by Tom Butler
‘It’s not finished of course, but I’ve called it Angel in honour of you. You’ll have to use your imagination as there’s still a fair bit to do.’
He stood with the canvas across his chest, and she blinked when she first saw it. There were certainly wings in there somewhere, and it was a concoction of contrasting colours. Abstract in every sense of the word. Confusing but kind of interesting.
‘It’s…impressive. It certainly makes a statement,’ she said, turning the flattery around in his favour.
‘When I’ve finished it, it’s yours. It’s the least I can do.’
‘You don’t have to do that. There’s so much work gone into it compared to mine. I would never have the patience to cope with oils. All that layering takes such a long time.’
‘You ought to try it. Sometimes when I’m angry, I just throw paint at a canvas and see what happens. It’s a great way of letting off steam.’
She wondered what would make him so angry and thought of his departed girlfriend. Perhaps they had now had one too many rows, and it really was over between them.
He was anything but angry now. ‘A few more days and I’ll have it done. We can meet up next week after college, and I’ll present it to you, signed of course.’
She smiled. ‘I don’t know.’
She thought about what Michael had said about her sketch of Daniel being worth a fortune one day if he was to become famous and then what her husband might say if she were to bring an abstract painting entitled “Angel” done by Daniel home with her. She was, after all, his very special angel.
It perhaps didn’t bear thinking about, but was it really so different to her producing a pencilled sketch of Daniel and giving it to him as she had already done. He certainly thought not. The one was deserving of the other and might cement a bond between them. A purely artistic one, of course.
Undoubtedly, seeing his unfinished painting had relaxed her, and when he brought the coffee refills through, he handed hers over and went back to the sofa. No sitting on the arm of the chair or encroaching on her space this time. But he did say something quite provocative which startled her.
‘I wish I was one of those still life artists, you know, the sort who paint nude subjects. I’d ask you to pose for me.’
She threw him a nervous smile. ‘It’s my good fortune that you’re not. You really shouldn’t be talking like that.’
‘Oh come on,’ he stated. ‘Haven’t you ever wanted to do something so daring. I think you would make the perfect model.’
This was a different type of flattery and the whole idea unnerved her.
‘I’m sure there are a lot of much younger subjects that would queue up to pose for you if you did move into that genre,’ she told him. ‘Did you ever think to ask your girlfriend to pose for you?’
He looked blankly back at her as if to completely ignore her question. But then he said, ‘None of them would be such an interesting challenge as you; I’m quite sure of that,’ and winked at her.
He seemed very contented with what he had said as though all he wanted to do was pay her compliments again.
Not quite knowing how to take that, she hid from him, using the coffee mug as a shield so that she didn’t have to look at his face. The coffee was too hot to drink and all of a sudden she felt things were becoming awkward between them again, especially as he had gone suddenly quiet, and she sensed all he was doing was watching her and that she was in imminent danger of him misconstruing the signals she was giving off.
‘Are you working on anything else at present?’ she asked him, changing the subject and putting the onus back on him to reply.
She looked sideways at the other easels and almost guessed his answer.
‘Several, that’s the beauty of what I do; I can keep chopping and changing as the mood takes me. But “Angel” was all down to you; you inspired me to do it, and I think it’s one of my best ever.’
More instant flattery made her blush some more, and she hoped he couldn’t see enough of her face to notice. Re-engaging him in conversation hadn’t really helped her at all.
As far as she was concerned, she was Michael’s angel and nobody else’s, but how could she convey this to Daniel whose head seemed to be somewhere up in the clouds. She tried a different tack, bringing her children into play.
‘I’m always encouraging Mary and the boys to draw at school, but I’m afraid those two are typical lads what with being football mad and the usual rough and tumble games they’re drawn to. But my daughter loves painting flowers and trees, and for a five-year-old, I think we have a budding artist in our midst.’
‘Great,’ he said, getting to his feet.
He stood watching her rather like a Praying Mantis might, and this concerned her again. She liked Daniel a lot but all they could have was friendship. Nothing else was permissible.
She blew consciously to cool her coffee and kept the mug between her and him hoping he would understand.
‘I could watch you all day and all of the night,’ he said, sounding almost melodic.
‘You would have a shock if you saw me first thing in the morning with hair all over the place and no makeup.’
Why the hell did she say that? Why play right into his hands?
He was so predictable. ‘I would give a lot of money to see that. I’m not at my best in the morning either.’
Sipping the coffee as it cooled didn’t seem to be getting it down quickly enough, and now Daniel had somehow got past the flirtation stage and was kind of devouring her with his young, predatory eyes, and at the same time, physically edging closer to her. Dealing with ogling men and their chat up lines had never phased her before, but because of the thinly coated bond build-up between them, this was as different as it was difficult.
The coffee was still hot, and every swallow was making her feel more and more uncomfortable. She could barely bring herself to look at Daniel at all, feeling that in some way they had come full circle, and he was gaining control. Why wasn’t she just telling him straight instead of saying nothing and letting him think there could be something more than the love of art between them? How could she have given him the wrong impression about her? And should she be preparing to fight him off?
