Maker of Footprints

by Sheila Turner Johnston

  He raised his hands to the throbbing sky. An insect, a flower, the universe. He closed his eyes. And me.

  3

  DIANNE WOKE SLOWLY and turned her head. Paul was fast asleep, his hair spiked around his head. She ran her fingers through her own hair, remembering the night before. She had managed to lighten his mood again but it wasn’t the same somehow. He was changing, subtly yet surely, since they had come here. Something slid from her ear and fell onto the bed beside her. It was a daisy. She picked it up. It was soft and wilted. Odd. Where had that come from? She dropped it and swung her legs to the floor, feeling thirsty.

  Paul’s mobile phone was on the hall table. Had he noticed that she had dialled his number at lunchtime yesterday? He hadn’t mentioned it. Maybe she had hit the wrong number. She picked up the phone. With a quick glance up the stairs, she flicked to the record of missed calls. There were two. Her own name flashed onto the screen when she checked the first one. The other was a number with no name. She didn’t recognise it, although she did know the area code. The caller was from London. Some friend must have been trying to get him, but Paul hadn’t answered. She could check the last numbers called from the phone to see if he had returned the call later. She thought she heard a noise and set it down quickly. Another time.

  Now what on earth was she going to do today? Maybe Adam’s girlfriend – what was her name? The one with the awful hair – would meet her in town. If she was still a student, she probably had no money so she wouldn’t be great company, but it might be worth a try.

  Paul stirred and stretched. His nightmare about fast, swinging pendulums and grandfather clocks had come back in the night, cruel and frightening. With his eyes still shut, he put out a hand and discovered that Dianne had gone. He turned quickly to the clock, immediately pushed back the duvet and sat up. As he tossed the covers back, the daisy tumbled from a fold. He picked it up. It swung limp from his fingers.

  He crushed it in his fist and threw it across the room.

  Jenna was sitting on her kitchen floor. Her back was to the cupboard where the ironing board was kept and her hands, in yellow house gloves, dangled over her drawn-up knees. That’ll do it, she thought. It’s as clean as I’m going to make it. Any dirt that’s left can stay there till the next time. That was one thing about living on your own – there was nobody but you to do the cleaning. Jenna had shared this house with two other students for two years. One got a job in Derry. The other got married. If Jenna’s parents hadn’t bought the house, she wouldn’t still be here herself. Her tutors had persuaded her to stay on for another year to complete an MA. She wasn’t sure she wanted to, but it seemed the right thing to do at the time. Everybody said so.

  She pushed back her hair, forgetting that she was wearing a wet kitchen glove. That reminded her. She had a meeting with her tutor on Friday; she really had better do some work. She pulled off the gloves with a snap. Her laptop and notes were spread across the sitting room floor when the phone rang in the hall. It was her mother.

  “So what are you up to today?” she asked.

  “Trying to get down to some work. Mind you, I’ve just cleaned the kitchen. You’d be very impressed.”

  “Did you do the floor? Last time I was there, the floor needed a good wash. I’d have done it for you if Dad hadn’t been in such a rush.”

  “Yes, Mum, I did the floor.”

  “Did you put disinfectant in the water?”

  “Yes, I did. If smells could travel down wires, you’d smell it from there.”

  “So how’s Adam?”

  “Fine. He’s gone round to his brother’s to give him a hand with his garden. It’s a bit of a mess and Adam says he needs to dig it over and leave it for the winter frosts.”

  “Very sensible. He’s a great chap, Jenna.”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you say Adam’s brother – Peter? Patrick…?”

  “Paul.”

  “… took photos?”

  “I said he was a photographer.”

  Cora sounded thoughtful. “Hmm. I wonder would he take a family picture of the four of us? I was thinking. Luke’s going to go away to university soon. It’ll be harder to get us all together then. Maybe if Paul’s trying to set himself up here, he wouldn’t charge too much. We’d be giving him one of his first assignments after all.”

  For some reason, this irritated Jenna. “I don’t think he needs to be patronised. He’s good.”

