Life Drawing for Beginners Page 23

  “Anything else?” he asked, without much hope. “Any holiday jobs when you were younger? Waitressing, shop work?” Before you went near drugs, and left the real world behind.

  She shook her head.

  Michael scanned the form, well aware of how pitifully sparse the information was. It would have to do; they had nothing else.

  “Bring me the other ones,” he told her. “Put your name on the top again and I’ll fill in the rest.”

  “Thanks,” she said, getting up quickly and leaving the kitchen.

  Michael felt—what? Pity, he supposed. If she was to be believed—​and the more he got to know her, the more he felt that she might be—the odds had surely been stacked against her from the start. A dysfunctional family, an abusive father, and an education system that had failed her. If she was to be believed.

  But she was drug-free now, that much of her story at least was true. Michael would know if she wasn’t; he’d had painful firsthand experience of what being high looked and sounded like, and since her arrival here she’d exhibited none of the signs he’d seen in Ethan.

  And he had to acknowledge that she looked after her son as far as she was able; he had to give her that. The way she looked at the boy across the kitchen table sometimes reminded Michael poignantly of how Ruth had looked at Ethan. She might be wincingly rough around the edges, but she wasn’t incapable of tenderness.

  Maybe, after all, she’d done the best she could with the hand she’d been dealt.

  —————

  When the interval between popping sounds began to stretch, Zarek took the saucepan off the heat. He tipped the pile of warm popcorn into the large blue bowl that normally held their fruit supply, and sprinkled it with salt. In the living room he placed the bowl on the couch, between Anton and himself.

  “Merci.”

  Anton dipped his hand into the bowl as Zarek inserted the DVD and pressed play. After the usual preliminaries, the opening credits of The Remains of the Day began scrolling up the screen.

  On the Saturday nights when Zarek wasn’t working, the two men’s routine of DVD and popcorn rarely varied. They took turns to choose and rent the DVDs, but Zarek consistently popped the corn, it being tacitly agreed that Anton, after cooking dinners all week, deserved a break.

  Now and again Pilar joined them, but tonight she’d gone for a drink with a fellow Lithuanian, much to Zarek’s, and he was pretty sure Anton’s, quiet relief. Pilar seemed unfamiliar with the concept of silent watching, preferring to keep up a steady, full-volume commentary anytime she sat in front of a screen.

  Zarek stretched an arm along the back of the couch and watched the butler interacting with the recently arrived housekeeper. The subtitles they’d selected were in French, Polish not having been among the offered languages, so Zarek did his best with the spoken word.

  At first the nuances of their exchanges were largely lost to him—he generally aimed for the bigger picture when he watched a film in English—but as the film progressed, by studying the body language and facial expressions he slowly became aware of the butler’s unspoken feelings for the housekeeper, and of the man’s tragic inability, or unwillingness, to recognize until too late that his feelings were reciprocated.

  And as the closing credits rolled, Zarek Olszewski could appreciate the exquisite irony of watching that particular film with Anton.

  Sunday

  There they are.”

  Eoin darted away from her and disappeared into the throng of people massing around the play area. Jackie followed, keeping her eyes peeled for his orange T-shirt—but it was Charlie she spotted first, bouncing on a metal horse as it wobbled on its coiled spring. And there stood Eoin next to her, talking to a man who crouched on his hunkers beside them.

  As Jackie approached, the man looked around—and she experienced a sharp lurch of dismay as she recognized Charlie’s father. She felt the heat rising in her face, and she saw the surprise in his as he realized who she was. She waited in dread for him to give the game away. Whatever he said now, her cover would be blown.

  “Hello,” he said, standing up and putting out a hand. “You must be Eoin’s mum. I’m James Sullivan—nice to meet you finally.”

  James Sullivan. James from the drawing class was James Sullivan, father of her son’s best friend. She’d never heard his last name in the class; she didn’t know anyone’s last name, apart from Audrey’s. It had never occurred to her that the two Jameses might be one and the same.

