Life Drawing for Beginners (32 page)

Not in the slightest.

She was disappointed, anyone could see that. He’d probably ruined her night. He’d made a mess of it, trying to let her down gently and getting it all wrong instead.

He drove through the streets that were becoming increasingly familiar to him. His fault, all his fault, chatting to her at the art class breaks when he should have kept his distance, taking her up on the offer of babysitting arrangements for Charlie when he should have turned it down. Inviting her and her child to the cinema, when asking Eoin to join them hadn’t even occurred to Charlie.

Weak-willed, that’s what he was. Wanting what he had no right to look for, and now she was suffering for it. He’d skip the last art class, that would be best. No doubt Charlie would be looking to meet Eoin after school again, now that they’d started, but maybe it wouldn’t happen for a while.

He was so bad at this, so clueless. But he had to keep his distance, he couldn’t get involved with anyone. He turned into his road, dreading the empty house that was waiting for him, alone for a whole night with his miserable thoughts.

He let himself in and made straight for the press in the kitchen where he kept the whiskey bottle. A single glass of wine all evening surely entitled him to a nightcap now.

A
udrey unlocked the back door and Dolly raced out, yapping, and galloped about the garden. She had so much energy; keeping her cooped up in the kitchen all day was far from ideal. Maybe if she was on a long leash she could be left in the garden while Audrey was at work. But if she was outdoors, wouldn’t she need a kennel to shelter in if it rained? Such a small animal, so many bits and pieces required. Just like a baby.

Audrey sat on the garden seat and sipped her tea. It had taken no time at all to clean up after last night’s party. Only five guests after all, hardly a big crowd. A few glasses and plates, a run-around with the Hoover. Audrey still cringed at the thought of the shaky start—the panic Zarek’s text had caused, the mad dash to the off-license, the smoke that had met her and Zarek in the kitchen, her outburst—but eventually, she was sure, the memory would amuse her.

She switched her attention to the week ahead, and debated what to do with her midterm break. A whole week off, nothing in her diary apart from the last life drawing class on Tuesday. If they got a fine day she and Dolly might drive somewhere for a day out, Westport maybe, or Kilkenny. She must watch the weather forecast.

She’d been planning a trip to the lake during the week, but that was out of the question now. She wondered how long it would be before she could contemplate the lake without thinking immediately of how Kevin had died there.

She laid her mug on the windowsill and walked to the hedge that separated her garden from Pauline’s. Next door’s patio was as neat as ever, with its little cast-iron table and chairs where the two of them had often sat on sunny mornings. Beyond that were the shelves that held Pauline’s collection of herbs in their green and blue pots, and by the far wall stood the glass-topped frame where she’d grown lettuces and cucumbers and straw​berries.

She’d gone to Cork to stay with Sue and her husband for a few days. Maybe when she came back, or maybe a bit later, Audrey might suggest that she get a little dog. It would be company on the long winter nights. It might be some small comfort to Pauline.

Michael Browne should be able to help; he may well know someone with pups looking for homes. No harm in asking anyway, after Audrey had gone to the bother of finding a playschool and putting him in touch with Meg. Not that he owed her anything, of course, but he might remember her help and feel more inclined to be of service.

She’d washed and ironed his handkerchief, and despite his having told her to keep it, she felt she should return it. She’d drop it into the pet shop when she was in town tomorrow. And while she was there she could inquire about kennels. She hadn’t an idea how much they cost, they could be far too expensive, but it wouldn’t hurt to—

Hold on a minute.

Audrey turned away from Pauline’s garden and regarded Dolly, who was throwing arcs of earth up behind her as she scrabbled under what was left of the nasturtiums.

What was going on here exactly? Was Audrey actually trying to come up with an
excuse
to visit the pet shop? The hankie, a little dog for Pauline, a kennel for Dolly? Did she actually
want
to see him again, was she developing—

Oh Lord. Oh
Lord
.

“Dolly,” she said sharply, belatedly becoming aware of what she was witnessing. “Bad dog. Stop that.” Dolly looked up briefly, trotted to another part of the bed, and resumed digging.

It was just because there was nobody else, that’s all it was. He was practically the only unattached man she’d had any sort of interaction with in months, years even. You couldn’t count the few remaining single male teachers, they were all younger and not in the least interested in Audrey.