He was an attractive, much younger man making it apparent he wanted more than just art to formulate a relationship. If he had lured her to his den to make his true feelings known, he had succeeded so far without a high degree of resistance, making her believe that he might feel that he had got this far and had nothing to lose.
Though she still held the mug only inches from her face, he had now reached over to add his hand to it and was coaxing her to let go. As she did so he smiled broadly, and this showed her the whiteness of his teeth. They matched the glint in his eyes.
‘Let me look at you my wonderful winged angel,’ he said, as if it was a line from some romantic film or novel. She could tell that he was willing her to stand so that it would prove impossible for her not to look closely into his eyes. She had a speech written in her head that would let him down gently, so why wasn’t she delivering it? She knew that she must stop him.
He had discarded the coffee mug and was pulling her up into his strong, athletic arms, and he was assuredly aiming his slightly open mouth at her. This is madness Daniel, a voice in her head said before she felt his lips on hers. The kiss was clumsy as most first kisses are, but the madness she talked about in her head had now overcome her as if wanting to rectify things and get the kiss right. The second attempt positioned their lips perfectly, and even their tongues made contact.
One kiss, she thought, that’s all. Allow him one kiss and then state her position clearly so as he was under no illusion. She loved her husband, and she adored her children. One silly kiss with a younger, infatuated man, and then she would tell him. Thank him for flattering her in this way and for all the nice things he had to say about her. That’s all. One kiss to show him how appreciative she was of the attention he was showing her and the compliments he had showered her
with.
When they eventually stopped for breath, his hands were already feeling for her, making his further intentions clear. She should have told him then and there to stop, that the kiss was already a stage too far, and she should also have reaffirmed that she had a husband she loved waiting for her at home and three children, two of whom would already be tucked up in bed asleep.
But something had prevented her from pushing him away and leaving him disappointed. Her arms were still locked around him as if suddenly he was the centre of her world. A man fifteen years younger than her who had adorned her with compliments and who had been bold and somewhat devious to get her on her own, away from the comfort zone of having others to protect her from the very thing that was now happening to her.
He was somewhat taller than her and infinitely stronger, and she felt safe in his arms and suddenly not at all ashamed of herself for not fighting him off and perhaps never seeing him again. This was going against everything she cared for and had helped build over the years with Michael, but something inexplicable had driven her to this point, and when he shaped his mouth to kiss her again, she had no compulsion to resist him and, seemingly, no strength to deny him her body when with a minimum of coaxing he took her to his bedroom.
There had been no tenderness, only lust. It had happened quickly, and it was over. For some reason, she thought back to Lewis because this had been so much like her first sexual encounter. That, too, was over quickly and was perhaps too frenzied to be memorable.
Angelica felt so disgusted with herself, she couldn’t bring herself to look in the mirror. This had been no rape nor had it been induced by drink. She had known what she was doing, and as she sat momentarily looking at her reflection, there was a huge feeling of guilt to accompany the inner glow that any woman of thirty-nine might have following a tryst with a much younger and undeniably desirable man. Daniel was aware of her, and wondering what she was thinking, imagining there was bound to be some understandable mixed feelings hidden somewhere in her eyes. She looked at her watch.
It was five minutes past ten, and she was late. Without speaking, she searched for her clothes and hurried to the bathroom, stumbling into her tight denim jeans and waistcoat top before running a comb through her hair.
He was still in the bedroom, sitting naked on crumpled bed sheets when she returned. He looked like a boy not a man, but, of course, she knew different.
‘I have to go,’ she said.
‘Will I see you at college next week?’ he asked.
‘I don’t know,’ she answered honestly. She couldn’t tell from his reaction if he was bothered or not. Had he gotten what he wanted from her, and was he like so many men who had enjoyed the thrill of the chase and now felt nothing at all for the object of his desire.
Though she knew she might have some explaining to do to Michael, she somehow knew the classes would have to stop. That what had happened must never happen again. That it was totally insane. Utter madness.
The classes did stop. And Michael never got to see the abstract painting of his wife, painted by another man. And she never saw Daniel again either. It had been a huge mistake. And one she hoped she wouldn’t live to regret. She had been weak and momentarily selfish. She knew there were no excuses.
******
Chapter Three
On the day of their mother’s funeral, three weeks after her violent death, the children were brought to the crematorium by Aunt Jaclyn and her long-term partner Hal who had flown in from the States the day before. Jaclyn had returned to America after initially flying over two days after she had learned of the terrible event and the loss of a sister. She had stayed for a week and did what she could for the children, liaising with social services to make sure they were given all the counselling and support that was necessary.
All three were in denial that their father had taken their mother’s life deliberately. He would never do that in a million years; Noah had convinced the others. It simply must have been an accident. There was no other way it could have happened. There was no logical explanation for it. People didn’t do that to other people. Certainly not when they had been happily married for fourteen years and loved life to the full.