  Even when—the memory flashing back to her—she’d found a girl’s hair band in his car, and he’d mentioned his daughter, she hadn’t put two and two together. But why would she? There were surely several men named James in Carrickbawn; a few of them at least must have daughters.

  She became aware that he was looking inquiringly at her.

  “Jackie,” she said faintly. “Moore.” Thanking her lucky stars that he’d somehow divined—​or decided to assume maybe—​that her son wasn’t aware of her part-time job. He was pretending he didn’t know her, and Jackie went along with it gratefully.

  His handshake was firm, his skin warm. Jackie struggled to assimilate this new situation. He was the father of her son’s friend, and he’d seen her naked three times. And she fancied him, no point in denying it. And it felt distinctly weird to be meeting him in her role as Eoin’s mother now.

  “Nice little park,” he said, not seeming to notice that she’d been struck dumb—or maybe filling the space while she recovered her wits. “Good facility for families, especially when the weather obliges. Isn’t this weather something in October?”

  He didn’t appear to be at all discomfited. Not that there was any reason for him to be embarrassed—she’d been the naked one, after all. And he hadn’t shown any sign that he was interested romantically in her, so why should the fact that she was the parent of his daughter’s friend cause him any awkwardness now?

  “So,” he went on, “you’ve lived here all your life?”

  The same question he’d put to her in the car the other night. Still letting on that they’d never met before—because wasn’t that exactly the kind of question you’d ask someone new? Or maybe he’d simply forgotten.

  “All my life,” she answered, turning to watch their children, who were now rushing towards the slide, “born and bred.” She turned back to him. “Thanks for not giving the game away.”

  He smiled. “I guessed you mightn’t have mentioned your evening job.”

  “No.” The image of her sitting naked in front of him slid into her head, and she searched for a change of subject. “So Charlie’s settling in well here?”

  He nodded. “Kids are resilient,” he said.

  The remark struck her as strange. Resilient was something you needed to be if you were up against some problem or obstacle. Had they moved from the North to escape from a bad situation? Abruptly she remembered the “lost” wife—who may, she realized now, not be dead as Jackie had assumed, but divorced, or estranged in some other way. Maybe he’d left a bad marriage behind him; maybe he and Charlie were fleeing from a woman who’d made their lives miserable.

  Or maybe Jackie just had a vivid imagination. She was acutely conscious of him standing next to her, in faded black canvas jeans she hadn’t seen before and a white T-shirt. He was ten years older than her at least, and there may or may not be some kind of skeleton in his cupboard.

  And he might still be attached, either to a wife who for whatever reason didn’t live with him now, or to a new partner here in Carrickbawn. Really, he was far from ideal boyfriend material—​and yet, tragically, he was the first man she’d been attracted to in years.

  “How about ice cream?” he asked suddenly. “Why don’t I go and get some?”

  Ice cream; they could eat ice cream like any group out together on a sunny day. Doing something as normal as eating ice cream might make her feel less tongue-tied. “That’d be lovely,” Jackie said.

  “Cones? Does Eoin like cones?”

  S
he smiled, already feeling more at ease. “What do you think?”

  They’d been thrown together, thanks to their children. Might as well make the best of it.

  —————

  James paid for the four cones and pocketed his change before gathering them into his hands. Her face when they’d met, the look of shock on it that had puzzled him in the split second it had taken him to recognize her. Long time since he’d seen anyone blush like that.

  What were the chances, even in a town the size of Carrickbawn? Eoin’s mother, the life drawing model. It was clear that she was terrified, waiting for him to blurt it out in front of her son. She looked too young to be the boy’s mother, must have had him early. He remembered that she lived with her parents—Eoin’s father having scarpered, probably.

  James had done his best, pretended they’d never met. He was pretty sure the kids noticed nothing, despite her badly hidden embarrassment. The ice cream was all he could think of, something to get him away for a few minutes and give her a chance to get over it.

