting on water through trailing willow branches. Among the trees where it was darker still. Turned on the torch. Turned the wheel to follow the path the torch made on the water. Eyeshine of frogs bright scattered points in the torchlight. Then I was through the willows, and into a lighter clearing.
Kaplan’s cruiser looked too big for the dock. The gleaming boat was cradled and illuminated by lights set into the pilings. At the waterline, water was reflected on the hull as dancing lighted tracers. In the water leaves crowded the boat and stuck to her hull. The upper deck and bridge were all in darkness, with only irregular glims flashing from the chrome and glass as the boat dipped and rose gently on the river.
Kaplan was waiting on the dock. Behind him the huge lawn led up to the large, castellated house. Starbursts of light from the windows illuminated in patches the gravel path that fringed the house.
It’s very good indeed to meet you at last, he said.
Threw Kaplan the rope. He caught it with a fluid movement and tied off the dinghy.
I’ll meet you there, Crow had said. I have a car on the mainland. Chance to have a talk with Alex before you arrive.
Kaplan’s white shirt gleamed in the light-split darkness. A line of shiny buttons described a swell over his rooster chest. Shorter than me. Standing square on. Legs indistinct, but he was bigger above the waist.
Come along, he said. They’re waiting for us.
Kaplan’s phone buzzed constantly but he never looked at it.
Kaplan took me into the room where I had brought John Rose, though it was not sunlit now. It was artificial lamplight that made the dark hardwood floor shine. The vases were filled with new stargazer lilies. The same side table of bottled spirits, the levels of alcohol fallen since I had been there last.
Evelyn Crow was standing by the empty fireplace.
There was a chair near the drinks table. A red-haired woman – a thicker, older version of Alexandra – sat on the chair near the mantelpiece with a heavy-looking engraved glass in her hand, half full or half empty of a liquid so clear it was almost blue. Behind her thick make-up she had a faraway look like she’d forgotten something. Maybe in another room, or in another house in another town, long ago.
You know Sir Evelyn of course, Kaplan said. And this is my wife Marina.
Kaplan’s wife was trying not to be annoyed by my boots tracking dirt and river water across the hard boards of her floor. I could smell damp and woodsmoke in my clothes, though my sweatshirt and work trousers were the cleanest I could find. I walked over to greet her. Moving stiffly like a monster. Pain recently returned. My stained
hands pushing down on the back of a studded leather armchair for support.
Marina poured herself another drink.
The painter, she said, pronouncing each word carefully.
In whose honour we are gathered.
Shall I call Alexandra, dear? Kaplan said. You look tired.
Neither of us have the slightest idea where our daughter is, Marina Kaplan said. Staying out all hours, talking back to her mother. Running around with boys from the island doing God knows what. You should be out looking for her.
I have to talk to these men Marina, Kaplan said.
I’m not stopping you, she said, and held out her glass to Evelyn Crow. If it’s more important than the safety of our only child.
She looked up at Crow.
Would you be so kind? she said.
Crow did the honours. Handed me a glass of red wine. A big one.
Hello Terry, he said.
I held the glass but didn’t drink.
Laurel not here? I said.
Gone back to town, Crow said. Laurel Archer has great plans for you Terry, great plans.
I’m a developer Terry, Kaplan said. As I’m sure you know. The last few years I’ve been working with local councils to regenerate neglected housing estates and surrounding neighbourhoods. With some success I must say. I’ve used some of that success to invest in art and artists.
My husband’s interest in art is limited to the kind he can sell for more money than he paid for it, Marina said.
Sir Evelyn bought you to my attention some time ago, Kaplan said.
News to me.
I’ll be honest, he said, when I heard that you had moved here and were working I was more than interested. The unpleasantness over my changes to the island was largely expected. But this business of the pictures was something else. To be frank, I see an opportunity.
A slick operation. Local councils neglected their housing estates and high-rises and the people who lived there. Refused to invest then blamed the tenants. Developers come in and determine the estate is beyond saving. Demolished. People are relocated to unknown neighbourhoods, dormitory accommodation, hostels, single rooms in shit hotels, sometimes even to distant towns. New buildings go up. Much improved. Rents increased as a result, original tenants can’t return. People with more money move in. People kicked out rot away out of sight. Developer gets richer.
The Painter's Friend Page 17