Being Emily (11 page)

AMRIK HAD A
chipped front tooth, no obvious, just a tiny diagonal space which contrasted with his perfectly even white smile. He smiled often but not often directly at anyone. Over the time we were thegether I watched him smile to hissel as he made a cup of coffee, or stared out the windae, or played the sitar. And he played almost all the time.

I’d of understood if he’d sat and practised, or played specific pieces but it wasnae that; he was always tinkering, footering up and doon the scales, could never leave it alane for a moment. Even after we’d just made love, he’d lie still only for a few seconds afore rolling over and reaching for the instrument, pulling it across tae the mattress on the flair where he’d sit beside me, sheet wrapped round him, playing. The first time I thought it was romantic, lying in bed close
by, listening to these beautiful sounds created by his elegant fingers, but I soon realised that it was the sitar he was making love to; he’d turned fae me to something he loved mair.

Only once did I show how I felt, stroking his thigh and saying,
D’you have to play just now? Can we lie thegether for a
while?

He looked at me as if I’d asked him to stop breathing.

I wished I could be as single-minded about my art; I always had tae get in the right frame of mind, think mysel intae what I was daeing. Was it because visual art wasnae as straightforward as picking up an instrument? For a fresco painter aye, but surely lifting a camera was no more difficult than a sitar. Picasso would of reached for a sketchpad and pencil to draw his lover after sex if she happened to be in an interesting light – he’d probably of stopped in mid-flow if he got a good composition. Mibbe I wasnae a real artist.

It was not just Amrik either – the other guys who turned up at the flat were just as obsessive. In the middle of a conversation one would pick up a guitar, apparently idly, another would join in and next minute they’d all be at it. It’d last for a few minutes mibbe, or hours, till someone noticed it was getting dark or they were hungry.

In the beginning I hung around while they were playing, respectful, following the wandering progress of fragmented melodies, till I realised I was invisible, something that came with the flat – no one, not even Amrik, knew I was there unless they wanted a beer oot the fridge or a cup of coffee. I wasnae used tae guys expecting me to wait on them; my brother and Jas werenae like that and I never thought young men in the twenty-first century would be either, but they were engrossed in their music, oblivious to everything else.
Once I made tea, tiptoed round with mugs and chocolate biscuits, but Amrik barely looked at me as I placed his on the flair beside him. If he’d gied me that smile I’d of stayed, it’d of been worth it, but I couldnae bear him blanking me out. Next time the guys arrived at the door I lifted my books and heided for the library.

I spent maist of my time at Amrik’s though I was now officially living with my da and the twins. After a few weeks at Janice’s, I’d come tae my senses, knew it wasnae fair on them.

You know you can stay as long as you like, Fiona
.

Naa, you need your space; you and Angie and Evie and the new
baby, when it comes – you’re a family
.

As I said it I could feel tears starting. A family. Who was my family?

You could always go and stay with your da and the twins.

I don’t know, Janice
.

Your daddy is trying, Fiona. He really is. He went and asked the
guys for his job back and they’ve taken him on for a trial. He’s got
a real incentive to keep off the drink. And it would be good for you
all to be thegether again
.

I sat looking at the fire. It was one of they living flame ones but it was turned aff cause it was July; deid grey lumps of fake coal.

When you start at Art School you can get a place in the residences,
or share a flat if you want – it’s only a few month away.
Why don’t you go hame till then?

Hame.

A three-bedroom flat on the third flair of a council block with a rectangle of red chips in front. A ten minute walk fae wur auld hoose but a million miles away. At the entrance to the stairwell were two tubs that had been planted with flowers,
but only weeds flourished in them noo; the flowers were twisted dried-up twigs nourished wi deid fag ends. The guy on the ground flair kept a nasty wee skelly-eyed dug and you’d tae dodge its mess when you took the rubbish out to the bins, the couple across the landing wore black leather and painted a skull and crossbones on their front door. Could of been worse. At least there were nae drug dealers or folk having all-night parties. And we were the only social misfits rehoused by the council.

You’re such a snob
, said Rona, when I moaned about having a whirligig instead of proper clothes lines tae hang the washing out.

