SEVEN DAYS

by Silence Welder

  “Me neither,” 'Mark' said, emphatically. “But imagine having to explain that to your friends back home.”

  On alighting, the twelve of them in their masks quickly drew a lot of attention, mostly frowns and wide berths. Strangely, Judy didn't mind their stares in the slightest. Normally, she'd have run for cover, but instead, she was rather enjoying the feeling of instant notoriety. She'd never been notorious.

  It was market day, so the old city was beautiful and full of the sound of chatter, reminding her of the French language audio tapes she had had to listen to at school before scraping through her exams. She was fairly confident that she could make herself understood.

  She could go to a bar and order a drink, she could ask for directions and if somebody was ill she would be able to get help. In France, you dialled 15 for an ambulance. She'd made sure to brush up on her basic French within 24 hours of receiving confirmation that she had made it onto the course.

  She recognised this street from the guidebook, even through the limiting eyeholes in her mask. This was indeed the old town. Looking up, she was able to see beautifully-sculpted stone buildings and large windows designed let in the light and save candles. Many of the shutters were closed, and while some might have thought that was because the buildings were empty, she knew that it was in fact to keep the inner rooms cool.

  Many of the buildings had square pigeonniers or dovecotes and very steeply-angled rooftops. She marvelled at her surroundings to such an extent that she had to be very careful to keep up with the group.

  The man in the mask—was he really Mark?—didn't so much lead them as simply walk ahead. Judy couldn't explain it, but she had the sensation that not one of them was in charge. They were a team, perhaps, except that a team implied that there was some common purpose or goal and she wasn't sure what that was yet.

  She had been expecting to have some mention of art other than being welcomed to the course. She had to admit that she was a bit unnerved by Andre and the masked man's insistence on referring to this week as a retreat, rather than a course. She wondered what she had got herself into.

  They passed new and old buildings, one after the other. The architects had made an effort to make the new buildings fit into the environment. They passed a pharmacy and an ancient library, a buzzing cafe and a tiny, dark ‘tabac’ with a television set hung high on the wall, burbling news into the street.

  Coming up on the right would be the church, she knew, and then the town hall. Somewhere nearby, they'd see the indoor market and the huge double doors that led to it, stretching up to the sky, a recreation of the massive, ancient doors that might once have kept out invaders, but were now lightweight and modern.

  Street vendors laughed at the twelve of them and attempted to make conversation. Bernard exchanged pleasantries in French, but nobody stopped for fear of losing the guy in front.

  Judy would have liked to have explored the town hall and taken a few pictures, but when they reached the main square the guy up ahead indicated a red, stone building that looked like a bar and in he went. The trail of masked figures ambled, shrugged and followed him inside.

  Although the front of the building was entirely open, it felt cool, as if they had stepped into a cave. Indeed, it was dark too. The walls had been painted a deeper shade of red than outside and where the stone was not red it was black or bare and sandy. A few tables stood around the room, covered with leaflets and flyers for cultural and artistic events.

  Okay, so at least they had got on the correct minibus after all.

  A young woman stood behind one of the tables and offered them all glasses of water or wine. She also provided straws, so they could drink without removing their masks, which made them laugh.

  As she handed out drinks, she said something in French that Judy wasn't quite proficient enough to catch. She was unflustered though, the plastic barrier of the mask saving her from embarrassment.

  Bernard said: “I asked her if we're here to rob a bank and she said she doesn't know any more than we do.”

  While the others talked among themselves and swayed from one foot to the other, Judy enjoyed the simple fact that she was far, far from home. Mentally she felt further away than she was physically.

  When her mobile phone vibrated in her handbag, the illusion of distance disappeared. She wasn't hours away at all. She was seconds from work. A few hours ago, she was jumping at the chance to check her messages and to see if there was a message from Lisa, Mark, Peter or work. Now she felt embarrassed and annoyed by the phone, as if it had timed its vibration deliberately to ruin her mood.

  She considered depositing the device into a bin, but that wouldn't do her any good, because then she would spend the entire time wondering if someone had called and left a message. Maybe someone would need her to dial 15 for them. Maybe the office would need her to come home and do some filing.

  I'm going to ignore it, she told herself. I'm not going to look. I'm not going to look.

  She felt herself flush with anxiety, but of course nobody noticed, because she was masked. She took a few deep breaths and returned her attention to the room only to find that the instructor was watching her. She gazed back, openly, protected by her plastic face, or so she thought.

  There was movement all around, speech in French and in English, and laughter uniting the two, but neither Judy nor the masked man spoke and neither of them moved. She felt an incredible connection with him, which was inexplicable, because she couldn't see his face, couldn't really see his eyes either. She could feel his eyes on her though.

  She felt as if everything in the universe had disappeared as far as he was concerned, everything was gone except for her, and that suited him just fine.

  In that moment, she was desperate to see the face of the man who had trapped her so expertly, so publicly.

  He didn't move until Andre clicked his fingers in his face and he recovered himself.

  He shook his head, returning to the room as if from a great distance.