  “Oh, I’m sure he’s good, Jenna. He’s Adam’s brother, after all.”

  Jenna didn’t quite understand that logic, but said patiently, “I’ll ask Adam to mention it to him, if you like.”

  Paul threw a stone the size of his fist across to the pile that was growing in a corner of the front garden. Adam straightened his back from his digging at the same moment. He felt the breeze of the stone as it skimmed his ear.

  “Hey, you lunatic! That nearly hit me.”

  “No chance. You were born under a lucky star.” Unconcerned, Paul rooted out a dandelion with a deep thrust of his spade. He took it by its leaves and smacked it on the ground, loosening the soil. “Look at that. I got the whole root without breaking it.”

  “Some lucky star. I got you for a brother.”

  Paul straightened and grinned at him. “Thought you’d got rid of me, I suppose.”

  Adam stamped on the fork, pushing it into the ground. As he heaved out a sod of earth and shook it through the prongs, he said, “Absence makes the heart grow fonder, don’t they say?”

  “Or out of sight out of mind?”

  Adam jabbed the fork into the tossed soil, wiped his brow and leaned on the handle. “More likely.”

  Paul threw down his spade. “That’s enough. Fancy a drink, piglet?”

  Adam raised a warning finger. “If you ever call me that in front of Jenna – or Dianne – I’ll kill you.”

  With a quick spring, Paul leapt over a clump of woody heathers onto the path by the front door. With a flick of each foot in turn, he sent his wellington boots flying before pushing open the door.

  Adam walked to the drive, cleaned the fork and propped it against the wall. Then he went back, lifted Paul’s spade from where it had been flung, knocked the soil off it and propped it beside the fork. He pulled his boots off and followed his brother.

  A can of Coke flew towards him as soon as he entered the lounge. It was within an inch of his chin before he caught it.

  “Are you still drinking this stuff?” he said.

  Paul was half-lying on the couch, already pulling the ring on his own can. He took a long gulp. “So. Is it serious with this one then?”

  “Jenna?”

  “I believe that’s the name of the current one, yes.”

  Adam sat down opposite him. “I don’t know.”

  Paul’s eyes narrowed. “Does she know about Rachel?”

  “Why should she?”

  “You still see Rachel every day. You work together. Must be hard.”

  “We’ve both moved on.”

  Paul shrugged. “So the engagement ring might get recycled then? If this one doesn’t ditch you too.”

  Adam pulled one foot across his knee. “No sign of it. She’s a nice girl.”

  “Nicer than all the others?”

  “Different from all the others.”

  “How?”

  Adam frowned as he tried to explain. “Nice, yes. Good, too. Straightforward.” He thought of the phrase Jenna herself had used. “With Jenna, what you see is what you get. She’s a bit…”

  He searched for a word.

  “Unsophisticated?” said Paul.

  “Well. Yes. I suppose so. Wouldn’t suit you at all.”

  Paul sat forward, his drink held loosely between his knees. “Why not?”

  “Well, Dianne’s a stunner. She could be a model, a movie star.”

  “Yes, she could, couldn’t she?”

  “Why on earth did she marry you?”

  Paul shrugged. “My charm, my gorgeous ears, gr
eat sex…”

  “Or maybe just for your modesty.”

  “Maybe.” Paul set the can at his feet and leaned back, putting his hands behind his head. “Rachel was a stunner, too.”

  “She still is.”

  “And you still notice.”

  Adam pulled at his sock. “As I said. We’ve moved on.”

  “And on and on and on. Jenna’s just the next attempt at a replacement, isn’t she? I’m sorry for her. She’s not the end of the line. Admit it.”

  “I’ve got time.”

  Paul’s eyes swivelled to his. “All you’ve got is today, piglet.”

  “Ha! I’m hearing things. Don’t tell me some of that theology’s still clinging on by its fingernails? I thought you’d ditched all that.”

  “You’re the one who’s going out with a minister’s daughter. Anyway, I thought you’d recognise plain common sense when it wandered past you.”

