by Kate Forster
‘Jesus,’ Dan said quietly.
Tressa shrugged. ‘She’s an unhappy person and I forgave her. But it doesn’t mean I want to be near her or my dad much. They add to my anxiety.’
He nodded.
‘But you put my work out there without my permission. And you betrayed my trust. I showed you something in private and you threw it out to the world as though it meant nothing.’
‘That’s not true. I knew how much it meant. That’s why I wanted people to see it,’ Dan argued.
‘You were careless with something that meant more to me than anything else in my life.’
‘But – a gallery called you.’ He recrossed his arms.
‘Not the point, Dan. Try and put your ego in the drawer for a moment and work out why this was a betrayal. Have you ever been betrayed? Trusted someone and then had it be used against you?’
Well, yes. Dan knew that feeling. Every time he went into a new foster home, his fear and anger were used against him. He remember Clive’s words, claiming that he didn’t make any effort to know what people were feeling, or dealing with. He had made an assumption about Tressa and he was wrong. He sat back, crumpling at the realisation he had crossed a line with so little thought, so little empathy.
‘I get it. I fecked it up. I’m sorry. I really am, Tressa,’ he said, meaning it.
She was silent. But she stared at him in a way that made him feel truly seen and he didn’t like what she was viewing. The worst, most impetuous part of himself.
‘How can I make it up to you?’
‘Don’t lie to me again. Don’t keep secrets from me that have to do with my life here. You are a blow-in, but I live here.’
The phrase ‘blow-in’ irked him but it was true. Did he want to belong in Port Lowdy? Or was it something more?
Tressa swallowed. ‘But this time it feels different, you know? I mean I sell my work under a pseudonym but this time it will be my name on the gallery wall and it feels okay. I don’t know why, but there isn’t the pressure. I don’t know. I mean, it just feels different.’
She smiled at Dan and he smiled back.
‘You are extraordinarily talented, you know?’
She smiled again, broader this time. ‘Thank you.’ He watched her fine hands fondling the dog’s head in her lap.
‘You know… I interviewed a famous film director once, and he said something to me that I’d forgotten until now.’
‘Oh?’
Dan waited, trying to collect his thoughts.
‘He said that artistic people are more sensitive because they are more aware of the world. They see into the shadows and because of this, they know where the monsters lie. Being observant all the time is exhausting. You can read the little nuances of people. I bet people tell you things they haven’t told others?’
Tressa nodded. ‘They do.’
‘It’s such a big responsibility to imagine art and then create it, and yet it’s such a gift.’
A tear fell down her face. ‘That’s the most truthful explanation of what I feel that I have ever heard. Thank you.’
Dan wanted to wipe the tear away from her chin but he sat still, not wanting to scare her or cross any more boundaries.
‘I need you to know I am deeply sorry, Tressa. I wanted the world to see what I saw but I was wrong to do it. I know what it’s like to have power taken away, have your choices taken away. I should’ve known better and I am actually shocked to learn I was such an eejit.’
‘I know. You said your apology.’
But Dan shook his head at her. ‘I need to earn your trust back. I would never knowingly try and hurt you. And even though this is total shite, I have seen myself in a different way and I need to sort myself out.’
‘Don’t leave,’ she said suddenly.
‘I don’t know that this is the place for me. I seem to get in the way,’ he said.
‘Don’t leave, please – at least do the six months. I would like your help with the gallery visit; maybe we can drive to St Ives together and you can come and meet my family?’
‘Your family?’ This was sudden.
‘It’s always good to have a buffer.’ She smiled.
‘What about Remi?’ he heard himself say.
‘Remi? Did he tell you he stayed over and slept here? God, what a sad story that is. He really needs friends, good true friends. He was absolutely ruined in Paris by his old friends.’
Remi had stayed over? Dan nodded as though he knew the story, a trick that always worked when he needed people to tell him more than he knew.
‘So sad,’ he said, shaking his head sadly.
