by Anna Bloom
“Thank God. My head hurts already.”
“Knew it would,” I tease as we meander down the corridor, my new friend and me.
Chapter Fourteen
I wake to my phone vibrating a message. With a deep groan, I roll over and bash my hand on the bedside table. My tongue has the most awful taste, like a cat curled up and went to sleep in there.
Eli Jones: What happened to my head?
I snicker and roll back over, holding my phone above my head as I type.
Faith Hitchin: You lost it in an attack of loser syndrome. You should recover by midday.
I smile—this is dangerous. Smiling leads to obsessive thoughts until I get what I want, and last night I promised I’d be his friend. Friends don’t fuck and walk away.
Eli Jones: Oh good. So, my memory is a little hazy. I walked you back to your room. Guess we dodged Peter the Lurker?
Faith Hitchin: Peter the Lurker was nowhere to be seen.
Eli Jones: And I didn’t… embarrass myself?
Fuck, I’m grinning like a lunatic.
Faith Hitchin: Well you did use my studio basin as a urinal.
Eli Jones: I did not. That’s not funny.
Faith Hitchin: It is a little bit, come on.
Eli Jones: My head hurts too much for this.
Faith Hitchin: Are you coming to breakfast to protect me from your evil grandmother? Is she a wolf dressed up as a sweet old lady, ready to gobble us all up?
Eli Jones: lol
Faith Hitchin: Are we lol’ing now? We must be friends.
Eli Jones: I’m in London. I hope to be back later.
No. My stomach drops. Stop doing that. It’s not good.
Faith Hitchin: Okay, have a great day being a corporate high flyer.
Eli Jones: Thanks, I won’t.
Faith Hitchin: Hey, it’s Sunday.
Eli Jones: The law stops for no man.
Faith Hitchin: Loser syndrome, I told you.
Eli Jones: It’s a free case. I’ve got to work it on my own time. I’ll see you later.
I stare at my phone. Is that it now? Are we friends? Are we going to act like we’ve known each other forever?
He doesn’t know a thing about me, and if he did, he’d run for the hills and never look back. I push down the blanket and raise my arm, keeping my gaze studiously turned away from the lightning bolt Elijah had touched last night. Instead I look at the Māori decorations I have weaving along my right bicep. Feminine but powerful, they remind me of a time when I thought I could fight. After three weeks in New Zealand, spending some bonus money Al had given me for a large set of sketches I’d done him, I’d decided to have them inked before my return. I wanted to come back a Māori warrior, ready to defeat my enemy and achieve freedom.
I nibble on my lip. The battle hadn’t been won.
Can I be that woman again, the one who fights?
I sit on the edge of the bed, throwing back the duvet. My head aches, my stomach is turning, but hell am I going to let some old woman with a vicious tongue keep me penned in my room. I pull on some clothes, put my hair up in a bun, and decide to go to war over the breakfast table. I need to eat to absorb the alcohol still sloshing around my stomach. I can’t work with my brain foggy and distracted. And I want to work. I resist the urge to go and see my stoneware creation of yesterday. Bacon first. Then work.
Tabitha’s at the table and I nearly fall at her feet with joy. Nearly, but then she says, “Jeez, you stink of booze.”
I glare at her and grab the jug of organic juice in the centre of the table, pouring it into a ridiculously small glass that can only hold about two sips.
Jennifer is sitting behind a broadsheet. Either something’s very interesting, or she doesn’t want to make eye contact with me. I slide into a seat next to Tabitha.
“What did you do yesterday, Faith?” Tabitha asks, her cheeks tingeing with pink just from making conversation with me.
I offer her a smile and a wink. “After your grandmother was mortally rude to me and accused me of being a slut?”
Tabitha catches on quick. I can see us being friends. Exactly how many Faircloughs do I plan to be friends with?
“Mm, she put you on the spot asking you to choose like that.”