  “Paul, you never had an ounce of sense in your life. Mum used to say you were behind the door when sense was being given out.”

  Paul lifted his drink and took a deep draught. “If I was behind the door, you were under the bed, piglet.”

  “Don’t call me that!” Adam snapped. “We’re all grown up now, remember?”

  Paul’s eyes danced. “Speak for yourself, piglet.”

  Adam aimed a half-hearted kick in his direction, then became thoughtful. “I suppose catching a society girl like Dianne must have taken some talent. She can’t be finding it easy, so far from home and family.” When Paul didn’t reply, he prompted. “How’s she settling?”

  “Seems OK.”

  “‘Seems OK’? Haven’t you asked her?”

  “If she’s not, she’ll tell me.”

  “Had any rows yet?”

  “No, everything’s fine.”

  Adam stood up and dropped his can into the wastebasket. “You’re a lucky bastard. I’m going. Work tomorrow.”

  As Adam slipped his shoes on at the door, Paul gestured to the patch of garden. “Thanks. You have your uses.”

  Adam pulled out his car keys. “Count it as penance for breaking your Action Man on your sixth birthday.”

  “Oh no. For that you have to do the back garden as well.”

  “Get lost,” said Adam, walking down the drive.

  Jenna rested her hand on the table in Dianne’s house. Dianne had persuaded her to try some of her nail varnish. After a coffee in town they had come back on the bus and Jenna watched as more bottles and potions than she had ever seen in one place outside a shop, appeared on the table.

  “Right. A basic hand treatment.”

  “I have used nail varnish before…”

  “But not properly. I’ll show you how to do it properly. Remember, less is more if you don’t want to look like something out of one of those ghastly cheap magazines.”

  Jenna watched Dianne as she moved swiftly and confidently. What must it be like to look like that? Dianne sat with her knees slightly to one side, her blonde hair tucked behind one ear as she bent over Jenna’s fingers. Her nose was narrow and straight; her cheekbones were high and fine. Her pink fitted top emphasised the slimmest of waists.

  No wonder Paul was attracted to her, Jenna thought. She’s classy, just like him. They look good together, well matched.

  Jenna looked down at her own trainers, poking out from the ends of her faded denim jeans. She pulled her feet under the chair.

  “How’s Paul?” she asked.

  Dianne glanced up briefly. “Great. He probably won’t be back till tonight. Restless as always. Not too fussed about fixing up this house. Or finding a studio.”

  “Well, what’s a house anyway?” said Jenna. “Just a place to keep your stuff so that you can get on with living.”

  Dianne stopped momentarily and looked up. “Oh, a house is very important. It says so much about you.”

  Jenna shifted a little. “I dread to think what mine says about me. It’s a tip.”

  “I’m sure it says you’re a awfully nice person.” She crinkled her nose. “Adam must think so anyway.”

  “Adam tidies up when he’s at my house.”

  Dianne reached for a jar of cream. “He did a great job in our front garden. He was supposed to be helping Paul, but I think he did most of it!”

  “Yes, he likes gardening.”

  “You must have got the domesticated brother. I’ve got the wild one.”

  “I haven’t got him!”

  Dianne finished moisturising one hand and took the other one. She cocked her head.

  “Imagine. We might be sisters-in-law some day.”

  Jenna blushed. “Mum and Dad like him.”

  Dianne shook a pink bottle, eyebrows raised. “Oh, well. If mummy and daddy like him that’s all right then.”

  Jenna went quiet, trying to reach through her tone to what she might mean. She wasn’t sure she liked it.

  After a moment Dianne added: “Just so long as he makes your toes curl.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You know. That old black magic. Chemistry.” Her laughter was like a wind chime as she waved a hand. “Butterflies. Sex. Whatever!”

  Jenna let that one float before she asked: “So how long did you know Paul before you got married?”

  “Not very long. I was half seeing someone else at the time. We didn’t even live together.” She paused. “He proposed very suddenly. He can be romantic when he wants to be.”

  “And is he often?”

