With her arms round her drawn up knees, she waited in the dark. Even so, the chime of an incoming message made her jump. It was just one word, “Miaow!”
She chuckled, not too loud. She lay down again and closed her eyes. Through the twilight of half sleep, a thought floated into her unwary head. She had told a lie since she had come home today. Her eyes opened on the dark as she realised how easy it was to lie, if you really wanted to.
The melodious notes of her mobile on the bedside table made Dianne stir under the warm covers of the bed. She turned over and squinted at her watch. Half past seven. The middle of the night! Surely civilisation didn’t surface until lunchtime, especially at the New Year? She fumbled for her phone and checked the number calling. Immediately she swung herself upright at the edge of the bed.
“Hello, Paul. Nice to hear from you. At last.”
“Hi. How’s things?”
The timbre of his voice was so clear, so memorable even now. “As well as they can be.” Frost was all he deserved. She waited a moment then asked, “You got home all right then? I had to assume so.”
“You could have checked.”
“You could have let me know.”
“What day do you want picked up at the airport?”
“Tuesday. The day we were both supposed to be going back, remember.”
“Ok. See you then. Have fun.”
“You don’t mind if I do?” she said, half mocking.
“Dianne, I really want you to have a good time.”
“Then I will.”
She hung up and put her hands over her face. Oh, God, it wasn’t supposed to be like this. His voice, his lovely voice in her ear and she was being a shrew. But he drove her to it. He had asked nothing about what she was doing, who she was seeing. He hadn’t said, “I miss you.” All he seemed to need were his camera and his guitar. There was a rustle in the bed behind her. A hand on her shoulder pulled her backwards.
“Come here,” said Luther, “and I’ll make you forget him all over again.”
Luther had extricated an arm and phoned room service. Dianne arranged her silk robe in graceful folds as she sat at the table by the window and peeled a peach slowly. There was triumph on Luther’s face as he lounged against the window, only a towel round his waist.
“So do you take it all back?”
She waved her knife. “I never take anything back.”
He came up behind her and gripped her head, pulling it back against him. “But I do. I take back what’s mine.”
Her smile was confident. She was back in a game she knew. Luther let her go, lifted the lid of the platter on the trolley and inhaled the smell of bacon.
“So what did you think of the gallery? Really?” he asked.
He had brought her to see it yesterday, New Year’s Day, opening it up specially to give her an exclusive tour. She licked her fingers, flicking her tongue out slowly, teasing.
“I think you’ve got something. Can you invite the right people? Ambassadors, the aristocracy, a few big literary names?”
“I’ve got them already. It’s all about contacts. Your father has helped.”
“He always liked you.”
Luther loaded his plate and brought it to the table. “I’ve a proposition.”
She arched her eyebrows. “Another one?”
His pale lashes swept across his eyes as he grinned. “A different one. I need someone with class and experience to run the gallery with me.” He chewed a mushroom slowly. “Someone like you.”
Her knife hovered over the remaining piece of peach. “Are you offering me a job?”
He set down his fork and leaned back. “I’m offering you a partnership.”
The peach was cold in her hand, slippery. A minute passed. “Luther, I don’t live here at the moment.”
He regarded her steadily and then picked up his fork again. “Pity.” He cut a sausage and paused, fork hovering at his mouth. “What time’s your plane on Tuesday? I’ll run you to the airport.”
Delicately, she set the peach slice on her plate and stood up. She went to the bathroom and took a long, slow shower. When she emerged, her hair was damp-darkened to deep honey and the silk robe clung to her scented body. Luther was dressed and sitting at the window. His legs were crossed and he was flicking through the pages of a magazine. He didn’t look up. Dianne came to the table beside him and lifted the peach slice. She walked to the window and looked out.
“How long,” she asked casually, her back to him, “would the offer be open?”
He turned a page and scanned it idly. “I’ll give you till Easter.”
He turned a few more pages then threw the magazine aside. “Now get dressed. It’s time we left.”
