From the Outside

by Clare Johnston

  ‘So, what news do you bring me from old Edinburgh?’

  ‘Well,’ Sarah started hesitantly. ‘The other day I asked Ben if my baby could call him Daddy. Do you think that’s weird?’

  Rosa’s eyes bulged. ‘Umm... yes.’

  ‘It’s just I can’t stand the thought of my child growing up without a father and Ben, being so close to Harry, would be so perfect.’

  ‘You can’t just bring on a substitute, Sarah. Life doesn’t work like that.’

  ‘I know, Rosa. That wasn’t what I meant. It’s just that I would like Ben to be a father-figure to my child because I think he’s a genuinely good person.’

  Rosa squinted her eyes and looked suspiciously at her friend. ‘Are you attracted to him?’, she demanded, lunging forward to grab a handful of chocolate fingers which she hastily began munching on.

  ‘I’m... drawn to him as a person.’

  ‘Do you actually want to BE with Ben in the fullest sense?’

  ‘Well.. that wasn’t what I meant.. I mean, I don’t know, Rosa. My head is just swimming right now. I don’t know what’s going on.’ Sarah curled into the sofa to sit in an almost foetal position.

  ‘Oh Sarah, love. I think you need to give your mind a break right now. Don’t go doing anything rash. Just give yourself a bit of time to work out fantasy from reality. Right now, you’re trying to fix things that can’t be fixed in an instant.’

  ‘I suppose you’re right,’ Sarah sighed. ‘I don’t know where all this has come from. Do you think I should talk to Ben about it?’

  ‘No,’ Rosa spat the word out quicker than a piece of gristle. ‘Just let things lie for a while. Ben is the uncle of your child. He won’t be going anywhere, but this is no time to get yourself into something you can’t get out of.’

  ‘Oh, Rosa. I’m sorry to put all this on you. I’m a total mess.’

  ‘You’re not a mess, Sarah. You are pregnant and grieving. Not a good mix.’

  Sarah’s voice broke and she started to sob. ‘I just wish I didn’t have to go through this on my own. I’m so damn lonely. Everything has happened so fast. Harry dies and before I can even process that I find out I’m pregnant.’

  ‘Don’t cry, Sarah. I’ll always be here for you. You must remember you’re not alone. You have so many people who love and care for you.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Sarah whispered through her tears.

  CHAPTER nine

  AFTER SHOWING ME HIS DRAWINGS, Luke grew in confidence – not a thing he’d appeared to lack in the first place – and began treating the centre even more like a home from home. He would usually make himself a cup of tea using the facilities provided in the small kitchen next door, before settling down to read the papers, provided for visitors to the centre. The staff noticed that Luke’s presence had also had a negative impact on the number of young people coming through the centre’s doors. It seemed his reputation had gone before him and there was no-one willing to come within a one-hundred-metre radius.

  This, of course, suited Luke fine as he now had the centre almost entirely to himself.

  The final crunch came one morning when Tony used the toilet only a few minutes after Luke and noticed a peculiar smell in the room – or one that you wouldn’t usually associate with going to the loo anyway. A hunch caused him to look inside the sanitary bin – not a place someone would usually voluntarily check – only to find several scrunched up pieces of tinfoil inside. Afraid to challenge Luke alone, Tony had called me on my mobile.

  ‘I think Luke’s doing smack in the toilets.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I smelt something funny so I looked in the bin and I found bits of tinfoil. Unless he’s decided to take up hairdressing, I can’t think of any other reason for it.’

  ‘What do you want to do?’ I knew the answer before I’d even asked the question but I was going through the motions, stalling for time while I tried to work out what I wanted to do.

  ‘We need to ask him to leave. Can you come over?’

  ‘I should be able to get there in the next half an hour. So just leave him where he is for now until I arrive.’

  I got to the centre about forty minutes later only to find Luke snoring loudly in the armchair. My blood boiled at the thought of how much he’d taken us for a ride these last few weeks while I’d been calling around colleges to ask about art courses, desperately trying to find somewhere that would take a talented boy with no qualifications to his name.