Every day without her had become harder not easier. Mary took Moppit with her everywhere she went and kept telling her that Mummy was just visiting heaven and would be back soon to look after them. That it was a temporary thing, and all would get back to normal soon. Besides, who would bake them delicious cakes and tell them brilliant made up stories. Someone would put Mummy back together, and she would be as right as rain and sifting flour and mixing in currents and raisins again. Anyone who said anything different were just being plain cruel, and she wouldn’t tolerate it.
Noah had tried to be as grown-up about things as he could. Initially, he thought his father would be released from police custody to look after them and perversely saw no logical reason for that not being allowed to happen. He had to withstand some sick jibes about his dad being a knife-wielding beast who went around stabbing people to death, and, of course, no one could protect him from all the newspaper stories that were hogging the headlines.
Looking back, it hadn’t escaped his notice that his parents had begun to argue though his mother had insisted it was usual for married couples to have differences of opinions rather like the ones he himself had with his siblings on a fairly regular basis.
‘It would be a very odd world if everybody agreed on everything and never argued,’ she told him numerous times, and it probably made enough sense to him then, not to show any concern if he did hear raised voices coming from downstairs when they believed he was asleep, which must have occurred right up the day that would change his and his brother and sister’s lives forever.
He could recall James mentioning to him a row between mother and father and the way he shrugged his shoulders and simply replied, ‘So what? All parents argue. It’s what they do.’ It seemed to appease his brother who probably skipped happily away, quite content, it was nothing at all serious and for sure not worth worrying about.
Even when Mary watched her mother’s shiny white casket strewn with flowers disappear behind a pale grey curtain and looked around to see tears in the room, she still failed to grasp reality. Her brothers were more accepting of what had happened and had both fended off tears of their own at the ceremony, though they did go into a huddle with Aunt Jaclyn in the garden of remembrance afterwards and sobbed with her as if by some divine telepathy.
The whole day was traumatic. Those that wanted it to be a celebration of a life, in keeping with twenty first century idealism, couldn’t be seen to be smiling too much or raising glasses inappropriately, especially with the children around. And the more sedate amongst the funeral cortege were barely heard to utter a word for the fear of reminding others how Angelica came to be there in the first place.
Rightly or wrongly, it was deemed too insensitive to allow any of Michael’s family to attend, even though they might have had an affinity with Angelica. No relatives apart from sister Jaclyn and her partner came over from America either so gaps in the crematorium chapel were inevitable. There was a representative from the police and the social services however, and the Broom Infants and Junior school’s head teacher was there to offer her support and kind words for a much missed, devoted mother. A somewhat ill-prepared eulogy was read out by an emotionally charged Jaclyn who recalled happy days in Kansas and told those assembled that Angelica was truly an angel both in her heart and mind, but couldn’t bring herself the say the word soul.
The vicar talked of grief and the healing of time but mentioned little of anything remotely to do with what Angelica believed in or what she had achieved. But then no one could have written the words befitting the occasion as the turn of events were far too personal and sickening to contemplate.
The imaginary cocoon that was wrapped around the grieving children did protect them initially, but important decisions had to be made about their futures despite Noah’s rather
self-centred insistence that they shouldn’t necessarily include him.
‘It’s a no-brainer,’ he had told himself over and over in his head, having already mapped out his own future without fully thinking it through. If Ashley’s parents were happy to have him, he would stay with them. It was such an easy, quick-fire solution. Why bother with anything else, he thought, somewhat narrow-mindedly. Subject to a few points regarding the cost of the funding involved for such an arrangement, it was done and dusted. No need for endless meetings and discussions, unnecessary paperwork and protocol. He would live with his best friend and be answerable to his best friend’s parents. Simple.
But, of course, it wasn’t ever going to be that simple, and even to get Noah to listen to anybody who said they had his welfare as top priority was much harder than anyone could have imagined. In his book, at eleven you were a person with a mind of your own and an opinion too. And nobody knew better than him. Social Services had a job on their hands alright, but everything was still in their favour. He was a child, after all. It wasn’t his decision to make.
Neither James nor Mary could really understand why Noah didn’t want to live with them anymore. He was being selfish and trying to split them up. Big brothers just didn’t do that in their eyes; they were supposed to look after younger siblings. Mother always said Noah would do that if anything happened to her and Daddy. And something had happened. Something too terrible for words. Something catastrophic.
James, who could wear an incredibly sensible head at times and who could easily put his brother to shame, tried earnestly to get Noah to bow to the inevitable, pointing out they were family and families stuck together. He had understood perfectly that finding a new home for three children would be difficult but not impossible. He knew also that his father was totally out of the equation and living in a children’s home was only a temporary fix. Fostering appeared the only viable option. The sooner Noah realised that, the better. Living with a friend was a stupid idea, and besides, both older siblings needed to be seen to be looking after Mary. It was their solemn duty. She would need them more than ever now.