‘He had already left when I got up. He slept on the sofa. Ginger Pickles betrayed me and slept with him because she’s a floozy, but he made me madeleines and said thank you in icing sugar and it was so lovely. It felt nice to have a friend, and I hope you and I can be real friends also. Even though you’re a pain, you mean well.’
Dan laughed, and he felt his insides twist. Whatever he was feeling was new to him; he knew Tressa Buckland had put a spell on him and he had no idea how to break it, or even if he wanted to.
18
The arrival of the television crew in Port Lowdy created a stir not seen since Dame Judi Dench wore a bonnet and stayed at the Black Swan with the cast and crew of that film made so long ago. The weather was on the improve as March finished up and moved into April, and though the wind was still chilly, the sun was higher in the sky, promising a glorious summer ahead.
The crew would be in Port Lowdy for two nights, interviewing Penny and the locals, discussing the village life and her life. The series was called Everyday Faces, which Penny thought was spot on for her, as she did have an everyday face, even though Paul Murphy so long ago had told her otherwise. The television crew seemed very nice and the host was even nicer, handsome too – but Penny had learned her lesson years back. She would never again get involved with a handsome man who was near a camera, television or otherwise.
‘Will you come and watch me be interviewed?’ she asked Dan who was feeding Richie toast.
‘I would, but I promised I would help Tressa with something,’ he said.
Penny made a little face at him but he didn’t see her – which was just as well, as Dan had been touchy over the past few days whenever she mentioned Tressa.
Tressa was her normal self until Dan was around, she noticed, when she would touch her hair a lot, which Penny knew was a telltale sign of something brewing between them.
Not that they showed any obvious interest in each other but Penny knew the signs. A lifetime of reading romance novels and watching romance films made her an expert, she thought.
But it was all research, with no real practice in her own life.
Tegan was driving down to be interviewed, which Penny was pleased about. She wanted any excuse to see her daughter and her granddaughter and she wanted to see she had made the best out of something that others had considered to be her downfall.
At that moment her phone rang. It was Tegan.
‘Hello, pet,’ She listened as Tegan explained she would have to stay the night and could Dan stay at the pub for a few nights?
Finishing the call, she asked Dan, who agreed, thank goodness. Within minutes she had the bed stripped and new sheets tucked in for Tegan and Primrose. She felt excited for the interview and the few days ahead. She wanted to thank Dan but he was already gone. Dan had turned her days around since he came to Port Lowdy, and she wondered how she could ever repay him.
*
Dan wandered down to the pub with Richie, where Pamela was hanging out white tablecloths on the line around the back of the building.
‘Got any room at the inn, for a weary traveller?’ he called out. ‘Penny has her daughter and her wean coming down to stay and I’m out on my arse.’
Pamela stopped shaking out the tablecloth she was holding up and shook her head as she called out. ‘All the rooms are gone, lovey – the telly people are here.’
Hm
m. He wandered back to the post office and unlocked his car, telling Richie to get in the back.
‘Come on, boy, time to fetch Tressa.’
He had promised to drive her to St Ives to see the woman at the gallery, and she’d said they would pop in to meet her parents, which he was oddly nervous about.
Tressa was at the front of the house, talking to Janet over the fence when he parked the car.
‘Well, good morning to you both,’ he said, parking in front of Mermaid Terrace.
‘Hello, Dan,’ said Janet cheerfully.
Tressa smiled at him and he felt his stomach spin around. This was ridiculous, he told himself.
He was thirty-six years old and had a crush on a girl he barely knew.
Maybe it was because there were no other young women in the village, at least none that he had seen who were not close to menopause. Tressa wore a beautiful emerald-green dress that made her hair even shinier and she had a silver pendant around her neck with a large blue stone in it.
Janet waved at him. ‘Isn’t she so clever, Dan? And now off to a gallery no less, what an exciting time. She’s been working so hard for weeks getting ready,’ she gushed. ‘I’ve been feeding Ginger Pickles for her.’ He noticed she was wearing her dressing gown; in fact, she always wore her dressing gown the few times he had met her when at Tressa’s.