  ‘Luke,’ I said loudly, causing him to open his eyes momentarily before closing them again.

  ‘Luke,’ I bellowed this time and he sat up startled.

  ‘Easy man,’ he snapped. ‘What’s yer problem?’

  ‘You’re my problem. I want you to leave this centre now. We don’t allow drugs in here and never will.’

  ‘What ye talkin’ about ye loony. I’ve no taken any drugs.’

  ‘We’ve got good reason to believe you’ve been taking drugs and that’s enough for me. I want you out of here now.’

  Luke slowly got to his feet, eyeballing me all the time while he calculated his next move.

  ‘What about ma drawins’?’ he asked finally.

  ‘I’m not prepared to help you any longer,’ I replied. ‘I’ll take you to a doctor or look into drug rehabilitation options for you, but you’re not coming back to the centre in the state you’re in right now.’ It hurt to turn away a boy with such obvious talent, but there was nothing we could do for a junkie.

  He studied me for a moment, trying to work out if I could be cracked with an emotional plea, but I stepped back from him and pointed towards the front door.

  Luke shuffled slowly forward before coming to a stop at my right side and leaning in to my face.

  ‘You’re a rich bastard using young folk like me tae make yourself feel better. You dinnae actually care about us. If ye did, ye’d remember everyone deserves a chance, eh.’

  I experienced another surge of rage at his sheer audacity in questioning my judgment. ‘I decide who deserves a chance here. Now get out and don’t come back unless you’re clean.’

  ‘Fuck you,’ he spat into my face, before shoving me and stomping out, slamming the front door behind him. As I stood staring into the empty space he had just filled, I was left with a crushing sense of guilt – and of unfinished business.

  There was a mixture of anxiety and excitement in the air at the Monday morning team meeting as Ben sat down with Dave, Danny and Sonja to discuss the imminent launch party for Jason’s exhibition. First on the list of things to discuss was whether or not to invite the press – the main hesitation being they didn’t know whether any of them would turn up.

  ‘Do you think we should send them an invitation in the post or email them?’ Sonja asked before answering her own question: ‘Maybe we should just give the Evening News a call first and ask them if they’d be interested in coming along?’

  ‘And who’s going to do that?’ Dave asked, terrified they might suggest him.

  Silence fell. Ben suspected this was going to be a long meeting. Just as he was about to volunteer himself for the task of calling journalists – one which he wasn’t relishing – there was a knock at the door. The four colleagues looked at each other, silently acknowledging that nobody was expecting the interruption. Ben was just about to shout, ‘Come in’, when Sarah popped her head round and announced: ‘Make way for the cavalry.’

  They then watched in amazement as Sarah led two very polished and professional looking women into the room.

  ‘This is Lizzie and Cara from TwoPlus PR and they’re here to organise our launch party.’ Sarah said smugly, drawing up three chairs for each of them to sit down at.

  Ben caught the eyes of his co-workers just in time to spot the slightly bemused but nonetheless impressed smiles spread across their faces at the same time as his own.

  ‘You couldn’t be more welcome,’ said Ben.

  ‘It was like the blind leading the blind in here a minute ago,’ adde
d Sonja, cheerfully. ‘We were about to draw straws for who should phone the Evening News.’

  ‘No need for that,’ Lizzie informed them. ‘We’re going to see to it that this event gets the maximum amount of exposure.’

  Ben wondered how Sarah had managed to swing this one, but he suspected she would be paying for it out of her own pocket. Just when he had begun to wonder what he was getting himself into by agreeing to co-parent with her, she had shown what a dependable person she really was.

  ‘So,’ Lizzie continued. ‘Sarah has briefed us on the event and the plan is that we’ll write a press release for your approval this week which will be sent out to all local and national news outlets. We’ll then follow up with each of them by phone.’ Now in full professional flight, she added: ‘We’re aiming to get newspaper, digital and broadcast media there so we should create an overflow room where we can entertain other guests while the press do their interviews with Jason, Emily and Ben with the exhibition pieces as a backdrop.’

