‘Um, can I? I mean, if it’s not...’ He tailed off. Each word was an effort and his voice was sandpaper rough.
‘Sure. You all right if I keep working, though?’
A tense nod in reply. I would have stopped and talked to him if I thought it would help, but this way he had a reason to be silent, and could just curl up in the chair in the bay window, his grey hooded jersey pulled around him like a comfort blanket, until he felt like communicating.
It was over an hour before he spoke again. ‘You want a coffee? I could go to the kitchen. Do us coffee. If you want.’
If I was working, I tried to avoid it; I couldn’t risk the slight shake I would get from the caffeine, but that wasn’t the point. Finn was desperate for something to do with his hands, and I reckoned coffee-making was a better option than using his skin to stub out the next cigarette. ‘Yeah, that would be good.’
*****
Ten minutes later Finn handed me a dark, sweet black coffee and returned to his seat, cradling his own mug close to his chest to absorb the warmth. He had not looked at me once.
He was halfway down his second cigarette the next time he spoke. ‘Fuckin’ thirteen.’
‘I know.’
‘The filthy, filthy bastards. You’re a kid, y’know? Even if you’re starting to look like a man, you still think like a kid, and you fuckin’ hurt like one.’ He finally glanced up at me. ‘Worst thing is, they know it even when they say they don’t. ‘Cos deep down, that’s the real fun. God, the poor little shit.’
There was nothing I could say. No reassurance, no platitude about things not being as bad as they seemed, or turning out all right in the end. Somewhere beyond Finn’s reach, a boy was starting out on the same bleak journey that he had made.
He drained his mug. ‘I’ll leave you to it.’
‘You can stay, you know. You’re not exactly causing a riot.’
‘Nah. I’m not good at the moment. Not... straight. Need to try and get my head together.’
With nothing left to say, I walked silently to where he sat and let my hand rest lightly on his left shoulder and waited for him to flinch away. Instead, he brought his cold right hand up to cover mine, before softly resting his cheek against it with a barely perceptible sigh. Then he left my studio without looking back.
*****
It was gone five when Henry gave his meek little tap at the door. I was cleaning each brush in turn, meticulously removing any trace of paint in readiness for the next day’s session, and taking scant comfort in the routine and monotony.
‘Hi. Feeling any better?’ I asked.
‘Well, I’m no longer doing my best impression of Our Lady of Sorrows. Thank you so much for putting up with my ridiculous nonsense before.’
‘Any time.’ I blinked hard, feeling the grit of fatigue in my eyes. It had been a long day. ‘I don’t suppose you want a quick bourbon? I’m just clearing up now.’
‘To be truthful, I’d love to.’ Henry gave a regretful glance at the bottle on the dresser. ‘But Blaine has requested that you call into her office for a catch-up meeting as soon as you’re done for the day. I’m sorry.’
Chapter Fifteen
Lilith
My considerate hostess was just pouring out two delicate porcelain cups of Darjeeling when I arrived. Brilliant summer light streamed into the room and reflected off primrose-painted walls that only served to intensify the brightness, like being called to a conference on the surface of the Sun. I flopped down onto the divan with the bad grace of a teenager.
Even after washing my face in cold water I still felt crumpled and bemused, whilst she sat at her desk as tranquil as a mother superior. I waited for the usual banal niceties.
Instead, she went straight on the attack. ‘I see that you Finn have become rather close friends.’
‘A side effect of proximity,’ I shrugged, immediately on my guard at the mention of his name.
‘There’s no need to be so defensive. I think it’s rather lovely that you’ve become his newfound haven – Henry informs me that you’re even willing to deal with him at his most unpredictable.’
It was no surprise that any of this had got back to her; Henry was as trapped as any of us, but hearing Finn discussed in this dispassionate way made me feel sick.
Blaine continued. ‘In truth I’m grateful that you seem to be breaking through that sullen little wall he’d developed of late, and I’m sure his clients feel the same,’ she said with honeyed sincerity. ‘I’d draw the line at you fucking him without my permission, but other than that, any time spent with you seems to be making him human again. So thank you.’