No one could accuse Rona and Mona of being snobs.

Fae July tae September I drifted in hauf-lives, between my da’s house and Amrik’s bedsit, between school and college – I guess you’d of said between childhood and being an adult except I felt as if I’d never been a child yet never would be an adult.

Amrik never came to the house and Da never mentioned him, just asked me to let him know when I was staying over.

Just tell me when you’ll no be hame, hen. That’s all
.

Hame. The box. At least I wasnae sharing with the twins, but the third bedroom was toty, just big enough for a single bed.

Like Emily’s
, I tellt Amrik.

Cool
, he said.
Maybe it’ll inspire your poetry
.

I don’t write poetry any mair though.

Why not?

Dunno, somehow since I’ve got mair intae the visual stuff I don’t
dae any writing
.

A lie. I hadnae written a poem since Mammy died.

He leaned on one elbow. Already his attention was wandering
towards the sitar propped up near the bed. He reached for the instrument and pulled it across. The round wooden base pushed itsel against the curve of my hip. Hard, cauld. A shower of golden notes and Amrik was lost to me.

I turned my back, pulled the covers over my heid and closed my eyes. Why did I stay with him? If he was obsessed with the music and I hated him playing it, why be thegether? But it didnae seem like that then – it was as if I had somehow captured this wonderful being, like a selkie, and naturally you couldnae expect them to behave like a human, to be normal like anyone else. So you had tae put up with them. I guess I thought this was the price I had to pay for choosing the fallen angel.

And I didnae have anyone tae tell about it. Only Jas would have understood, and he was the one I could never talk to. I went out of my way to avoid anywhere he was likely to be and I guess he done the same. By now of course he’d know me and Amrik were thegether, but I hoped Jas believed that I’d waited till after we’d split up afore starting anything. Nae doubt he’d make excuses for Amrik too; he was different, special.

And the moments when it worked were special. Looking intae those eyes when we were alone in the quiet of his room, the rare moments when he’d take my haund loosely in his long fingers as we walked alang the street. The even rarer occasions when we’d talk. Amrik barely talked at all. He seemed tae have nae interest in the past, his or mine. The usual ways lovers find out about themselves, the sharing of histories, meant nothing to him, and the future appeared equally uninteresting. He never made plans, drifted, so there was nae point in discussing what we would do, even the next day.

He occasionally commented on things around us, like a bird on the windae sill, a poly bag coiled in a tree, the film we’d seen. Mainly he was silent, not a companionable silence, but a silence that suggested something was going on in his heid which needed his full attention. Later I realised it was – he was working out his music, composing.

One of the few times we had what could of been described as a discussion about anything was when Baz came to the flat. He was one of the musicians who used tae hang round Amrik, a shambling lump of a guy, terminally uncool, with a straggly beard and Jesus sandals.

How are you, Amrik man?

Cool. You?

Aye, me too.

So what’s new?

Baz and his band had just signed with a record company.

It’s pure wicked, man. Money up front and everything. So, like, we
want you to join. Play with us
.

Amrik shook his heid.

Aw c’mon, Amrik. Just for this one recording. You can play anything
you like – you know like the stuff we were doing at the club last
week. You’d be totally, like, free. And you’d get a cut of the profits
and all
.

I don’t do recordings
.

After the guy had left I asked Amrik about it. I thought he was holding out for a contract of his ain.

It’s not that. I’ve had offers, said no. I just don’t believe in recording
music
.

How d’you mean?

Music is something that happens. In that moment. It’s alive. As
soon as you start to record it, it dies
.

But you listen to recorded music, on the radio, on CDs
…

I know – and sometimes it’s the only way of experiencing music
I might never get to hear otherwise. But it’s still second-hand.
He
picked up the sitar.
I want my music to remain pure
.

I left the flat and walked doon Great Western Road, eyes on the dusty pavements. Folk were sitting outside a bar; the view was of the back of a graffitied wall but hey, they were outside and that’s the only place folk in Glasgow want tae be any day it isnae chuckin it doon or minus fifteen degrees.

Pure.