I pick up a bread roll, although I know I have to manage to eat more than that today. “I know, I mean it’s such a tough choice. On one hand you’ve got Peter…” I pick off a piece of bread. “You know he’s in line to the throne so that’s in his favour, but let’s be honest he doesn’t look anywhere near as fu—”
“Okay, that’s enough.” Jennifer puts her paper down onto the space in front of her. She doesn’t have a plate with pastries and jam. Just a black coffee.
Tabitha giggles and Jennifer levels her with a stare. “Honestly, so childish.” Her daughter sits up straighter and drops her laughter, and I glare at the immaculate shape of Baroness Fairclough.
She meets my gaze with cool disdain. “I’m sorry for my mother’s behaviour yesterday. Hopefully we can move on. She can speak without thinking and has a razor-edged tongue.”
It’s an apology. The ‘S’ word has been muttered, so being the bigger person, I nod my head. “It’s forgotten about.”
Jennifer offers me a tight smile. “Thank you.” She takes a sip of her coffee. “Are you prepared for tomorrow? Have you thought about the rooms?”
I nod and lift my knife and fork as a plate of crispy bacon is miraculously put in front of me. I turn to Jennings (is he always working?) and raise a questioning eyebrow. “I haven’t ordered anything yet.”
“Master Fairclough called ahead and said you would require bacon.”
Oh God. My cheeks burn with the heat of a thousand suns. “What if I was a vegetarian?” I think the best way to handle this is to brazen it out.
Jennifer’s face is frozen, and Tabitha is rocking back and forth with glee.
Jennings goes to remove the plate. “I’ll tell cook you are happy with a bread roll.”
“No, no, no. I’ll keep that.” I tug the plate out of his grip.
“As I thought.” He would make a fantastic poker player. He turns and goes to the sideboard picking up the coffee pot. It’s only when he turns back around and I’m the only one paying him any attention that he cracks a smirk.
“So.” Jennifer pulls my attention. “Do you have everything you need to start?”
I nod around a mouthful of bacon. “Yes, although I think I’m going to start with the glass work for the hallway. It makes sense to me that we create a flow through the house.”
She nods, but I can see it holds no interest for her. Elijah wasn’t wrong. She’s just after exposure.
“How do you plan to get lots of people involved in glass work?”
If I could fist bump myself without looking ridiculous I would. “I’m going to make mosaic tiles, something easy and colourful. It will be a wonderful effect.”
“A mosaic?” She sounds disappointed—like she expected the girl with the tattoos to have something better than the ancient medium of tiling.
I never said I was making a mosaic.
I finish the bacon and clatter my knife and fork onto the plate just as the shining white bob of evil grandmother gleams into view.
“That’s me out of here.” I slide back my chair and slip out of the space. I smile at Tabitha. “You coming to help me, or have you got some grown up stuff to do?”
Jennifer tuts, but doesn’t say anything.
I’m beginning to realise why Elijah is a lawyer and not an artist.
“I’m coming.”
I stop by Jennings who looks up at me in surprise. “Thanks for the bacon,” I say.
“You’re welcome, Miss Hitchin.”
“Faith. I’m Faith.” I remind him with a smile.
“Can I get you anything else.”
I grin, though it’s more of a grimace. “Coffee and lots of it down to the studios? Also, I need to get some wire, are you able to organise that?”
“You find the one you want, and I’ll organise it.”
“Thank you.” I grin at him and turn for the door, my head held high in the air and my nose pointed in the opposite direction to the Wicked Witch of the West.
We work our way down the endless plush carpets to what I’m realising is the old staff quarters out back. Every so often, I stop to stare at one of the dark and foreboding portraits on the walls.
“It’s like they’re watching you, isn’t it?” Tabitha says.
“It’s bloody creepy.” I point to one plump woman in black. “She looks like she’s eaten her husband and is mourning her last meal.”
Tabitha chuckles and I cast a curious glance over her.
“Have you ever been in a portrait?” I ask. I wonder if somewhere around here there’s a gilt framed canvas hanging with Elijah on it.
“When we were kids.” She shrugs.
“I have to see.” I turn, looking closer at the wall hangings. “Where is it?”