“Are you ordering me about?”
“I always did.” He glanced round and she saw the pain flicker behind his eyes again as he asked, “Does he?”
Dianne came and bent over him. She popped the peach into his mouth.
“Mind your own business.”
19
THE NEW YEAR sputtered into life like a badly driven car. To Jenna, everything seemed out of joint. None of the pieces were where they should be. She tried to work, answered e-mails from friends. Mostly they were doing interesting things, earning money, even getting married. One had moved out of her boyfriend’s flat and swore to Jenna that all men are cheats and liars. Jenna thought for a bit before answering. “Maybe not all of them,” she typed. An answer came back within minutes. “Yes, all of them. Get out of that library, Professor. What planet are you on?”
That was a good question. Jenna slumped back in her chair. After that long day with Paul, depression and pointlessness still hung over her, but now a discontent ruffled its edges. She was scared, scared of being nobody, scared of wasting her life the way so often she wasted a day. The knowledge of it had been prised out of hiding by Paul, his mind dissecting her like a scalpel, exploring parts that she did not know were within her.
On the first Saturday of the year, she closed her computer, shut her books and agreed to go for a walk with Adam in the Botanic Gardens in the south of the city. The paths were thick with leaves and a groundsman rattled his cart to a stop and pulled off his brush to scrape the crisp brown heaps onto his shovel. There were very few people on the paths between the grass and trees; only students trudging through on their way to and from the Sports Centre, bags hefted on their backs.
Jenna was aware that this conversation had to take place yet she felt an inability to raise herself to the emotional challenge that it presented. Almost, she would rather have been struggling with the complexities of her latest assignment. She watched a magpie on a flowerbed, tossing twigs and leaves aside as it walked amongst the dormant undergrowth.
This walk was totally unlike any other that she had taken with Adam. She did not touch him and he did not try to touch her. They walked like two chance acquaintances, apart and alone, though side by side. Adam kept his hands deep in the pockets of his blue anorak. There was a broad white stripe running the length of the outside of each sleeve. She had been with him when he bought it. It was one of the first things they had bought together.
Jenna pushed her hair from her eyes. There was just a little wind, nothing like the boisterous exhilaration of an Atlantic beach in winter. She glanced round. Adam was a little, just a little, shorter than Paul, and he was stockier. With the eyes of new knowledge she noted the differences. They had been through the formalities. How are you? Fine. How’s Luke? Fine. He was worried too, you know. I know; I don’t want to talk about it.
The Palm House came into view, huge and white, the glass glinting in the low sun.
“Let’s sit down for a bit,” Adam said. Lines of benches edged the paths beside the flowerbeds, which were neat with stumps, pledges of new growth. In places, some plants were protected by straw and polythene sheets. The claws of a loping red setter clicked rapidly on the path, the loose-limbed prance of the dog followed by the bobbing strides of a man in a raincoat.
The light dimmed as a dark cloud loomed across the sky and all the colours seemed to flatten into a palette of grey.
Jenna sighed. “Adam, I really don’t think I’ve anything much to say.”
He looked relieved. “I haven’t either. Nothing more than what I’ve said already.”
She looked at him for a moment. Then she stood up. “So this is a bit of a waste of an afternoon then.” She began to walk back towards the park gate.
“Jenna!” He ran after her and caught her arm. She stopped. His hair reminded her of the red setter, except his was a little darker, more of a deep copper. OK then, she would ask him.
“How long have you been seeing her again?”
“I don’t know.” He waved a hand carelessly. “A couple of months maybe.”
He didn’t know!
“You’ve been sleeping with her, haven’t you?”
He stepped back, his eyes dropping momentarily. She knew she was right.
“She’s been very… persistent.”
“And very successful,” she said. Irritation was scratching her nerves.
“Well, Rachel and I…”
“Were going to get married. I know that. How many types of a fool do you take me for, Adam? Do you think I’m just the goody-goody, the wonderful contrast to the scarlet woman who dumped you so hard you’re still licking the wounds?”