  Funny, in a way. Going to meet Charlie’s friend and discovering that you’d already met his mother, and she’d had no clothes on at the time. He grinned as he made his way back to the noisy playground, imagining Charlie’s horror—and Eoin’s—if either of them knew.

  Maybe he’d tell Charlie someday though, share the joke with her when she was old enough not to be mortified. One of the cones dripped onto the back of his hand and he bent to lick it off. Long time since he’d had a cone. Long time since he’d had a reason to buy more than two of them.

  Might be an okay afternoon. For Charlie’s sake, he’d do his best to enjoy it.

  —————

  Despite her shower, the sharp tang of the wood stain was still on Audrey’s hands. A long, hot bath would be top of the agenda when she got home. Dolly strained at the leash as usual, impatient to explore everything she encountered as they moved through the park. Audrey avoided the play area, chock-full, on this sunny day, of shrieking toddlers and young children. The last place an excitable little dog needed to be.

  A man came from behind and hurried past her, carrying a pair of ice cream cones in each hand. Something about him looked familiar, but without seeing his face Audrey couldn’t identify him.

  Dolly veered suddenly off the path, heading purposefully towards a bed of hard-pruned rosebushes. “Come back here, you monkey,” Audrey called, pulling sharply on the red leash. A man sitting on a nearby bench turned his head at the sound of her voice.

  “Hello,” Audrey said, spotting him. “Isn’t the weather gorgeous?”

  “Very nice,” he replied.

  His beard as unkempt as ever, which quite spoiled his whole appearance. She wondered how he didn’t see it when he looked in the mirror. He wore dark blue trousers that reminded her of bus drivers, and a pale grey shirt whose sleeves he’d rolled to the elbows. His lower arms were very white indeed.

  He nodded at Dolly. “You’re getting the hang of her then,” he said.

  “Yes, she’s doing fine. Still needs a firm hand, but I’m learning as I go along.”

  “Glad to hear it.”

  Audrey began to move off. “Well, it was nice to—”

  “You wouldn’t happen to know of any playschools in the area, would you?”

  The question was totally unexpected. Audrey stopped. “Playschools?”

  “Yes, for a three-year-old.”

  What an odd inquiry, out of the blue like that. “I don’t think—” she began—and then abruptly remembered someone telling her lately that she’d opened one. Who was it?

  “You know one?” he asked.

  “Hang on.” She searched her memory. One of the people in the life drawing class—Fiona? Meg? Oh, which of them? “Somebody mentioned that they’d recently started a playschool,” she told him, “but I can’t quite remember who—”

  He stood up abruptly, and for an instant Audrey thought he was going to stalk away because she hadn’t given him the right answer. Instead he slid his wallet from his trouser pocket and pulled a card from it while Dolly sniffed around his ankles.

  “This is my number,” he said, handing it over. “You might let me know, if you think of it. I’d appreciate it.”

  “Certainly.”

  And as Audrey took the card he crouched and scratched under Dolly’s chin. “Hey,” he said softly. Dolly nuzzled into his hand, grunting with pleasure.

  Audrey looked down. Clearly, he had no trouble getting on with dogs. There was a small patch at his crown where the scalp was just beginning to show through his greying hair.

  After a few seconds he got to his feet. “Thank you,” he said. “I’m grateful to you.” He nodded at Audrey and moved off in the opposite direction.

  Audrey recalled the children’s clothes in the supermarket. Now he was looking for a playschool. Clearly, there was a child in his life that he cared about. Maybe all he needed was the rough edges smoothed off him a little.

  She looked at the card he’d given her and read Michael Browne and the shop name and address, and a telephone number. No decoration, no unnecessary words. Short and to the point, exactly as she’d have expected of him. She put the card in her bag and gave a little tug on the leash, and Dolly trotted beside her as they made their way towards the exit.