  Ben was quietly marveling at Lizzie’s efficiency as she continued her briefing when he registered his name being mentioned alongside the words ‘do the press interviews’. His heart sank, but he knew he would have to pull it together enough to put himself in the spotlight for an evening and publically represent the centre – and all that I and the rest of the team had worked hard to create. He felt the stir of anxiety in his stomach which was starting to lurch. Six months ago he would have fled from this situation, but just as the idea of making his excuses flickered for a fleeting second, a voice warned him: ‘Don’t even think about it.’ Ben visibly flinched. I could see he was struggling to work out what had just happened. The voice had been inside his head, but it was not his own.

  ‘Are you okay?’ Sarah asked, concerned by his suddenly startled face. Soon all eyes around the table were on him.

  ‘Yes,’ he replied. ‘I just think Harry would be pleased with our plans.’ And everyone smiled again.

  The following two weeks were a blur for Ben and the rest of the team at the Melville Centre as they worked towards the launch. Every one of their new young recruits was seconded to help prepare. The recreation room had to be emptied and the walls painted, ready for Jason’s two main pieces to be mounted on the main wall facing the door. The wall running along the back of the room already hosted a collection of Jason’s best sketches – most of them on paper torn from old jotters, a couple were even drawn on loo roll. It didn’t matter, Ben thought, because this incredible collection of work only served to further authenticate the purity of Jason’s talent that would be on show tonight for the first time.

  The office would be used to serve drinks and food, so it too had to be painted and rearranged, with additional tables brought in and pushed to the back of the walls to create standing room.

  Ben had barely seen Jason in the last fortnight. He spent most of his time down at the studio, perfecting the large drawings he was preparing for this exhibition – and ultimately for Emily to sell in her gallery. This afternoon, Sarah was collecting Jason from the studio to help him bring his finished drawings down to the centre to be mounted on the walls. He had framed them with Emily that morning and she had declared herself very satisfied with the finished result. Ben couldn’t wait to see them.

  He also wanted to thank Sarah who had completely saved the day over the launch by bringing in the PR firm and arranging caterers for the event. At their team meeting on Monday, Lizzie had told them they were expecting three newspaper journalists, a couple of magazine writers, a news agency reporter and four photographers. They were expecting a TV crew from Scottish Television and, incredibly, another from Sky News. All, seemingly, had been sold on the idea of a boy from one of Edinburgh’s roughest estates, bowling over the art world with his extraordinary gift. A great story indeed, Ben thought.

  Suddenly, Sonja burst loudly into the room behind him. She had started work at 7am that morning and had barely taken a break for a cup of tea since.

  ‘That’s the caterers arrived,’ she said breathlessly, ‘so they’ll be setting up next door in a minute.’ She was about to bustle out of the office again when she turned back towards Ben, adding: ‘Oh, and I think I saw Sarah’s car pull up behind their van.’

  ‘I’ll go and check,’ said Ben, hastily making his way to the front door. He opened it just in time to let three, heavily-laden caterers in followed by Sarah and Jason. They were happily smiling and chatting as they made their way towards the centre, each carrying a large picture frame, wrapped in brown paper. Ben felt like a child on Christmas Day. He wanted to grab the frames from them and rip off the wrapping so he could see what lay underneath.

  ‘You’re here,’ he called, unable to contain his excitement.

  ‘Yes,’ Sarah replied cheerily, ‘and we’ve made it without dropping the frames too, despite having to carry them almost the length of the Royal Mile to my car.’

  ‘Well done, but are you sure you’re okay?’ Ben asked Sarah anxiously before quickly prising the frame from her. ‘You shouldn’t be lifting large objects.’

  ‘I’m fine,’ she laughed, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder. ‘You’re such a worrier.’

  Once back in the recreation room, he laid the frame down on the bare wooden floor and slowly peeled off the brown paper cover. The first drawing was even more breathtaking than he could have imagined. It was a simple head-shot of Jason’s father which Ben guessed had been sketched without Gary’s knowledge one night as he sat watching his beloved reality TV shows. Jason’s drawing in black ink managed to capture almost every year of Gary’s life in its detail, each line on his worn face telling its own story. It was absolutely magnificent. He wondered what Gary himself would have thought of it.

