Shadow Is a Colour as Light Is

by Michael Langan

  He’ll close his eyes and rest his head on the table, go to sleep until it all disappears, this awful uncertainty. Maria’s face that he’s seen and known in love, in fear, in joy, in pain, can still be new and strange and frightening to him. And that’s how it happens, he thinks, that no matter how deep you are in another person’s life, there are still new things to say that can’t easily be said because of how frightening the next thing said would be, and then the next thing, and the thing after that.

  Maria wonders what she can say about the drawing that’ll open up the path to the other things she needs to say? There’s a good knife in the foreground, probably as good as anything she’s ever seen him do. He’s got the distinction between the wooden handle and the metal blade’s surface spot on and the foreshortening’s really good too. She’ll tell all that to him in a moment.

  She was always able to see like this, but was embarrassed to say so out loud, and sometimes when she did Nick made it worse. He could be cruel, like Jimmy, not violent but belittling, especially when it came to her commenting on his work. The apple half has a pip sort of hanging out from the middle and she feels this urge to reach in to the drawing and save it before it falls, because this is what she does — she tries to save things — but she must focus that urge on herself now.

  Maria wants to say, I’ve had an amazing week, Nick. One of the best of my life, actually.

  She wants to say, You’re the person I’d most like to share this with, even though it’s a secret, you’re the one who’d most understand what J-P’s offer means to me. It’ll really mean the end of them, she knows, but she has to do it.

  She wants to tell him that, when she’d been sent by the Film Office to meet J-P and Marius at the airport, she and J-P had taken an instant shine to each other. This was a homecoming for him, and he’d asked her lots of questions about the changes to the city and all that, and during the taxi ride to the hotel she’d turned round at one point and spied the pair of them holding hands and Marius had pulled away, pointing out the window, asking, “What’s that?” and “What’s that?” and she’d answered him like they were already friends, even though they’d only just met, wasn’t intimidated by them at all.

  And she wants to tell him about J-P taking her out for dinner and saying how much he enjoyed working with her, how he really liked having her around. They’d talked about growing up in Liverpool, and realised they’d gone to the same cafés and clothes shops, even been at certain clubs on the same night, at certain gigs, they discovered, and she’d not hesitated for a second when he asked her if she’d come to L.A. and work as their personal assistant because he and Marius needed someone they both liked and could trust.

  And she wants to say it’s all like a dream, that she’ll miss him but she has to go and it’s for the best because they both have to move on with their lives, though she knows this means something different for him than it does for her.

  She wants to say that she loves him but, she’s sorry, she’s not in love with him anymore and they both deserve to be loved and in love, and this is for the best and doesn’t he think so?

  She can’t bear to hurt him. He’s had so much hurt and fear in his life and she hates the thought of adding to it. Maybe this is how Jimmy felt just before laying into him — hating himself for hurting Nick but not being able to stop. And that thought makes her go cold because she knows she’s not like Jimmy who had no bloody excuse, but still she can’t bear the thought of the pain she’s about to cause. It’s impossible.

  She thinks again of Jimmy burning in the car and what pain he must have been in to do what he did. No one ever knew what was going on in Jimmy’s head, but being burned alive was less painful than the pain he could see no end of, and it must have been torture to be trapped between those two things. She tries to imagine ever feeling like that, and can’t. She wants to apologise for all of it, even though none of it is her fault.

  I’m going away to work in America with J-P, she wants to tell him, and I’m saying goodbye to you today, now, because I don’t think it would be a good idea for us to see each other again before I go, which is in three weeks’ time when my visa’s been sorted, and I wish I could make your pain go away but I can’t, because I’ve tried all my life and it hasn’t worked, and it’s not my fault and I have to stop now because I’m tired and I don’t love you anymore and I’m sorry, but it’s not my fault.

  She’s terrified because she’s about to do the second worst thing that any one has ever done to him, maybe the worst thing, worse than finding his dad on fire. And she’s suddenly so angry with him she could smack him across the face to make him understand how hard he’s making this for her and it’s not her fault. How can she say it? She has to say it.