  She shrugged. “When he wants to be.” Her brow furrowed in thought. “He wanted to move back here just after his car accident. But now he’s here, he’s finding it hard to settle. It’s…” she shrugged a shoulder again “… changed things a bit.”

  “Car accident?”

  Dianne stopped and her hand flew to her mouth, the brush hovering above Jenna’s index finger. “God, I forgot! No one here knows about that. Paul was absolutely adamant that no one was to be told about it. He was afraid that his mother would hear. She was still getting over his father’s death.”

  Jenna liked Adam’s mother. She couldn’t quite think of her as Paul’s mother as well. “She still is. Was Paul hurt?”

  “Only bruising. He was very lucky. His car was side-swiped by a lorry on the M6. It came across his lane without seeing him. Peeled the whole side off the car, but stopped short of peeling Paul along with it.” She made a face. “It really upset me horribly. It was just a new car.”

  “He must have been very shocked.”

  Dianne started smoothing the brush along Jenna’s nail. “The ambulance took him to hospital. He said they scanned everything from his ear lobes to his big toe. But typical Paul, as soon as they said nothing was broken or leaking or whatever, he discharged himself.”

  Jenna examined her right hand. “I won’t say anything.”

  “Please don’t. It’s a big secret.”

  “What about the other guy?”

  “What other guy?”

  “You said you were half seeing someone else.”

  Dianne tossed her hair and didn’t reply for a moment. Her smile flashed briefly when she said, “He didn’t have a chance. Not after I’d met Paul.”

  “Didn’t you have to think about it?”

  Dianne stood up. “With Paul, you don’t think about things. You do them. And anyway,” she said, “he made my toes curl. He still does.” She stood up. “Now mind you don’t smudge that.” She scooped up the bottles and jars. “I want to show you some new shoes I got. I actually found a shop that had some decent ones.”

  On the way home, in the real world, in the noise of the newspaper sellers and buses and streams of people, in the damp darkening of an October evening, beneath the lines of muttering pigeons hunched on the high ledges above the city lights, Jenna swung her bag onto her shoulder and looked at her hands. They tingled. Nail varnish felt so cold as the brush stroked along the nail. And her nails were bright pink!

  She leaned on the side of the bus shelter, le
aving the narrow bench seat for the women with shopping bags and children with hockey sticks and schoolbags. Chemistry. That old black magic. She grinned, remembering Big Spotty McArthur who had dodged into the girls’ changing rooms and given her a huge wet kiss. As she recalled, her toes had stayed straight and she had to wash her face afterwards. And when, in her Fresher year at university, she had decided to let a fellow student practise his fledgling courting skills on her at a party, she had wanted to throw up.

  Adam didn’t make her want to throw up. But he didn’t make her toes curl either. He was comfortable, reassuring. He made her feel secure and safe. She chewed her lip as a bus came into sight through the grey evening. Everything was in shades of grey at the moment.

  She swung down the aisle and perched on the edge of a seat that was almost filled by a very wide man in an overcoat. Suddenly she felt depressed. Where is the magic for me? She fiddled with the fringes of her canvas bag and tried to think of one thing that she was enjoying, really enjoying, about life at the moment.

  4

  JENNA HAD RETREATED upstairs to the broad landing of the manse. Events like this reminded her of why she liked having her own house. Her mother was fussing in a rustle of beige.

  Her father was calmly reading in his study. Luke was shut in his room. But he had put on his jacket and navy trousers as requested. A tie had even been dragged from the back of a drawer. There was nothing to be done about the blond streaks in his hair – or the earring.

  The view from the landing window was of a long driveway down to the country road on which the manse stood, solid and grey. The village was out of sight to the left, across a river bridge.

  Jenna perched on the window ledge beside the geranium. It was a wonder from childhood that her mother’s geraniums never seemed to stop flowering. The red cap of flowers and the sharp scent of the leaves were two lasting evocations of the spirit of her home. The lawns – the bane of her father’s life – were fringed with shrubs and flowerbeds, now dormant in readiness for the coming winter. The pillars matched the stone of the house itself and supported iron gates that Jenna had never seen closed.