  “Gather ‘round,” he called eventually. “Upstairs is a very exclusive venue. I've managed to get us in for dinner and drinks. Even I don't know quite how I've done that. Before we enter, I'd like us to share a minute's silence. Everyone hold hands.”

  “Seriously?” Bernard said.

  Judy walked directly to the instructor and took one of his hands.

  He was cool and soft and his fingers squeezed hers in response to the contact. It was not the touch she expected from a stranger. This hand was not unknown to her.

  His fingers propelled her back to those precious minutes of being led from room to room and exhibit to exhibit. She didn't need to see his face any longer to be certain that it was Mark holding her hand, but how could it be? What was he doing here?

  Her initiative prompted the rest of the group to follow suit and soon they were all holding hands, laughing, grumbling or silent. Judy noted that the rock chick was holding Mark's other hand. She wondered jealously if she was receiving the same gently squeeze as her.

  “Are we praying?” asked Bernard. “Can I pray for this to be over?”

  Despite the initial reluctance from Bernard and some other members of the group, after a couple of minutes of silence there was an incredible feeling of energy in the room and it was coming from the eleven of them. For the first time, Judy felt as though she was a true part of the group. Even the rock chick had her head bowed, her raven black hair falling over her facemask, giving herself over to the group experience.

  Music and laughter filtered down the stairs and through the ceiling. More chatting in French. A radio. And a chef giving instructions. The bass rumble of Andre's voice, telling people to relax and that Mark would be up soon.

  The exchange didn't make Judy feel anxious. Instead, she felt special.

  Let them wait, she thought. This is incredible.

  She looked around and saw that each of them had their own posture. Some stood as if mourning the passing of a loved one while others appeared to be taking st
rength before leaping out of an aeroplane. Later, Mark would tell them that they were doing both of those things.

  He seemed to know the exact moment to end the session and did so with a light squeeze of Judy's hand before releasing her.

  She felt bereft. She wanted to cry out for him to come back, to hold her again, only to take her by the waist this time.

  There were sighs and embarrassed laughter when the others released each other. As Mark ushered them upstairs, a few people lingered, not wanting the moment to end. Judy didn't want to leave the room either, but she didn't want to lose sight of Mark.

  At the top of the stairs, however, he managed to evade her again, having been grabbed by Andre, muscles bulging, and dragged off towards the kitchen.

  Guests in the bar/restaurant were amused by the newcomers and welcomed them as if they were guests of honour. Bernard went straight to the bar and ordered drinks for himself and whoever else needs one as much as him.

  The venue might have been described as Gothic. Rock chick was the only person who looked right at home. Like the space below, the walls were red and black, with spotlights set into the floor and ceiling at strategic points to create an almost mystical ambience.

  A few drinks got everyone into a relaxed, party spirit and there was a lot of laughter and sharing of histories and experiences, and motivations for being on this course. Of course everybody wanted to create, but everybody also seemed to be looking for a change. In one way or another, whatever they were doing wasn't working and they hoped to find a new path through life, to reinvent themselves, find themselves.

  Later, Judy spotted Mark moving around the room, encouraging people to share their stories, the more personal the better, always with a half smile on his face so one couldn’t be certain whether he was joking or not. She overheard him saying that he wanted them to get to the heart of things, reminding them that they had done small talk on the bus and now it was time for playing with ideas.

  Accordingly, they shared openly and Judy found that in fact there was little need for more alcohol to loosen up. Her mask made her feel impervious to embarrassment. It was a beautiful, liberating experience. To talk honestly and openly and to not be afraid.

  The feeling lasted until Mark made his way over to her and she broke away from the small group she was with in order to collar him.

  “You've made me wait long enough,” she said. “Mark fucking Nightingale.”

  “We meet again,” he whispered.

  “Why didn't you tell me you were running this course?”

  “I'm done with explaining myself to you,” he said, surprising her. “The first time, you walked out on me. The second time, you left me standing on your doorstep. The third time, you threw me out.”

  “I didn't throw you,” she said. “I would have called you but I don't have your number.”

  “You didn't allow me time to give it to you.”

  “True,” she admitted. “I'm sorry.”

  “Me too,” he said.

  “Guilt trip over?”

  “Not even close.”

  “You’re going to make me pay?”

  “Damn right.”

  “And when I’ve paid, what do I get?”

  She licked her lips behind the mask and he saw the gesture through the mouth hole. It elicited a smile from him that was pronounced enough to move his mask. It looked as if he couldn’t stay mad at her for long. Perhaps he wanted her as much as she wanted him.

  “What else do you have in store for me?” Judy asked.

  “You'll see.”

  “One question, your Masked Magnificence,” said Judy. The alcohol had gone to her head. Her mask made her fearless.

  “I don't like the way you say that,” Mark said. “Almost as if it was an ironic title. But go on, ask.”

  “Were you on the judging panel? It's down to you that I'm here right?”

  “Yes, I was on the judging panel,” Mark said. “If you'd read the application form properly you'd have seen my name on it. Mark. Nightingale. Just like I told you.”

  “Yeah, I already apologised for that. What I want to know now is what you thought of my application?”

  “You're here, aren't you?”