I felt ashamed. A strange emotion in the circumstances since I hadnae done anything wrang, but I felt as if I had. All those hours Amrik spent, as I’d thought, footering with the sitar, avoiding other things – like me – when truly it was the only important thing in his life. His art was so important to him that he turned doon all kinds of recording deals to keep playing in grotty wee clubs and cafés. I could understand what he meant though I’d never thought of it like that. The notes, emerging from the instrument at that precise moment, echoing in that space, whether it was a concert hall with brilliant acoustics or a dusty bedsit. That was the moment – that note was in the moment and, nae matter how often you played it, it would never be that note ever again. Recording appeared to catch the moment, capture it, but it wasnae the same; it was the recording of the moment, the recording of the sound, distorted by the electronic means of recording, sealed in it, killed by it. It was like the difference between looking at the face of your loved one and looking at a photograph.

Pure.

Art.

I had a lot to think about.

* * *

Finding somewhere tae think wasnae easy. Amrik could dissolve everything outside hissel as soon as he started playing; wherever he was, whoever was around, he stepped intae that place inside him and the rest was irrelevant.

I wasnae like that. I needed peace and quiet, had tae prepare mysel, no jump fae washing the dishes or having a conversation to daeing my work. I wisht I was different; mibbe it showed I wasnae a real artist like Amrik cause I wasnae as focused as him, mibbe I had to be that obsessed if I was ever gonnae dae anything good. Art School started in a week and I’d done nothing since the fire.

Amrik could have lived wi my da and the twins, wandered fae one house to another and never bothered about it. But when I came back after talking to him, fired up with enthusiasm, determined to really work things out and produce something better, all it took was the first moment in the doorway – the sight of oose on the carpet, the ironing board left out in the middle of the hall, iron still on it, no put away by whichever twin had been using it – and my intentions all fizzled away.

I put my heid round the living room door. Declan was clocked on the settee watching the twins, in full western gear with short skirts, bare legs, cowboy boots and Stetson hats, daeing their routine, twirling and birling as they had when they were wee. The stereo was blaring out a song about someone who’d lost his heart in a Kentucky farmyard and when it finished they collapsed in a heap on either side of Declan, giggling.

Declan was Mona’s boyfriend. He wore a trackie of dazzling whiteness, spotlessly white trainers and a pastel coloured polo top wi a designer label. His baseball cap was at a perfect forty-five degree angle and covered a hairstyle so short it
looked as if it had been trimmed wi a lawnmower. Mona had met him hinging about the swing park after school. I could never understaund how they’d got to the stage of gaun out cause I’d rarely heard Declan say mair than two words strung thegether. He spent a lot of time smiling admiringly at Mona and grunted when anyone else spoke to him. Although he was technically Mona’s, Rona seemed to still be always with them; watching them thegether it was as if the twins were a couple and Declan the hanger-on.

Hi
, I said.

Hiya
.

I closed the door on them, went through tae my room. In the tiny space I threw mysel on the bed.

THE FIRST DAY
of Art School sneaked up on me afore I knew it. I’d meant tae look for a flat or find out about residences but somehow never got round tae it, couldnae get my act thegether.

Da was already in the kitchen.
Want some toast, hen?

If you’re making it
.

Usually the morning was a mad scrabble, a trail of crumbs and hauf-drunk mugs strewn across worksurfaces, but he’d set the table wi placemats and coasters, poured a glass of orange juice for me. Next tae my place was a wee package, wrapped in red shiny paper.

Marmalade?

No thanks, Da
.

I opened the parcel. Inside was a pack of coloured pencils, the kind you get in Woolies when you’re starting school.

He turned, put the plate in fronty me.

Seein it’s your first day.

Thanks, Da.

Just a wee thing.

Thanks very much
.

When I set off, the pencils were in my rucksack.

I loved being an art student. Loved carrying a portfolio under my airm, wearing paint-spattered jeans and above all walking up they steps every morning to a building designed by one of the greatest architects ever. I loved the ruggedness of it – like a fortress rooted intae that steep steep slope – counterpointed wi the delicate design features. I thought everybody would feel the same, but some folk in my class thought it was cool tae play doon the Mackintosh stuff, make light of the wee square glass panes in the door, the metalwork, the motifs they claimed had all been devalued, printed on teatowels and postcards.