  And what she says, pushing the drawing away, is, “So, how’ve you been?”

  What should he come out with? I’m falling apart thanks, how’re you? Or, I’m a bit spooked out to be honest because that Cézanne painting you told me to come and see is really disturbing and I think I can hear that woman’s thoughts, the woman being murdered. Her voice floats down from the atrium again: Help me, Oh, please save me, Dear God, let it be over.

  He doesn’t want her to worry about him drawing, which he knows she is. He’d rather she’s worried he knows what she’s up to. It’s her not telling him that makes him anxious. It’s that what’s making him think a painting of a murder is speaking to him, words coming from the mouth of the woman being killed, from the terrible sky, from the knife raised in the killer’s hand, words he can’t face.

  He takes hold of the fruit knife and rolls it around in his hand. He sees himself pressing the fruit knife’s blade against the ticklish flesh of his inner arm, cutting himself to make the words stop, to make Maria see, but he doesn’t. He says, “I’m not too bad, thanks.”

  She nods. “Have you eaten already?”

  “No, I just had a snack. The other half of that apple. I was hungry but I’m not now. Are you hungry?”

  “No. There’s food all day on the set. I had two breakfasts.” She laughs and rubs her stomach but he doesn’t react, so she says, “Nick, I’m sorry I was a bit late. It’s been frantic today like you wouldn’t believe. They had all these girls getting autographs from Marius. One of them turned up in her pyjamas — can you believe it! — and we told her she couldn’t have her photo taken with him looking like that and then she kicked off and we had to have her escorted away by security.”

  She puts her phone down on the table and reaches over and takes his cup of tea from the tray and slurps it down and holds the empty cup in her two hands and thinks, she’s ruined it now because she moved the cup.

  “It’s good,” she says, “your drawing. The apple’s great, and the knife’s amazing. Dead life-like.”

  “It’s not bad,” he says. “I was just waiting and thought I’d give it a go. It’s been a while.” He picks up a pencil and starts in on the drawing again. He’s bent right over it so she can’t see what he’s doing. After a moment, he says, “You don’t need to worry, you know,” but he doesn’t look at her. He keeps on at the drawing.

  “Okay. That’s good. I won’t worry then.” She might as well take a running jump at it. “But Nick, there’s something I need to talk to you about.”

  He puts his pencil down but still doesn’t look at her. “I know.”

  “You know? Nick, look at me, will you.” God, he makes her angry sometimes. “What do you know?”

  “About him.”

  She frowns. He knows about J-P’s offer? That she’s leaving? How can he know?

  “Your new boyfriend,” Nick says, “lover, whatever he is.”

  “My — ?” she can’t help but laugh — “I haven’t got a — a new boyfriend, Nick. Bloody chance’d be a fine thing.”

  “Don’t fucking take the piss with me Maria,” he says, facing up to her now.

  “Nick, look, I haven’t got anyone.” She puts her hands on his trembling hands. “You’re imagining things.” It’s dang
erous to say this to him.

  He pushes her away, pushes the drawing away. It slides off the table and falls to the floor.

  “I can’t be doing with this, Nick. It’s work, you know it is. Marius and J-P — ”

  “Oh, Marius and J-P, Marius and J-P. That’s all you can talk about these days. What the fuck kind of name is J-P anyway? Pretentious wanker.”

  Maria sighs. “God, will you listen to yourself?” His snarling at her only makes her stronger in the face of it. “Look, there’s something important I need to talk to you about, seriously. It’s about us.”

  “Us?” He gulps the word out. Does she want to get back with him?

  “Nick, I know you’ve had a tough year, it’s not been easy for either of us but something’s happened and I need to tell you about it. I’ve been offered a job. J-P’s offered me a job. As his personal assistant. It means moving to America. And I want to go. I’m going.” He looks totally dazed, but she can’t stop now. She already feels better. “I thought working at the Film Office was a dream come true but this, this is unreal, the best chance I’ll ever have. I’ve given in my notice this morning. They owe me some holiday so I’m leaving in three weeks — ”

  “Three — ?”