She was loving every moment. Like a cat snapping a mouse’s legs one by one instead of simply despatching it, she intended to play with me for as long as it amused her to do so, and I could say or do nothing in response until I discovered a motive beyond wanton cruelty.
‘Shall I tell you a little more about how I found Finn, while you drink your tea?’ she enquired. ‘Perhaps it might provide a little context for the rest of our conversation.’
I didn’t even bother to reply. Just sat back with my saucer balanced on my knee and waited for the story.
‘You should know that my family has dealt with the Irish for centuries – we owned land over there, and my Great Grandfather was a Colonel in the Black and Tans. In my opinion, they’re a people entirely suited to this kind of employment.
Unfortunately, there’s often a coarseness there, but I don’t need to tell you that; you see it in Coyle. Finn, on the other hand…’
Blaine pushed a black and white photograph across her desk and I wondered how many pictures she had accumulated from her years of playing her games. ‘Well, take a look for yourself. Dublin, three years ago this January – our boy, providing for an ungrateful alcoholic mother, and two little sisters who’ve no doubt taken up that very same pitch he vacated.’
The picture had the granulated texture of a long lens shot, but there was no mistaking the subject: Finn stood hunched against a graffiti-covered wall. He wore frayed jeans and a combat jacket that was pulled tight around his neck to keep out the driving sleet. Heroin made him twenty pounds lighter and his blond hair was cropped close to his head, and he looked about fifteen. His gaunt, haunted face stared out at me, eyes burning into the lens.
‘Do you have any idea how long it takes to find someone like him?’ Blaine asked.
I said nothing.
‘It took over four weeks of looking in every shadowed corner that the tourists wouldn’t touch.’ Blaine smiled at the memory. ‘I had people searching all over the city. Those boys that were attractive enough for clients of the calibre I invite to Albermarle tended to turn squeamish at any request beyond the very basics, and those that were prepared to engage in something a little more adventurous tended to do so because their face wasn’t likely to be their fortune.’ She tapped the photograph with a fingernail. ‘And then I got word of this young man. Underneath all that filth, the face of Calvin Klein’s next model, and the ability – not to mention willingness – to do just about anything, for what turned out to be a ridiculously low price.’
‘Blaine, why are you telling me all this?’
‘As you’re clearly not in the mood for the niceties, I’ll get to the point. During your stay I’ve been screening your emails -’
‘You’ve what?’ My plan to stay calm vaporised. ‘You have no fucking right! What the hell did you do? Hack my account?’
‘I’m not an expert in these things, but I have an IT technician who’s an absolute wizard. Added security for me, but in a way it’s a service to you, as well. After all, I would hate for your business to suffer through your residency, and if anything important arises I can inform you. For example, there was a note from your agent, letting you know you’ve won the Helicon Award for Triptych. The ceremony’s in London in six weeks’ time, apparently. I’m sure we can come to some arrangement that lets you attend. I’d hate for you to miss out on my behalf.’
The words hardly registered as I struggled not to explode, but Blaine was content to carry on.
‘You also received this yesterday morning.’ She handed me a paper copy of an email. ‘It’s from your stepmother.’
I read.
Darling Lilith
I’m so sorry I haven’t written in such a long time. I think of you often, and the support you have given Daniel and me is one of the few good things I have from my time with your father.
I am typing this at a computer in the departure lounge at Heathrow, and I’m not sure how long I have on this machine before the money runs out, so please forgive my brevity. Yesterday I returned from town to find your father in our bed with his latest personal assistant when he was supposed to be looking after Daniel on his weekend home from Beechwood. I had already told him that I could not put up with his behaviour, and he had made his usual empty promises to change, but I realise that the rest of my married life will be filled with similar experiences unless I leave. My family has promised to support me and Daniel. I promise I will write with our new address and further details once we are settled in our new home.