  Without the beard he might be quite pleasant looking, and it might take a few years off him too. He might not be that old at all, in fact; some people went grey very young. And if he got out in the sun more instead of being cooped up in that shop all day, he wouldn’t look so pasty.

  They walked through the streets of Carrickbawn until they got to Audrey’s road. Dolly’s pace quickened as they approached the gate. Audrey thought of the chicken and pasta bake in the freezer. Ten minutes for the oven to heat up, and twenty-five for the dish to cook. Did she want to wait that long?

  Maybe she’d do an omelette instead, if she hadn’t eaten the last of the Emmentaler. An omelette without cheese was like a soft-boiled egg without salt.

  On the other hand, she could uncork a half bottle of wine and sip a glass on the patio while the chicken was cooking. Yes, that sounded like a plan.

  She waited until she’d closed the gate behind them before crouching to unclip the leash from Dolly’s collar, and the little dog darted away and skidded around the side of the house, yapping joyously.

  No doubt about it, Audrey thought, the sun made everyone happier. He’d been quite pleasant today, even if he was looking for something.

  —————

  The notion of a playschool had come to him in the night, when he’d woken to visit the toilet and was waiting to drop off again. He’d been pondering the problem of what to do with the child in the unlikely event of the girl being offered work. Of course it might be none of his business by then; the test results would probably have come back, and depending on the result the two of them could be out of his life.

  But what if they weren’t? If there was a positive result he’d feel some responsibility, wouldn’t he? Like it or not he’d have to look out for them, to a certain extent at least. And the girl couldn’t take up the offer of a job without provision being made for the child. It was as simple as that.

  One option would be for Michael to continue bringing him to the shop, but that couldn’t go on long-term, it wouldn’t be fair to the child to have him cooped up behind a shop counter with just a few books for company.

  A playschool then; some setup that would take him for part of the day at least, give him a chance to mix with other kiddies, leave the mother free to get some kind of a job. Yes, a playschool was what was needed. He’d look into it if the test results bore out the girl’s claim.

  He’d fallen asleep soon after he’d made the decision, and he’d thought no more about it until he’d dropped into the park on his way home from the cemetery and met the woman with the little dog again.

  There she’d been, strolling happily along the path in the sunshine, dressed as usual in bright, su
mmery colors. And for some reason the playschool idea had resurfaced in his head. She might be a good one to ask; he sensed she’d try to help if she could. And it was no harm to make inquiries, didn’t tie him to anything if the information turned out not to be needed.

  And sure enough she’d done her best, her forehead wrinkling as she tried to recall who’d mentioned playschools to her. He’d left his card with her; all he could do now was wait and see if she got in contact.

  He recalled her eating an ice cream, on another sunny day. He remembered the pleasure she’d taken from it. He wondered suddenly what she’d have said today if he’d offered to buy her a cone. Probably would have taken him for a right nutcase, would have gathered up her little dog and run a mile in the opposite direction.

  He sliced a turnip, another dilemma turning itself over in his head. Would it be feasible to simply turn his back on the other two if it transpired that there was, after all, no connection—if they were, literally, nothing to him? Would he be justified in sending them away, maybe to a life on the streets, with the possibility strong of her eventually returning to the easy money of drug dealing?

  He put the turnip chunks into water and began to peel potatoes. Of course he’d be justified; he wasn’t responsible for them. In fact, if it turned out that she’d been lying about Ethan, Michael would feel like a right fool. He wouldn’t be long showing them the door. Might even call the police, have her done for fraud. Get that child put into care. Might be for the best.

  He turned his attention to his daughter, forcing himself to recall the words that had sliced into him in the shop. Was she right, was Michael trying to salve his conscience after the way things had gone with Ethan? You failed as a father, she’d said. Michael had loved both his children deeply—he still adored Valerie—but he’d been preoccupied with grief after Ruth, and there’d been the shop to manage. Most of the time, he had to admit, he’d left the parenting to Pauline, who’d been so good at it.