  “I’m sorry Nick. I’m really sorry.”

  “Three weeks? You’re leaving?”

  Maria nods.

  Nick shakes his head at her. “I don’t want you to.”

  “Nick, listen, I’ve decided.”

  “You won’t change your — ”

  “No, Nick. It’s settled.”

  “There’s nothing — ” He wants to put up more of a fight but he hasn’t the energy to even finish his sentence.

  Maria’s mobile lights up and vibrates across the table top, rattling the tea things. She reaches for her phone but Nick grabs at it, getting there first, and shouts “Fuck off!” into it before tossing it back down on the table.

  “Oh Nick, for Christ’s sake — ”

  “That was him,” he spits at her. “So he wants you to go to America with him does he? Will you live with him? Are you two fucking?”

  This is one of those times when he reminds her of Jimmy and she doesn’t know what to do, what to say, because she’s frightened of him. But she’s not going to be Sue, she’s not going to be his mum. She doesn’t owe him anything.

  “How many times do I have to — ? No, I’m not Nick. It’s work.”

  “I don’t believe you. Why can’t you tell me? Just be honest.”

  But she can’t tell him that of course she’s not sleeping with J-P because J-P is sleeping with Marius. She can’t say those words aloud because she’d risk losing everything if their secret came out and she doesn’t trust Nick not to tell people, or phone the papers, just to spite her, to ruin it all.

  It takes all her effort to say, “I am being honest with you. Look, Nick — ” and she stoops to pick up the drawing and sees the knife blade drawn there, so real that her fear simply vanishes, and she imagines herself as the steel blade of that knife in the drawing — cold and sharp and purposeful — “I need to leave you.” And she imagines then that she’s Jimmy, getting out of the car and going to the boot and taking the can of petrol and getting back in the car and unscrewing the lid and pouring it over himself and it’s awful but it took some real strength, what he did.

  “Please, Maria,” Nick says, his face desperate. “I can’t do it on my own. You have to stay and help me.”

  “I can’t, Nick. I can’t.” She takes his hands in hers again, but he turns away. “Listen, you don’t have to be on your own. There’s plenty of people who’ll help you but I can’t do it. I’ve tried, haven’t I? Maybe that’s the problem. I’m holding you back there, where you shouldn’t be. Every time you look at me you see all the terrible things that’ve ever happened to you, because I was there for every one of them, wasn’t I? If I leave then you can really start again.” She doesn’t think she believes this, but wishes it could be true.

  “But you weren’t there when Jimmy was in the car.”

  “I know, Nick, and God help me but I’m glad I wasn’t because imagining it is bad enough. Every time I see a fire — ”

  And Nick is looking at her like an excited boy, and says, “No, I mean before.”

  “Before? What do you mean, before?”

  This’ll change her mind, this telling her his big secret. Those other solid words have now begun to liquefy, are about to erupt. It’ll change the whole landscape. “I got to the car park before the fire.”

  “Jesus, Nick. What are you saying this for?”

  “Because it’s the truth, right! I saw Jimmy coming out the pub and I watched him stagger to the car and I thought, he’s not going to drive is he? He’ll kill himself. And I thought it would be okay if he died, that I’d like that, but then I thought that he might hurt someone else if he crashed and if he tries to drive away I’ll have to stop him. But he was just sat in the car, until I thought he’d gone to sleep, and I was shitting myself then because, if he was asleep, I’d have to knock on the window and wake him up and he’d batter me for it, but my mum had sent me to get him, so I had to. And I was just about to go over when he opened the car door and got out and went to the boot and took the can of petrol out and, d’you know what?” — Nick laughs, breathlessly — “I thought he was going to drink it. I thought he’d run out of money and was so desperate to get off his face that he was going to drink the petrol, and then we’d really be in for it when he got home. And I watched him get back in the driver’s seat, take the lid off the can and lift it up, and I thought, you dirty bastard, drinking fucking petrol. But he never. He held it over his head and poured it all over him until there was none left. And I knew. I knew what he was going to do, and I could have stopped him but I didn’t. I thought, Go on then you, do it if you’re going to do it. And I would have done it for him if he’d asked me because I hated him right then more than I’d ever hated him when he was beating me up, or beating my mum up, because he was a selfish fucking bastard to be doing that. But then I thought — she loves him, the stupid cow. She loves him more than she loves me because if she loved me more she’d have left him and taken me with her and wouldn’t let him do what he did to me. And I didn’t know what to do because I knew she’d be devastated, but why did she never stop him Maria?”

