by Jessop, K. L
“Not going how you’d like?” Anita asks as she comes into my painting room with our house cat Chips—a big furry ball of ginger stripes that she treats like a child. Sitting herself down on the floor, Anita crosses her legs, her dark hair is up in two messy buns on either side of her head, and she places Chips on her lap. My painting room is my second home within the four walls that I live. I spend hours in here creating and getting lost in my work where everyday life is either put on hold or forgotten about. I don’t know how many times I’ve entered this room on a morning not realising its turned into evening until Anita has come in with food, reminding me I need to eat.
Dragging my hand through my hair, I sit down opposite her, mimicking her position. “No.” I sigh. “I can’t do what I’m wanting to do, and I don’t know why.”
“What do you want to do?”
“I want it to have more of a dynamic effect but every time I add the green it just looks wrong. Maybe I need to try more of an ochre.” I look up at my squared canvas painting on the easel trying to analyse my next move on how to improve it. It’s meant to be finished by the end of next week ready for an online auction for a charity event in aid of young adults with mental health. I sell the majority of my paintings through my website and also do pieces for charity auctions too. Anita keeps trying to encourage me to approach galleries to showcase my work, but this doesn’t sit well with me. Not because I don’t want people to see my work—they already do through the web—but even though my work and web are under an alias, so no one would know it’s me, I’m just not keen on the idea of being in the public eye and being exposed.
“You can’t concentrate because you have things on your mind. It’s always the same when you’re due to see your parents. I’ve noticed that over time.”
“Nita, my parents don’t make me anxious.”
“No but the overall situation does. I know you well, Everly.”
She’s got a point. I’ve lived with Anita for the last ten years and we’ve kind of got to know each other’s ways. After Mum and Dad bought me this studio flat, overlooking the boating harbour in Milford Haven, Anita was the first and last person to walk through the door when I mentioned I wanted to advertise for a roommate in the local shop where she worked, and we’ve been best friends ever since. There is not a thing she doesn’t know about me, which is why she knows about my stress levels when going to visit my parents. When I left Keswick, all that time ago, I was in the darkest of places, and I had no idea where my life would take me or where I would end up. I just knew I had to leave, no matter how much it broke my heart in the process. Wales has always had a little connection to our family as my mother’s cousin married a strapping welshman. We often used to visit when I was a child, so I ended up here. Turning up on Mary-Lynn’s doorstep with a suitcase and a broken heart was all it took for her to take me in. Anita, at the time, was Mary-Lynn’s assistant working in her corner shop. She is one woman who deserves a medal after the crap I’ve put her through over the years. Milford Haven has single-handedly put my life back on track. Eventually, I got a little cleaning job, preparing the guesthouses for the holiday tourists that came to stay. It was suitable enough to keep the money coming in and to build my confidence. Then, I slowly began to find my love for art again because that, too, was taken when I dropped out of uni after leaving. So, after my world fell apart, I stopped doing what I loved altogether. It wasn’t until I came here that that creativity arrived in the form of abstract painting. It first started after my therapist said I needed a hobby and that I should maybe channel that into the art I always loved. After coming across Mauricio Paz Viola’s work, abstract art with my own contemporary twist became my lifeline.
Painting makes my days a little lighter; it helps me breathe and gives me hope. However, it doesn’t stop the dark days I still face and have faced ever since I came here.
“How is your dad doing?” Anita asks, looking at me with those apologetic eyes. She knows I hate talking about this subject, yet she’s forever pushing me to open my mouth because she believes it will help with my on-going, never-ending recovery.
Focusing on my paint-covered clothes, I swallow down the ball of emotion that always forms whenever this topic is brought up. “As well as a man who’s constantly being pumped with Chemo can be. I honestly don’t know where he gets his strength from.” Dad was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer a little over a year ago and it turned our lives upside down, just when things in my own life looked like they where starting to finally settle. After having an operation to remove the infected area, he underwent months of chemotherapy and things looked like they were improving, until they discovered it had spread to his liver a few months ago. Life has been tough on all of us, but the strain of my dad’s illness is gradually pulling me down. I can’t bear the thought of losing him, and it hurts like hell that I can’t be by his side as much as I want to be.
“His strength comes from the love of his family. He’s a strong man.”
“Meanwhile, I’m a wreck at the thought of going to see him.” I swallow the lump in my throat as I think about my last visit and how incredibly weak he had become in a matter of weeks. Each time I go, there’s another piece of his spirit gone. “I just get this bad feeling every time I see him, and what’s worse is that I think they are hiding something from me.”
“Maybe they are.” She says so matter-of-factly but looking at me with concern as she strokes Chips.
“How do you mean?”
“Ev, you may think that they haven’t noticed you’ve stopped seeing your therapist, but they have. Your mum told me so on the phone the other day. I didn’t confirm or deny anything of course, but I know they are worried.”
“My brain can’t cope with battering the two right now. And before you say it, I know it may help talking about my dad but I don’t want to go to clinic and bring him into the battles of my past. I just can’t do it.”
“And I understand that, but they don’t. Why not just tell them what you’ve told me instead of telling them everything is fine?”