“Jenna…”
Suddenly she was on a rush, letting out all the anger, the hurt, the humiliation, the conclusion of two weeks of swimming round at the bottom of a pit of worthlessness. “Shut up, Adam. I’m not going to be the plaster on your broken heart.” She had to walk in little circles, waving her hands in the air. “You had the nerve to tell me you only kissed her because I wasn’t looking. Everyone else would have known, but as long as I didn’t…” she spread her arms wide “… well, that’s OK then.”
“Look, Jay…”
“He was right. You never wanted me as a lover because you already had one. And I certainly don’t want another brother. The one I’ve got’s enough.” Freckles splashed across Adam’s cheeks, jabs of sepia on his flushed skin. A few large drops of rain began to speckle the path. “He was right about another thing. You didn’t hurt me, not the real me. You just hurt my pride.”
“Who’s ‘he’?”
“Your brother.” She stopped, then said it. “Your half-brother.” Rain made a noise like the white water of river rapids, rushing through the barren trees, smacking into the soil, striking the path and turning it from pale to deep shiny gray. In seconds, leaves mulched into soggy pulp. Birds stopped bickering and hid in the bushes.
Adam had to raise his voice, surprised. “Did Mum tell you?” Jenna’s hair was plastered to her head. A calmness descended on her. There was something very private about that day with Paul. It was not a day to be described, betrayed. It was almost as if to speak of it would be to betray Paul himself. He had spoken secrets. She would keep them.
“You never thought to mention it.”
“Are you annoyed that I didn’t tell you my brother started life as a bastard?”
She had turned away. She whirled round. “Oh, grow up!” she yelled above the storm of rain. “Half the children in the country are bastards.” She took a deep breath and hurled a strand of dripping hair over her shoulder. “And some others become bastards rather later in life.” She pointed at him. “Like the one I’m looking at.”
He looked utterly amazed. “Jenna, I’ve never seen you like this.”
“Maybe it’s time you did.”
He held out his hands. “I don’t know what to do for the best…”
“Oh, please! Don’t agonise on my account.” The rain was slowing to a patter again, the scent of pine and soil and wet leaves began to drift from the sodden ground. “You made your decision that night.” She started to walk again. “I could never trust you, and what’s a life without trust?”
He walked after her, his voice becoming tetchy. “I think you’re over-reacting a bit, you know.”
She stopped and faced him. “Do you know when I knew we were finished? It wasn’t at the party. It wasn’t when I was outside curling up with mortification. I might still have forgiven you, talked it through. For so long, I thought I needed you.” Her voice faltered a little. “You lit up my days, Adam. You really did. I was bored. I was looking for something. Someone. The future. I don’t know. I thought it was you.”
“Maybe…”
“But I knew I could never stay with you the moment I realised you were drunk at my front door.”
“What?”
“I could never be with a man who got drunk. Not even once.” Adam’s eyebrows rose to his saturated hairline and he began to laugh. “Jenna, you innocent idiot. Where are you ever going to find a man like that? Come on, get real!”
“No, you get real. I don’t need you. I don’t need anyone.” As she said it she knew it was true. At last it was true. “And don’t dare question my values. At least I have some.”
He made an exasperated noise. “This really is over the top, you know. I’ve apologised. What more do you want? Blood?”
The red sweet wine? She tilted her head. “Life’s very simple for you, isn’t it? Screw up. Say sorry. Trundle along to the next screw up. From what I saw of her, I’d say you and Rachel are made for each other.”
A flush of anger rushed into his cheeks. “OK! That’s enough. Leave her out of this.”
She laughed in amazement. “But Adam, she’s right in the middle of it. Maybe she’s standing behind that tree there. She might as well be.”
Two girls in tracksuit bottoms and fleece tops walked by, sports bags over their shoulders. They caught the angry tones and exchanged glances, grinning.