Apart from Terence, of course, the science teacher who’d offered his services as a life drawing model, and who would probably have welcomed a date with Audrey, or with anyone. But poor Terence, with his after-dinner mints and crocodile shoes and shiny forehead, made Audrey feel vaguely queasy.

So she was latching on to Michael Browne as her last hope—​that must be what it was. Goodness, how pathetic was that? Look how abrupt he’d been at the start, look how he’d done his best to annoy her.

Although to be fair he’d improved somewhat on better acquaintance. And in Pauline’s garden the other night he’d been quite nice really. Giving her his hankie, and then his jacket. Quite gentlemanly, you’d have to admit.

But that awful beard made her want to run for a razor. And they probably hadn’t a thing in common.

Apart from a love of dogs, of course.

Although he hadn’t seemed particularly fond of Dolly.

Then again, hadn’t he—

“Oh,
stop
it,” Audrey said aloud, crossly. She stomped to the back door and went inside and put the kettle on, banging and clattering whatever she could along the way. She made more tea, and then discovered that she didn’t want it. She looked for a chocolate bar before she remembered they’d eaten them all at the party the night before. She stood at the sink, glaring out at Dolly, who was now curled innocently under the hydrangea bush, fast asleep.

She would
not
return his handkerchief. He had told her he didn’t want it, which meant he didn’t want Audrey hanging around bothering him. She’d take a trip to Limerick during the week and find a kennel there, and bring it home on the back of the moped, or arrange for it to be delivered if it was too big.

And if Pauline decided to get a dog they’d find one without his help, quite easily. They could put an ad in the paper, couldn’t they? That’s what everyone did if they were looking for something that wasn’t readily available in a shop.

She’d put this nonsense out of her head right now. She’d banish all thoughts of Michael Browne, put them down to temporary insanity brought about by a combination of grief, desire for romance, and midterm weariness.

She thumped upstairs to make her bed.

Valerie brought a bottle of whiskey—his second gift of whiskey in three days—and something wrapped in blue tissue paper and a coloring book and crayons. She handed the whiskey to Michael and then she turned to Carmel and put out her hand.

“I’m Val, Ethan’s sister.”

Carmel shook her hand. “Pleased to meet you,” she said. She’d washed her hair and changed into one of the two skirts she’d gotten from the charity shop with her wages. She must have bought lipstick too, first time he’d seen it on her.

She’d disappeared into the garden straight after washing up the lunch things, and when Michael had looked out a few minutes later she’d been crouching by the weed-filled strip of earth just beyond the patio.

She’d taken the trowel from the shed again and she was painstakingly rooting out the bindweed and dandelions and whatever else had crept in and taken root over the last several years. When she finally came back inside, over two hours later, she’d shown Michael the picture of the flowers she’d sown there instead.

“I bought these because I like the look of them,” she’d said. “I asked the girl what the name was. I never tried to grow no flowers before. I hope you don’t mind.”

Michael hadn’t minded. He thought October might not be the month to sow Sweet William seeds—well, to grow any flower seeds really—but what did he know about gardening? If they didn’t come up she could try again in the spring.

“You look like Ethan,” Carmel said to Val now, flushing deeply immediately afterwards. Afraid she’d spoken out of turn, Michael supposed.

Valerie didn’t seem to mind. “Pauline, our housekeeper, always said we were the image of each other.” She handed Carmel the tissue-wrapped package. “This is for you: If you don’t like the color you can change it.”

Inside was a scarf in swirling greens and blues. Carmel pressed it to her cheek. “It’s gorgeous,” she said. “I got nothin’ for you.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Val crouched in front of Barry. “Hi,” she said. “I’m your auntie Val.” She offered him the coloring book and crayons. “These are for you.”

He took them shyly, after a quick glance up at Carmel.

“I can dwaw the sun,” he whispered. “An’ a house.”

“Can you really?” Val whispered back. “Will you show me?”

Michael opened the sitting room door. “Why don’t you go in?” he said to them. “I’ll bring tea.”

In the kitchen he filled the kettle and put cups and buns on a tray. He walked quietly back into the hall and stood outside the sitting room door, which he’d left ajar.

“Five years ago,” he heard Carmel saying. “Just after I ran away from home. Couldn’t stick it no more after my granny died.”

Ran away from home at seventeen. Val was learning more about her in the first five minutes than Michael knew after a month.