  “My application was nonsense,” she said. “Having met me, you would have known that. When I wasn’t lying I was exaggerating.” She thought of him removing her self-portrait from the envelope and wondering what the hell it was. His reaction must have been a mix of bewilderment and amusement.

  “Everybody exaggerates on their application,” Mark said. “It’s my job to read between the lines.”

  “You got me into the retreat because you feel sorry for me,” Judy said. “How’s that for reading between the lines?”

  “Are you on crack?” Mark asked her.

  “No,” Judy said. “I just don't need your pity.”

  “No,” Mark agreed. “You need your head examined. Don't drink any more. You'll regret it.”

  “I already have regrets,” Judy said. “I wish I hadn’t come.”

  Her words almost felled him.

  He leaned forward to look at her closely. Judy wanted to slap the stupid mask from his face. Couldn't they take them off for a few minutes so they could have a sensible conversation?

  Mark said: “Maybe the mask wasn't a good idea for you after all. Where did you go, Judy?”

  “You don't know me as well as you think you do,” she said.

  “I need a chance,” Mark said.

  “You know what?” she said. “I'm starting to think that you arranged all of this. The gallery, the keys, getting me on the course. You planted that flyer. You knew we were going to end up here like this.”

  He was silent for some time and she thought that she had caught him out, but in fact he was laughing at her.

  “All these defences,” he said. “Let them go.”

  “Stop laughing.”

  “Life is complicated,” he admitted. “And so are you.”

  “I'm not interested in your observations,” Judy told him.

  “That's a shame,” Mark said, “because I'm your tutor for the week. You're paying me for my observations.”

  “That is a shame, because there's nothing someone like you can teach me.”

  “Yeah, there is,” Mark said.

  “What?” Judy said, defiant.

  “When to admit that you're wrong,” Mark said. “And when to walk away.”

  With that, he walked away.

  She felt humiliated and unsatisfied. That hadn't gone the way she had thought it would at all. She'd been looking forward to talking to him all evening, but her mouth had got in the way.

  Before she knew it, she ended up at the bar. She pointed to the bottle of absinthe, insisting in no uncertain terms that the barman serve her and keep them coming. The guy behind the bar seemed to respect the people in masks. They always got served first, even if all they did was point and mispronounce the names of things.

  This was how she ended up drinking more than she ate. It was not long before she was sitting on a stool and holding onto the bar as though it was moving.

  Behind her, the evening's entertainment continued with an impromptu karaoke set.

  “Oh God, I hate karaoke,” she said to no-one in particular. Nobody was listening. The group, of which she was clearly no longer a part, was having a great time. Even Bernard was laughing and was ultimately dragged up onto a makeshift stage to sing “My Way”, which he did with great gusto, receiving a standing ovation.

  Standing proved difficult for Judy, but she slid unsteadily from her stool when she saw Mark slipping away from the party and heading downstairs.

  She practically chased him down, clomping unsteadily away from the bar, giving the dance floor a wide berth and then pursuing him on the stairs.

  In the open space below, a cool breeze blew in from the open side. The area was unmanned. Thinking that he was alone, Mark went behind the counter and into what appeared to be a cloakroom.

  Judy
slid in after him.

  He was just standing there. He didn’t appear to be looking for a jacket or anything.

  “I’ve decided that—” she managed to say before he turned and shhed her.

  “Stop talking,” he whispered. He placed his hands on her shoulders, turned her and guided her backwards, deeper into the cloakroom. Moving backwards was quite a challenge and she bumped into rows of jackets and coats either side of her, making the hangers rattle.

  When they reached the back wall, he pushed her up against it and then raised her mask halfway over her face. She gasped and was relieved that he didn’t remove it completely. She’d been wearing it all evening and was more attached to it than she realised. She was attached to the sense of daring it engendered in her.

  He moved her mask enough to reveal her lips, which were wet and trembling and ready not only to be kissed now but to kiss.

  “Take off your mask,” she told him.

  He shook his head, but did the same as he had done for her, lifting it a few inches to reveal his mouth.

  Their masks touched and clacked as their mouths pressed against each other. They both laughed, but they didn’t part. His hands were firm on her body, pinning her. Her fingers scratched at his waist and his chest, pulling him, tearing at him, in a frenzy to be nearer to him.

  Above, the music continued blasting. Deep bass thrummed and vibrated the ceiling above them.

  “Yes,” Judy said when Mark reached between her legs. He could be so subtle, but he was in no mood for games or delay and neither was she.

  She hitched up her long skirt so he could put his hands against her skin. He shoved his hand into her knickers and felt her warmth and wetness. She grabbed his wrist and held him there, dictated the timing of his fingers.

  There were footsteps outside. Without a word, they sank to the ground, still kissing, but gently now, sensitive to each other’s movements. He undid Judy’s remaining buttons and kissed her breasts.

  She was frightened to discover how much she had missed him. There was nothing in the world that compared to this. As much as she sought intellectual stimulation, it was so much the better when it culminated in Mark’s body against hers. As much as she was able to entertain, amuse and even pleasure herself, her body and mind paled in significance compared to the power Mark held over her.