Janet went inside her terrace and Dan followed Tressa into hers.
‘She is always feeding Ginger,’ said Tressa with a sigh. ‘And now she’s getting fat.’
‘Janet or the cat?’ asked Dan, momentarily confused.
‘The cat. I have no idea what Janet looks like shape-wise as she’s always in a dressing gown. She’s depressed. It’s sad. I wish I could help her.’
Dan felt a sudden urge to kiss Tressa for being so kind and thoughtful but instead put his hands into the pockets of his jeans. He had been staying out of her way over the past week, knowing she was busy with getting her work ready for the gallery, and he missed her. Not because she was the only person he really connected with in Port Lowdy but because she was great company. Still, she had texted him, called him, invited him to dinner, and showed him her works in the studio. He thought she was merely being kind, but each time she connected with him he felt the delicious thrill of having a crush on someone.
‘I will be your artistic Sherpa. So what am I carrying to the car?’ he asked.
‘I have the oil paintings I want to show her here,’ she said, gesturing to the sofa, ‘and the sketchbook ones are here, plus I’ve added a few new portraits. I need to wrap the paintings in bubble wrap though.’
They worked together, wrapping the art carefully, and Dan tried not to stare at her in her lovely outfit as she concentrated on her task. Finally, they were done. Dan picked up the book and flicked through, seeing a new sketch of the terrace and one of a girl he hadn’t seen before.
‘Who’s this?’ He held up the sketch for Tressa to see.
‘That’s Juliet,’ said Tressa, with a shake of her head. ‘Remi’s Juliet.’
‘Ah,’ said Dan. Who was Juliet? He sensed there was a story. He always got that tingle on his arms when he was close to a good story.
Tressa spoke as though Dan knew more about Remi than she did, and he didn’t correct her. He knew something had happened to the man but Tressa hadn’t divulged and Remi hadn’t spoken to him much other than to nod and say hello as he was working at the pub.
Maybe on the drive Tressa would spill what happened. Long drives had that effect on people – all the passing scenery, the close comfort of the car, the lack of stimuli.
In fact, Dan couldn’t wait to spend any length of time with Tressa. She was already the favourite part of his day.
‘You ready?’ Tressa asked him and he picked up an armful of art and went outside.
‘Lay the paintings down in the boot of the car,’ she said. ‘Hey, Richie,’ she said to the dog whose nose was hanging out the window. She kissed him on his hairy snout. Dan wished she would kiss him instead.
Carefully he stowed her artworks in the car and went around to open the car door for Tressa.
‘Oh, you’re such a gentleman.’ She laughed. ‘Lucky I know what you’re really like.’
Dan wondered what she thought he was really like. Probably thought him overbearing and rude, like the rest of the Northern Hemisphere. Reputation was a hard thing to repair, as he had learned over time, watching many people’s reputations splinter into fragments after he had written an exposé on them. It seemed now the story was on him. He’d seen the headlines about him losing his job, and losing his flat in Dublin, and he had seen the gleeful Twitter posts crowing over his professional demise.
All of this worried him less when he was around Tressa. In fact, he didn’t think of it at all. Her constant teasing and needling him and calling him out on his ego was refreshing, and the way she asked his opinions about world events, and pushed his beliefs and asked questions, made him think deeper and harder about himself and about his responsibilities as a journalist.
Had he always been fair? Had he pushed his own views too hard?
‘Sorry I am such an idiot sometimes,’ he blurted out as they drove towards the motorway to St Ives.
‘Okay? What brought that on?’ Tressa asked.
‘I was just thinking about how much of a big mouth I have been since I came here and how I need to pull my head in.’
She didn’t answer; instead she watched the passing scenery.
‘I think it’s because I would push my way into things in Dublin and I would write about things and back then, there wouldn’t be personal consequences.’
‘How so?’ Tressa asked, turning her head to look at him now.