  “I don’t know, Nick,” is all Maria can say. “It wasn’t her fault, but I don’t know why.”

  “So I walked towards the car and stood there and I could see the door wasn’t locked and I could’ve opened the door and let the air out and stopped him taking the matches out. And it took him four goes Maria, four goes! Because his hands were shaking that much the matches kept breaking, and it was ages, and I didn’t do anything. I didn’t do anything. And then, when the fourth match lit, it was like a –— an explosion -— and I jumped back, but nothing happened to me, and I swear there was a bit when he was all on fire and had his hands on the steering wheel and that was all on fire too, when he turned to me and he looked like the fucking devil, and then I couldn’t see anything else because the windows had gone all black, and Jimmy was all burning, and that’s when I ran to the pub and hammered on the door. And I’ve ne — ne — ” his sobbing words echo around the café all the way up to the atrium above, and Maria can sense people looking at them, but she keeps tight hold of Nick’s hands and focuses on his face because that’s the most important thing right now — “never to-told, anyone before — not my mum, not Hartmann, and not even you, because I kno-know it was wrong and I should ha-have stopped him but I was frightened he-he’d take it out on me. Because I’d seen him pour the petrol on himself and then stopped him, like that was the worst thing I could do to him, have se-seen him like that, and I knew, I knew that he’d never let me off for saving him, and that every time he-he’d beat me up he’d see me there in the car park and that would just make it worse, make him hit me harder. So I let him bu-burn himself to death because I was scared of him living.”

&n
bsp; Nick buries his face in the backs of her hands that are holding his, and wipes his tears away with her hands and Maria rests her cheek on the crown of his head.

  “Shhh, Nick. It’s okay… Shhhhhh…”

  And he says, his face still buried in the back of her hands, “I’m just like him, d’you know that? I’m just like my dad.”

  “No you’re not, Nick, you’re nothing like him.”

  “I am. I’m a selfish fucking cunt who takes it out on other people. People they love.”

  “No, shhh…”

  “I never hit you though, did I, but I’m just as bad. Trapping you like Jimmy trapped me and mum. That’s why you moved out. And you were right to.”

  Her phone rings again. She needs to get back, to get away from this. “Nick, I’m sorry, but I really need to go.”

  He looks up, his confused face all wet and red. It’s not worked. “Go where?”

  She nearly says America, but instead she says, “I’ve got to be back at work. The schedule’s really tight and there isn’t the money. They need me.”

  “They need you? I need you.”

  “Yes, I know you do, but — ” Her phone is still ringing.

  And then it’s all so clear to him. “I ju- I just need to let the air out.”

  “What?”

  “The air. In the car. I mean — the picture.”

  “What picture?”

  “I couldn’t save him. But I can save her.”

  “Who Nick? I don’t understand — ”

  “In the picture.”

  “Nick, love, please, I’ve got no time for this. I’ve really got to go.”

  He stands up, takes a big gulp of breath. “Come up with me. It won’t take long. Come with me, Maria.”

  “Nick — ”

  “Please?”

  She looks at his face and this is the hardest thing she’s ever had to do, though it feels easy as soon she’s done it, which is to say, “No.”

  He flushes redder and shouts at her, “Fuck you then!” Pushes past her towards the main stairs.