“Faith, shouldn’t we be sorting out the studio? People are going to be here tomorrow.”
She’s right, I need to stay focused. This is all I have at the moment. There is nothing for me to run back to or run forward to.
We turn to the left, leaving the main house behind. “Do you think Elijah will be here tomorrow?” I attempt nonchalance, but I don’t miss her small smile. “I think he should be, seeing it’s his project.”
She nods, but then her pretty face fall serious. “I hope so, but I don’t know. He’s working on a horrible case at the moment.”
“What?” We are nearly at the outhouses, but I slow my steps down. “What do you mean horrible?”
Her face crumples with agitation. “I don’t know much about it; the family always treat me like a baby, Elijah especially. He wants to protect me.”
“Well that’s stupid, how old are you?”
“Eighteen.”
I remember what I was like at eighteen. There was nothing innocent left about me, it had all blown away in the sands of time and disappointment.
“Do you not know anything about the case?”
“Only what I’ve eavesdropped on.” She flushes but I hold my hand up for a high five and she giggles. I stare at my palm expectantly. “Top marks for initiative.”
“It’s the only way I hear anything, it’s how I know about Elijah and…” My ears prick up, but she stops herself talking. Her lips jam shut. Elijah and what?
“So, the case?” I push on the door of the studio I worked in yesterday afternoon.
“It’s a sexual harassment case.”
“What? Why? Wouldn’t that be a police matter?”
She shrugs. “That’s all I know.”
I let it go, ignoring the tightening in my stomach. “Come and see what I did yesterday.” I grab her arm and tug her in. There, in the middle of the room, is my earthenware statue.
She snorts with laughter, stepping closer and peering at it in detail. “Is that my grandmother?”
I laugh and keep my voice innocent. “No, it’s Medusa.”
Tabitha raises an eyebrow and smirks.
“What can I say? She made me bloody mad.”
“And do all the people that annoy you end up as a statue?”
She’s being funny. Sadly, they don’t. I run away from most people who annoy me or upset me.
I shake off the thought. “What do you know about glass making?”
“Absolutely nothing.” There is a gentle tap at the door and Tabitha opens it. Jennings stands there with a tray of cups, some biscuits, and a coffee pot. “I can pour coffee, though.”
I grin. “That’s a start. Then I’m teaching you how to make glass.”
“Really?”
I chuckle. “Sure, why not?” Panic settles in my stomach and makes me want to hurl into the nearest wastepaper bin. “At least then I can work out how terrible tomorrow is going to be.”
Tabitha smiles and starts to make the coffee. “It won’t be terrible, you’re a natural.”
I curl my top lip, but I can’t even pretend that this whole situation isn’t scaring the life out of me.
Chapter Fifteen
“Faith!”
I groan and look up from the kiln. I’m trying to get the quantities right for the glass and at the moment I can’t make anything other than a shattered pile of dust. I don’t know why it’s so hard. I’ve done it hundreds of times. Now it’s late, I’m tired and cranky, and in my stomach is a giant knot of tension I can’t dissipate no matter how hard I try.
“Go away.” I shout back.
“Open up now, you are being completely ridiculous.”
I know he’s not going to go away, so, throwing my gloves onto the chair, I stomp for the door and swing it open. Red hair and freckles are leant against the door frame. “So, you’ve quit?”
“So, you’re a cheating bastard?”
Gerard scowls at me. “What are you talking about?”
“Ooh like you’re married and never told me.”
His face falls, but whether it’s because I’ve caught him out and know how much of a cheating bastard he is, I don’t know. “Let me guess… Peter?” He scrubs a freckled hand down his face. It’s inexplicable, but my mind wanders to the golden skin of Elijah.
“It doesn’t matter who. The point is I trusted you. And this has nothing to do with sex because we both know I couldn’t give a shit about that. I trusted you to be my friend. I let you into a world that, in case you didn’t realise, is actually quite small.”