  Jason laid the second frame next to the one Ben was admiring and set about removing the covering paper.

  ‘This picture of your father is incredible, Jason,’ Ben said quietly.

  ‘Cheers pal.’

  Ben turned now to look at the second picture which he soon discovered to be equally breathtaking. The subject this time was a toddler who appeared to be wandering aimlessly around with his arms outstretched desperately looking for attention; his grubby pyjamas and ruffled hair telling their own story of hardship and neglect. Ben suspected the picture reflected Jason’s own childhood – one in which he fought for his parents to notice his talents, only to be met with derision and a total lack of understanding from Gary. It suddenly struck Ben that though he and Jason had come from such different homes, their experience in this respect had been so similar.

  ‘Stunning,’ he said, turning to look at the young artist only to find he was already heading off with Sarah to decide where to hang the frames.

  Ben watched as they pointed and nodded in agreement before Jason hammered the first nail into place on the wall, with Sarah standing at the other side of the room ready to advise on height and the evenness of the hang. Ben and Jason lifted the first picture together and positioned it over the nail, maneuvering it left and then slightly right until Sarah was happy it was straight. They did the same for the second, before all three of them stood back by the door to take in the display in its full glory. Within moments they were joined by Sonja, Dave and a couple of the other kids who had been helping out that day. For a minute, no one said anything. They simply stood, silently consuming a talent that was about to have its rightful moment. Finally, Sonja broke the spell to utter just one word: ‘Brilliant.’

  An hour later and the preparations had reached fever-pitch. Lizzie and her assistant had arrived to oversee the final touches. She had a list of all attendees – including some of the great and the good of the Scottish art world, as she had put it – and a separate list of all the press that were expected. Ben had changed into his one and only suit jacket and shirt, paired with dark blue jeans. Sarah had been home to change and had arrived back wearing a chic, black, floaty dress which Ben guessed must have been another new maternity outfit.

  He had just finished be
ing briefed by Lizzie – she had instructed him to personally greet every guest – when he felt someone tapping his shoulder. He was already feeling quite harassed and wasn’t relishing receiving another set of orders when he turned to find it was Emily who was trying to get his attention.

  ‘Hi,’ she said casually. ‘Lizzie advised me to get here early so here I am.’

  ‘Yes, she’s good at giving advice,’ Ben muttered in a conspiratorial tone, raising his eyes to the ceiling to embellish his point.

  ‘I consider myself warned,’ she smiled.

  ‘I think she’ll want to make sure that you’ll only say nice things about the centre,’ Ben suggested. ‘Not tell the world it’s now being run by a hopeless fool who’s never held down a proper job in his life.’

  ‘Ah, but you have other talents,’ said Emily wryly. ‘Speaking of which, did you bring the pictures you promised me?’

  ‘Yes,’ Ben replied, a mix of anxiety and embarrassment flashing across his face. ‘They’re in a drawer in the office so I’ll show you later if you can stick around?’

  ‘I’d be delighted.’

  ‘Ah, Emily,’ a high-pitched voice boomed over the room. Ben and Emily turned to see Lizzie waving over in their direction. ‘Let’s have a quick chat.’

  ‘Looks like I’m under orders,’ Emily whispered to Ben. ‘Catch up later.’

  Ben turned to find Jason standing alone next to his collection of art work looking totally petrified.

  ‘You alright?’ Ben asked.

  ‘Aye, just a wee bit nervous. I’m not used to all this fuss.’

  ‘I know. And if it’s any consolation I’m shitting myself too. I had to resist the urge to down half a bottle of whisky before I came out.’ The two laughed together, releasing some of the tension that had built up over the day.

  But before they had time to counsel each other any further, the first of the evening’s guests arrived. It was Dad. Ben had completely forgotten he was coming, but he was pleased to see the old fellow nonetheless – and grateful to finally have his support. The irony that Dad was attending an event to celebrate a young artist’s work, when he prevented his own son from pursuing such a career, would not be lost on either of them, but Ben wasn’t going to throw it in his face. There was too much water under the bridge now.