All my love, thanks and best wishes. I am still proud to call you my stepdaughter.
xxx
Mai
My hand shook so hard that the paper rattled. After ten miserable years of putting up with my father screwing anything with an orifice my obedient, long-suffering stepmother had finally seen sense.
‘You can see how that presented something of a problem,’ Blaine confided. ‘Your father was adamant that she would never leave him, and based on what he told me about her devotion to him, I was inclined to agree. But it seems that the very meekest of worms can turn if they’re pushed to their limits. Even if we assume that she’s taken your brother home to Thailand, my influence doesn’t extend quite that far.’
Realisation dawned, and with it, brief but unbounded joy. ‘He’s escaped. you can’t touch him now, can you? I bet that’s pissed you off.’ I threw the paper back onto her desk, grinning at the thought that Daniel was out of her reach.
‘I’m glad you find it so amusing.’ There was something particularly satisfying about the way that permanent smile hardened as her jaw clenched, even though I knew she was about to go for my jugular. ‘Would you believe that this – ’ she held the email up as if it were radioactive – ‘was the very best I could do when it came to arranging some form of insurance for your complicity, Lilith? With any other guest, I normally have to spend hours selecting the most suitable people for surveillance, from a list of lovers, friends, family – but you? Nothing. You’ve had twenty-eight years on this planet, and the nearest thing I could get to a figure of affection in your life was some retarded child who you see three times a year if you’re lucky.’
‘Ouch,’ I winced. The malice in her voice suggested that whatever was coming next, it wasn’t going to be a first-class ticket to Alicante and a polite kiss goodbye.
‘Do you believe in synchronicity?’
‘In what?’ I asked, completely wrong-footed.
‘Fate. Serendipity. The romantic notion that things happen for a reason. That we meet people at just the right time...’
‘I know what it means, Blaine. And no, I don’t.’
She rested her chin in lightly entwined hands. ‘When I first saw you on that dreadful programme, I honestly thought it would be Albermarle’s opportunity for catharsis that would attract you. I rarely make a mistake, but for once I was wrong.
And I must say, the truth is far more entertaining. It wasn’t the need to lash out that was the priority at all, was it? It was the need to find a soul to save.’
‘You’ve lost me.’
‘No I haven’t. I’ve found you. Well, to be fair, Finn found you, albeit through blundering his way into your beautifully defended little world. If you choose to leave Albermarle now, I give you my solemn promise that I will hurt Finn Strachan beyond all measure. How does that make you feel, Lilith?’
*****
I didn’t even know where he slept. I knew that he was scared of the dark, that he consumed more drugs than could be found in a medium-sized South American nation, but I had no idea where Finn actually spent the night. I could only guess that Blaine wouldn’t give him anything approaching a proper room, so I headed down the spiral staircase to the cellar and hammered on a low door down the corridor from the dungeon.
‘Don’t come in…’ Finn began, but it was too late.
‘Oh, good grief.’ I hadn’t seen a midden like it since my mother’s final decline. A space only slightly larger than Henry’s pantry housed a mattress – with Finn and Bran huddled under a thin duvet – a haphazard pile of books, and a battered chest of drawers. The floor was hidden from view by a collection of discarded clothes, lager cans, bottles, empty cigarette packets and an entire drift of supermarket carrier bags. The drawers had disgorged most of their contents, and now existed as a platform for eight mugs, all of them containing enough mould to qualify as an intelligent life form, and at least a dozen empty temazepam blister packs.
‘Welcome to my world,’ Finn said, stoned as hell.
Finn
‘If I’d ‘ve known I was expecting company, would’ve tidied round a bit.’ I attempted a smile, but couldn’t quite get my face to work. I hadn’t anticipated entertaining a guest when I’d emptied an entire strip of dope down my neck.
I lit another cigarette from the one that I was about to finish whilst Lilith just stood there for what might have been hours and stared at the bombsite that had passed for home for the last three years. Lost for words like I had never seen her before.