“Because it’s easier said than done. I can’t put any more stress on them.” Since leaving Keswick life has been hard. Being without Adam has been nothing but a dark, agonising struggle, and I wouldn’t have got through it if it weren’t for my parents or Anita. There’s not a day that goes by where I don’t hate myself for what I did to him and the pain I know I’ve caused, but when you’re put in a position that is so horrifically terrifying, you will do anything to protect those you love. After those twelve weeks following New Year’s Eve, I left without even saying goodbye because I was left with no choice. I left with tears streaming down my face, my heart ripped in two and a body that didn’t belong to me anymore. I turned my back on the one person I swore I’d be with forever and the man I loved—still love—with every ounce of strength I have inside of me. I left because of one man and his vile hands and threats and how he had torn my world apart within minutes and then came back for more, again and again and again. In the weeks leading up to when I ran, Jamie raped me fourteen times. His power, strength, manipulation and lies had me riddled with fear and silenced me from speaking out, and in that time my world slowly fell apart. The man I loved was pushed away with it. Jamie threatened to hurt Adam if I spoke out. He had proven to me over that period of time that he was capable of anything and didn’t care who got in his way in the process, and even though I was going through my own turmoil, I couldn’t bear the thought of the man I loved being hurt to the point I would lose him forever. So, to spare Adam of any form of pain from his step-brother, I did the only thing I thought was right. In order to protect my heart, I broke his. I thought it would give me some kind of comfort knowing that he was still breathing, but it didn’t. I thought it would help me heal, but it hasn’t. The rawness I feel is excruciating, and although I left and broke his heart, what he doesn't know is that it broke mine too. Life became unbearably hard in those weeks, but my true struggle was with what happened after I left and still
now, after all this time, I’m trying to find myself again.
“Look, why don’t we call it a day and head out for something to eat?” Anita says with a smile.
“I can’t. I’m on a deadline to finish this piece and I’m struggling with it already.”
“Which is why you need a break. You’ve been in this room day and night for the last three days. Come out.”
I screw my face up trying to get out of her request. “I’ve not washed my hair in days.”
“No one will care.”
“I care. Besides, I don’t think I fancy going out tonight.”
She scowls at me because it’s the third time I’ve said this in the past month. For me, going out isn’t as easy as it is for her. I don’t like being on edge. I don’t like sitting and chatting to guys like she does because I’m always wondering what they are thinking. The way their eyes scan my body makes the panic rush through my veins, and what I hate the most is that even though deep down I know that not all men are the same, he’s put that much fear inside of me that I still believe they are. “Fine. I’ll order in food but that means we now have a night in with Zac Efron. The Lucky One is on TV and I want to ogle over a pretty boy.”
I raise my brows at her choice in man candy. “I didn’t think you where into Efron.”
“I’m not, but needs must when I’ve watched everything Chris Pratt has starred in.”
I chuckle. I think I’ve watched every movie he’s been in, too. If we’ve not watched them once we’ve watched them a thousand times. Her obsession is ridiculous even though I can see her point. The man is certainly easy on the eye. “Hemsworth is better.”
“Which one? Chris or Liam?”
“Both obviously.”
She thinks for a moment before raising a brow. “True. Why have one when you can have one either side.”
“You’re crazy.”
“And that’s why you think I’m fabulous.” She gets up from the floor and throws a clean painting cloth at my face. “Now, I’m not taking no for an answer. Get moving. I want your painted arse on that sofa in ten minutes with a full wine glass in your hand.”
“But I just need to finish—”
“No, you don’t. You need a break and some chill-time. The painting will still be there tomorrow.”
“Don’t I get a say in this?”
She pokes her head back around the doorframe and grins. “No, because while you weren’t looking, I’ve stolen your paint brush.”
Looking to the floor and finding it gone, I look back at Anita who is currently waving it in her hand. “Oh, you are such a cow at times.”
“And your life would be boring without me. Now chop-chop.”
And just like that she skips her way down the hall leaving me laughing to myself. She’s right though: my life would be boring without her. But not only would it be boring, it would be non-existent.
7
Adam
The continuous snap of the camera shutter fills the silent air and I grin with what I can already see through the lens. "Get in, you fucking little beaut," I whisper as the red deer up ahead lifts his head and seals my line of sight with its narrow face, big chocolate eyes and antlers so beautifully formed it's like they've been man-made. He truly is a magnificent stag. I've been coming down to the wood on the other side of the lake for the past few months trying to capture these beautiful wild animals everyone takes for granted.