God, she was lovely and Dan tried to answer as honestly as he could. He wasn’t good at introspection but he felt Tressa deserved nothing less.
‘Because I didn’t have to work with anyone in Dublin. I worked alone. And if I did a hatchet job on someone, it was usually deserved, so I never felt there were any real repercussions.’
‘Until there were,’ said Tressa.
‘Every day I think about what a massively shite thing I did when I took those photos of your art. In your own personal studio, which you had shared at my request. I’m actually embarrassed when I think about it. Who does that?’
‘We have covered this, Dan. Don’t chew on the bone anymore; there’s no meat left.’
Tressa had forgiven him for encroaching on her privacy and she had forgiven him for going behind her back with George.
*
Dan was silent for a while as they drove. He turned the music on and Lionel Richie flooded out his speakers.
Tressa raised an eyebrow but Dan ignored her. He turned up the song, singing, ‘Say you, say me’ louder and louder until finally Tressa reached out and turned it down.
‘You’re a good writer,’ said Tressa.
‘Thank you.’
‘And I think you could write something amazing one day, a book like you mentioned when you applied for the job. But fiction – I think there is a ripe imagination in there when you’re not yelling about the state of the world. You could write a new world in your book.’
Dan held the steering wheel tightly.
‘I’ve had second thoughts about that. There are already so many books out there,’ he said. ‘They don’t need another one, from me.’
‘Yes, there are lots of books but not yours, so you should write it.’
‘Just like that?’ He laughed.
‘Just like that.’
He watched her cross her legs in the passenger seat and felt his body respond.
‘What if I don’t sell it?’
‘At least you’ll have written it,’ she said. ‘Sometimes that’s enough. Just to get the idea out of your head and stop it annoying you, pestering you to be written. It’s like that with my paintings.’
‘And yet we are off to see a gallery about these pestering paintings.’
Tressa laughed.
‘I like the way you say that with your accent – “pestering paintings”,’ she said, imitating him.
‘Is that an Irish accent? You sound like a pirate.’
Tressa howled with laughter and he had never felt more successful at anything than at the sounds of her loud cackle filling the front seat of his car.
19
Tressa sat in Dan’s car. Her hands were shaking but she couldn’t stop smiling.
‘She loved them; she loved it all,’ she said.
‘Tell me everything she said, from the moment you walked into the gallery.’
‘I’m starving. Can we get an early lunch and then I’ll tell you everything?’ She sounded excited. Dan started the car and listened as Tressa gave directions to a cafe she liked.
‘Park here, and we can get tea and eggs on toast.’
‘Yes, Madam,’ said Dan and he paid the meter while Tressa went inside to find a table. Dan let Richie out for a run on the grass and then popped him back in the car with the window down.
‘Back soon,’ he promised Richie, with a pat on his head to seal the deal.
Finally, he was sitting opposite her and they had pots of tea in front of them and orders had been made. Scrambled eggs on toast for Tressa and eggs Benedict for Dan.
‘Now tell all – it obviously went well for you,’ Dan said.
‘She was so nice and she loved everything.’ Tressa could hardly believe it herself.
‘And is she giving you a show?’
Tressa shook her head. ‘She offered me one but I don’t feel ready yet. Instead she is taking some pieces to put them into the gallery and see if they get interest, and then we can discuss a show, maybe later in the year.’
‘That’s fantastic,’ said Dan. ‘Although I’m not surprised – you are so talented, Tressa.’
She smiled at him. ‘Thank you. And thank you for being a total sneaky shit and printing my work without me knowing. I would never have had the courage or the ego to do it.’
Dan laughed. ‘I may not have many things but I do have courage and ego enough for both of us.’
Tressa liked the way he said ‘us’. It made her feel special.
‘Do you have a girlfriend in Dublin?’ she heard herself ask. Try and be subtle, Tressa, she reminded herself. She wasn’t even sure she liked Dan that way but he was handsome and funny and successful, at least until he’d been sacked and lost the whole life he’d built up.