“This isn’t like you, Jenna. Not the Jenna I know.”
“Maybe there are other Jennas inside here.” She pointed at her chest. “I don’t think any of us knows who we are or what we can do.” She paused, thinking this through. “There’s a part of us that can’t speak until something speaks to it. Wakes it up and speaks its language.”
He laughed in scorn. “That’s the daftest thing I ever heard.”
She regarded him. She was neither loved nor loving here and she would not stay any longer.
“Go back to Plan A, Adam.” She turned away. “Plan B is going to get her hair cut.”
This time she kept walking.
The squirrel flashed along the branch like a dart. Its tail was an undulating broom, whisking the bare wood a second after the skittering feet had gripped and fled.
A red one! Yes! Paul stopped breathing. The muscles of his back rippled as he braced himself more firmly against the tree trunk, checked the firmness of his foot against the knot of a root. He had waited, motionless, for almost two hours for this. With a slow touch, he adjusted the focus, picked out a spot where the tangle of branches bisected a shaft of light from the afternoon sun.
Come on, Tufty! You’re an endangered species. Let me make you live forever. The squirrel scampered and then froze, as if by forest sorcery, in the shower of cool beams. One paw was stopped in the air like suspended stone, the red bush of its tail dropped below the branch. The gleam from its eye, almond oval beneath the tufted ears, turned towards the man-shape. The tawny nose quivered.
Paul’s finger tensed on the shutter release. Perfect! In his back pocket, the vibrations of his phone, switched to silent mode, barely registered on the outskirts of his mind. The sliding click of the shutter sent the squirrel hurtling vertically up the cobbled bark of the spruce, tail bouncing, tiny claws grasping at escape.
Got you! Paul smiled and turned his head up to follow the trajectory of the leaping creature through the forest canopy. He pulled a notebook and pencil from his coat pocket and noted the time and the exposure.
He put his notebook and pencil back in his pocket and stretched his tense muscles. That was probably enough for today. He looked around. Fingers of bright silver sunlight tipped the needles of spruce and pine, streamed
on to paint a ribbon of crumpled light the length of the tree trunk in front of him. Around his feet was the soft brown shade of pine needles and old cones.
He let the camera settle on the front of his coat as he picked his way back to the forest path. He kept it in easy reach, ready for the quick shot, the chance encounter. As he had many times before, he marvelled at light, how today it was silver, cool and graceful. Yet sometimes, as at Rossnowlagh, it was a golden warmth, amber honey in the air. Sometimes he had seen a sheen of blue cascading from a summer evening. And thunder was grey, throwing a pewter stain across land and space.
On the carpet of needles, his feet were silent in the almost silent forest. The path wound through tall tree trunks, pillars rising from the hollows and hummocks of grass that was moulded by mossy boulders and the indiscipline of wandering roots.
He breathed deeply, scenting the air like the squirrel. There was the tang of recent almost-frost on soil, the brown scent of gnarled wood, the green flavour of saplings, the sharp taste of pine. And that other silver hint on the breeze, water.
Yes, he could hear it now. The path split into two, one going further up the hillside to the shallower soil, the more barren parts. Paul turned down the other path, downhill towards the water sound. Dry on top, the matted surface of the path was slippery beneath, where moisture still clung in the mesh of needles.
The path turned and in front of him was a wooden bridge across a stream. It was a low plain stretch of planks, edged by simple wooden rails. The water bustled beneath the wood, tugging at straggles of grass that swayed into the ripples, dipping downstream in the jaunty current.
Paul slung his camera across his body to hang safely at his side. He walked to the middle of the bridge and leaned his forearms on the rail. Like cream sinking through coffee, sensation spread through him. Light and beauty, green on nut brown, waving grass, fussing water, now black, now green, now tossed silver. He loved the winter. He loved summer too. And autumn. And spring. He loved this country wherever and whenever he was in it.
Maker of Footprints Page 19