“For goodness’ sake, Faith, I didn’t lie. Ella and I separated three years ago. Peter would have told you that if he wasn’t such a complete arse.”
I shake my head. “It’s not the point. We’ve been friends for two years and you never once mentioned a wife.”
He steps into the room and takes in my pile of dusty mess. It’s everywhere, crusted along my legs, under my sandals. “So now you walk away from your degree? All because I didn’t want to tell the engaging, vivacious girl who I couldn’t believe liked me that I’d once made a silly, childish error and married the wrong girl.”
I glare at him. Throwing daggers with my evil side eye. “I can let that go maybe before we slept together, but not the time since when we’ve been friends.”
“Is this because you’ve told me what happened back in Brighton?”
I hold my hand up. “Never talk to me about it.” I step towards him, backing him back towards the door. “Don’t ever talk to me again. You’ve crossed a line with this, Gerard. I was willing to think you wanted to be my friend, that maybe I wasn’t on a long list of students you wanted to fuck.” My pulse races. “What am I thinking now, hey? That you’re a dirty scumbag.”
“So what are you going to do, Faith? Start again? Find another degree? Waste more years? I gave you so many opportunities; your work is in galleries because of me.”
I can barely speak. Blood is pumping in my veins, my head throbbing. Every muscle, every tendon, is pulled as tight as an elastic band about to snap.
“I think the lady said she didn’t want to talk.”
My legs sag a little as Elijah’s smooth voice cuts through the static buzzing between my ears.
“Back off, Fairclough,” Gerard snaps at the newcomer. “This is between me and Faith, we’re friends.”
Elijah steps into the room, his body angled close to mine. Despite the turmoil inside, I find comfort from having him step near. I don’t look at him. My burning, furious gaze stays on Gerard.
He lets out a sigh of air and pushes his hand through his hair. “Seriously, Faith, you need to grow up. You can’t keep running every time someone pisses you off.”
“Get out,” I screech.
Gerard holds his hand out, and Elijah mutters a low curse. As he gets to the door, Gerard stops. “You’ve got your quantities wrong, you need less calcium oxide.”
“Get out!�
�� I charge forward, but fingers grab mine and pull me back around until I’m staring into deep vibrant blues.
Elijah’s face is serious, pensive. “Are you okay?” His voice is low, and it eases the tense ball of nerves and anger.
“No, he’s a twat.” I’m shaking, and Elijah clutches my fingers.
“What are you doing?” I glance down at our joined hands.
He drops them straightaway. “Sorry.”
“How much did you hear?”
“Sorry, what?”
“I said how much did you hear?”
“Nothing, what are you asking?”
“Well, why the hell are you standing outside my door listening to my private conversations?”
His face hardens. “I came along because I felt bad for leaving you today. I want to check you were okay, or if you needed any help.” His face is pinched, his body rigid. “And if you don’t want people to hear your conversations, Faith, you shouldn’t have them so damn loud.”
He spins on his heel, turning for the door.
Shit.
Gah, what is it with this guy? I’ve never stopped anyone walking away before, but I grab his hand and stop him. “Wait.”
“Forget it, Faith.”
“No, I’m sorry.” I breathe through my nose like I’m fighting off a panic attack. Which I am. Torn between letting Elijah walk away, because I shouldn’t give a shit, and asking him to wait, so I can explain. “I just...” I don’t know what to say.
His blues graze across my face. “It’s okay.”
I give a small shake of my head. “It’s not, I shouldn’t be rude.” I close my eyes for a moment and calm my racing pulse. When I open them again, I smile and try to restart our conversation. “How was your day?”
He’s standing in navy suit trousers, with a pale-blue slim-fit shirt tucked in. His tie is askew, and his top shirt button open. He looks lovely. I try my hardest not to notice.
“Really, really exhausting.”
“Guess the last thing you needed then was to be screamed at by some random harpy of a live-in artist?”
He chuckles and his eyes shine. “True. I’m sorry Steers was here.”
“It’s okay.” I sag a little, the fight leaving me. “I did leave the course without telling him.”