Then as I sat, stunned and mute, she began to tidy up with a vengeance.
Random, accumulated crap was scooped up by the armful and thrown into a selection of stray carrier bags. In one furious session, everything from cans to crumpled and empty sweet packets disappeared into one bag, clothes into another. This latter collection included a great deal more discarded underwear than I was comfortable with, but the expression on Lilith’s face suggested that it was unwise to interrupt.
Finally, Lilith slumped onto the end of my mattress. ‘What the hell is this place?’ she finally asked. ‘It looks like a bloody prison cell.’
‘That’s because it is. Seventeenth century prison cell, to be accurate – one of the more modern additions. Cromwell’s lot used it as a base in the Civil War, and built a gaol down here. But hey, at least I get an ensuite.’
Lilith ran her palm across the frigid, whitewashed stone. ‘She can lock you in.’
‘Only when I play up. Believe me, you haven’t lived until you’ve had to shit in a bucket for a couple of nights.’ I lay back and pulled my duvet over my head. It felt like a day for hiding. Bran grumbled at the disturbance, but soon settled onto my chest.
‘So,’ Lilith asked, ‘on a scale of one to ten, just how fucked would you say we were?’
‘Eleven,’ I replied, my voice muffled by an inch of polyester filling. ‘Um, I don’t mean to be rude or anything,’ I said, ‘but you’re actually scaring me now. This to do with her?’
I heard Lilith kick a bag full of dead clothes to one side so that she could close the door behind her. ‘Yeah,’ she finally said, in a quiet, dangerous voice. ‘You could say it was something to do with her.’
‘And?’
‘It seems my sweet, pliable stepmother’s finally seen sense and fucked off without warning. Taken Daniel out of Blaine’s grip.’
I emerged from the duvet and frowned, trying to equate the good news with the expression on her face. ‘But that’s good. Isn’t it?’
‘Oh, yes. Amazing. And only marginally less likely than the second coming.’
‘And..?’
‘And now you’re ‘it’, Finn. My – what should I call it? My motivation? My raison d’être? My shiny, new and improved grounds for staying put and keeping my mouth shut and doing whatever that twisted bitch wants me to do. Your ability to walk unaided depends
on my good behaviour.’
‘Oh shit, no, you’ve got to be kidding me.’
‘Yeah, this is my special comedy face, Finn. Well spotted.’ Lilith leaned against the door and buried her head in her hands. I wondered if she was about to cry, and wondered what the hell I would do if she did.
I held Bran tight to me so that her heart quivered against my chest as I searched for the right thing to say. I felt the words carefully with my tongue before I allowed them to escape. ‘This is it, Lili. Your chance. Just get Henry to take you across the lake, and that’s it. You’re gone.’
Lilith just kept to her hands to her face like a mask. I kept going. ‘Lili? Are you listening to me? I don’t matter! You’ve known me, what? Two months? I’m nothing, Lili – you’ve got a life out there waiting for you and all you need to do is step into that boat!’
Silence.
‘Please go.’
‘I can’t.’
And that was it. For reasons she did not want to give, and I most certainly didn’t want to hear, Lilith’s freedom had been snatched away from her before she even knew it was there.
I heard her release her breath, let out in a long sigh that could have been anger or exhaustion. Probably both. ‘Bloody hell Finn, I don’t do this! I don’t keep fucking goldfish on the grounds they’re high fucking maintenance!’
‘I know. I know, I know and I’m sorry.’
‘What the fuck are you sorry for?’ Lilith asked.
‘How about dumping on your entire life, as a starter?’
‘Oh, for fuck’s sake.’ Lilith rubbed wearily at her shoulder. ‘You’ve never really had a choice in any of this, have you? Even back in Dublin. You got yourself trapped years ago.’
I risked pulling the duvet down so that just my eyes appeared. ‘She been telling you stuff?’
‘Showing me ‘stuff’, to be accurate. A picture of you. From back then.’
‘What, the one of me toutin’ for business?’