"Look at that, Bailey," I say quietly as I show my dog the deer on the camera screen. Bailey tilts his head to the side as if he's inspecting the image and looks back at me. "Isn't he magnificent?" I turn the camera back to me. “Just a few more shots and we’ll be out of here. You ok with that?” I wince when he barks in response because he's just given the game away that he's with me and the next thing I hear is the gallop of deer hooves heading further into the wood. I look at Bailey and raise a brow. "Well thanks for voicing your opinion—you've just scared them off." He whines apologetically as he paws at my arm. With a quick check of my watch, I see it’s almost nine in the morning. It’s surprises me just how long we’ve been out here, and as if my stomach has heard my thoughts, it grumbles deeply. We left the house hours ago when all you could hear in the still of the air was the birds’ dawn chorus and all you could see was the light morning mist that gathered over the lake. Now the sun is up fully, and the sighting of the deer will be minimal until dusk. That’s what I love about my job. It’s just me and my camera—and occasionally Bailey—getting lost in my own world where time stands still, where you’re in your own bubble of tranquillity and everything else just carries on around you. Looking back at Bailey, I ruffle his fur. "Wanna go get breakfast?"
He barks in affirmation and I start to pack up my camera equipment. “Alright, let’s go find Mac.”
As I head back through the wood towards the dock of the lake, I throw Bailey his ball out in front for him to chase. I've had him—my golden retriever—for five years now and he's become the best friend and photography partner ever. He came into my life when the students I was teaching went to a new rescue centre to photograph and do a feature on the dogs as it had not long opened. He was the first pup I saw, and his story of being abandoned on the roadside going without proper food and water for weeks tugged at my heart. From that moment, we connected like we’d known each other for years. According to the guys in the centre, after I left that day, Bailey wouldn’t stop whining. It was like he was lost, and I too felt out of sorts when I got home to an empty house. Three days later, he was making himself at home in my house and hasn’t left my side since. He’s a great companion to have around. Most dogs would chase the wildlife off and cause havoc when I was trying to set up a shoot, but with Bailey it's completely different. I've never known a dog willing to do a stakeout and wait quietly for hours on end like he does while I wait for what I need to capture.
"Atta boy." I praise him as he comes back with his ball for me to throw back out again. I head down towards Derwentwater—the other side of the lake to where I live—and I whistle to Bailey, signalling him my whereabouts and ordering him to come and board the boat that’s waiting to cross the water. As I jump on, I look back and laugh when I spot him running towards me with both the ball and a large stick in his mouth. It’s more of a branch by the size of it and I’m surprised he’s managed to pick up both and run through the wood with it. “No.” I say in a firm voice whilst shaking my head. “Put it down.” He does as he’s told but then sits down. His back is dead straight, and head held high as if I should be impressed with his findings. “Bailey, it’s too big. Come on, get the ball and get on the boat.” He instantly makes me feel guilty with those puppy dog eyes, a little whine of sorrow and a tilt of his head. It’s like when he’s not on photography duty he just wants to play. “Couldn’t you have found a smaller one?” He raises his paw in a pleading motion and I cave.
Damn my love for this dog.
“Fine. Pick them both up.” With that he’s on the boat with me, dropping his toys and licking me like crazy as we head back across the water. I gave up my job on the docks years ago after life got unbearable.
I gave up everything.
I drank my nights away, trying to find the answers at the bottom of a whiskey bottle. My Uni work slipped, and my low grades were noticed. Once the end of the year arrived, for the first time in a long time, I took my mum’s advice and took a gap year to try and get my shit together.
Now, I’m working hard and I have my own boat I take out. However, when I’m out with Bailey and my camera equipment, it’s easier and less of a hassle to take the lake boat.
“Well look who we have here,” Mac says as we head up the shore towards the lakeside café. Bailey spins in circles with excitement as he greets him. “You crazy pup bringing home too big a toy again?”
“I swear he finds a bigger stick each time we head out. I’m surprised he’s not tried to dig up a tree yet.”
“There’s always time.” He laughs. “Coffee and a full Englis
h, Adam?”
“Please.” I place my camera equipment down and sit on the picnic bench outside of Mac’s café as he shouts my order into the guys inside. The June weather is forever getting hotter each day and the colours of the trees on the hilltops are more vibrant than I can remember. The harsh winter last year had Keswick looking bleaker than ever before, so it feels so good now when I look out across the water and see colour on the hill horizon.
“Whatcha capture today? Anything worth selling?” Mac asks as he comes down to sit opposite me on the bench, his thin frame now supported by a walking stick due to his stroke two years ago and the white beard hugging his chin like it has ever since I’ve known him. We first met back when I was in a dark place, drinking myself into a deathly coma because life didn’t seem worth living. Mac was the one who found me slumped over in a blood bath because I’d got into a fight with my step-brother. I’d tried so hard to control my feelings at the way Jamie had been behaving. I’d hated the fact that each day, more and more people had been starting to talk about him and my mother’s name was being dragged into the mix of his behaviours. The night Mac found me was the night I cracked and everything that was suffocating me became too much, and after voicing my opinion and once again telling him I wanted nothing more to do with him, Jamie beat me shitless and left me for dead. Months later, he was sent to prison for car theft and the Grievous Bodily Harm he’d inflicted on me. I wasn’t going to let him get away with the damage he caused people anymore. It was a massive risk to take, and at the time I believed my actions were the reason Sam divorced Mum, but I knew it was the right thing to do.
“I need to load them onto the laptop to be sure, but I’ve got a few cracking pictures of the stag.”
“That big old beast?” Mac says with wide excited eyes.