My style was changing too. Insteid of baggy trousers I’d started to wear tighter jeans and I searched charity shops for floral dresses which I customised and wore over them. I tied scarves round my hair and clipped diamante earrings to the lapel of an auld velvet jacket. I was dead chuffed with mysel as I looked in the blotched mirror on the back of the door, getting ready to go out. The turquoise and green jewel colours made my hair look less drab and I’d even started slicking a bit of shiny eyeliner on my lids, using red lipgloss instead of Vaseline. The twins noticed the change with interest but just as much disapproval as they had for my usual look.

Christ, Fiona, you look like some auld hippy
.

Check the bandana – you’ll be gaun on a demo next
.

* * *

Monica fingered the edge of my top.
Pretty
, she said. Monica had had her straight shiny dark hair cut in a neat bob and every article of clothing was perfectly clean, pressed and coordinated. Now she no longer wore school uniform, she’d adopted a kind of uniform of her ain choosing: white camisoles with neatly fitting pastel cardigans, blue denims and highly polished shoes. You could imagine her wearing a version of this for the rest of her life, daeing the school run in a 4x4, sitting in her office seeing patients. Monica had torn up all the leaflets on weird and wonderful careers and, with her straight A passes, was studying medicine. Her family, of course, bristled with joy. Jemma was back fae Edinburgh for the weekend, looking lovely, with streaks of pinky-gold layered through her hair. We were in Giardini’s for the first time since term started.

So how is your course, Fiona?

Cool.

What do you do? Painting? Drawing?

A bit of that. We have classes but there’s also a lot of time to
develop your ain stuff
.

Hang about in bars you mean
. Jemma laughed.
Don’t gie us
that developing your art stuff. I’ve met loads of art students in Edinburgh
and they’re the ones that are at every party
.

And you’ve been in the house studying every night?

The first week was wild. Theresa O’Rourke fae St Phil’s – she’s in
my hall and she was so drunk she fell downstair and broke her leg
– had tae be carted aff to hospital. That’d be something, Mon – if
your first case is one of your pals with a broken leg
.

I don’t think I’ll get to see a patient for a long time. The first
few years is all science, really
.

Don’t suppose you’ve been daeing much partying
.

Monica smiled.
Not really
.

So apart from developing your art, how are things, Fiona? Are
you still going with Amrik?

Jemma’s phrase disturbed me. Going with seemed such an innocent way to put it, suggesting that we went on dates and he bought me flowers or sent me a Valentine’s card.

We’re still seeing each other
.

It’s just, I didnae know if I should mention it, but I met Jas
.

Where?

We got the same train – there was something up wi the Aberdeen
trains that day so he had to go via Edinburgh
.

Is he enjoying the course?

Seemed to be – he’d only been there a week so I dunno really.

I havenae seen him since we broke up
.

Monica looked at me seriously.
Do you really like Amrik
,
Fiona?

Of course she does, why would she be with him?

No, I mean, does he make you happy?

It sounded simple. Do you really like him? Does he make you happy? A for Yes, B for No. Tick the box on the quiz in the magazine and work out if you should be with this person. And if you get all Bs, dump him.

It had seemed that simple with Jas at the beginning. Nae doubts. But then Amrik arrived; sweeping in like a force of nature, a great unstoppable wave destroying everything that had seemed so secure, forcing a new kind of reality. One that wasnae cosy, wasnae simple and suitable but somewhere underneath seemed like the only true kind.

But it wasnae just that. When Jemma conjured that picture in my heid – her and Jas sitting on a train thegether talking, just an ordinary day on an ordinary train, scabby seats and a scuffed table in fronty them, their carryout paper cups of
coffee, Jas’s face, eyes so like Amrik’s but the mouth that different – it hurt.

I’d treated Jas so badly that I had tae make it work with Amrik. The only way to wipe out the shame was if something good and beautiful resulted fae my actions.