“Ethan was one of the first people I met on the street. He looked after me,” Carmel said. “Got me into his squat.” Pause. “He was funny. He could take people off, you know what I mean?”

Michael knew what she meant. Ethan had been a clever mimic, had often had them in stitches pretending to be the parish priest, or some of the neighbors. Singing “Blue Suede Shoes” exactly like Elvis.

Long pause. Michael heard the kettle singing and returned to the kitchen and made tea. While it was brewing he tiptoed back to the hall.

“He tried to give it up,” Carmel was saying, “the two of us did, lots of times. But it was hard…” A rustle, some movement. “When I found out I was havin’ Barry though, I stopped for good, I just made myself. Ethan tried real hard too, but he kept goin’ back.”

“Were you with him when he died?” So low Michael could barely hear it.

“Yeah,” Carmel answered. “He jus’ kind of…faded away. I was holdin’ on to him”—her voice breaking, a cough—“I kept tellin’ him he better not die, an’ then I jus’ felt him sort of…leavin’.”

Michael stood motionless, his hands by his sides.

He just faded away. I felt him leaving
.

“I was in bits,” Carmel said. “I kept shoutin’ at him to come back, not to leave me alone with a kid. Barry was only gone one.”

Michael pulled his handkerchief from his pocket and bent his face into it.

In the end it was all a bit of a rush. Irene had been waiting for Martin and Emily to come home from an afternoon outing: the cinema, followed by sausages and chips in the café down the road. She’d planned to wait until Emily was in bed, and then say what needed to be said. But in the end she realized that she couldn’t face him.

So she wrote a note on a page from her sketch pad. The words flew across the white paper in her big, rounded handwriting.

Martin—

I can’t do this anymore. I can’t be who you want me to be. I’ve tried, but I can’t. You’ll both be better off without me, and hopefully in time we’ll all be happier. I’ll be in touch through my parents at some stage. Pilar will be back to work in the morning. Please try to be kind when you tell Emily.

I love you. Always have. Always will. Always.

I xx

When she had finished, she didn’t reread it. She folded the page and left it on the kitchen table. She hauled the bags she’d packed earlier downstairs and into the boot of her green Peugeot.

When everything was done she pulled the front door closed and posted her keys back through the letterbox. She got into her car and thought about her immediate plans.

The holiday cottage in Ballyvaughan for a few days, followed by the flight to France. A few weeks in Paris to revive her wardrobe, to stand before paintings, to sip cognac in jazz bars, and to book the next flight. Winter in St. Lucia, or possibly the Seychelles.

And after that, she had no idea. Lots of travel, she imagined. Lots of men, there were always men. And maybe somewhere along the way, if she kept searching for it long enough, she would find some happiness, some peace of mind.

Remote as the possibility seemed at this moment.

She started the car and drove away without looking back. No more looking back now.

The first thing Zarek noticed as he opened the apartment door was the smell. It reminded him of long-ago laundry days at home, before they got the washing machine. His mother at the kitchen sink, scrubbing with a big yellow bar of soap at their shirt collars and sleeves, the windows steamed up, the thick, heavy smell of wet wool permeating through the house.

He hung his jacket on the hall stand and walked through to the kitchen, and was met by clouds of steam. Pilar turned from the cooker, her face damp and rosy and smeared with white. She held a large plate on which some curiously shaped objects sat, each about the size of an adult fist.

“I make kuldunai for dinner,” she announced. “Special dish from Lithuania.”

There was white powder in her hair. A pot bubbled enthusiastically on the cooker. Pilar began dropping the objects one by one into the pot, causing the liquid to erupt over its sides and hiss onto the gas flame below.

The kitchen table held an almost-empty bag of flour, a mound of eggshells, a Pyrex jug, two bowls, and the wooden board that Anton used to chop vegetables. Everything, including the floor, seemed to be covered in a thin film of the white powder that Zarek assumed was flour.

The larger of the two bowls was empty, but had clearly been used to make some kind of dough. The smaller one held a few shreds of minced meat. “Ah,” Zarek murmured. “Pierogi.”

It appeared, from the ingredients, that Pilar was making dumplings of some sort. Zarek’s mother’s dumplings were spicy and delicious, the pastry made with sour cream, the filling a mixture of cooked potato and cheese, or minced meat and herbs. As she cooked them, a tantalizing savory smell would waft through the house, drawing the family to the kitchen.

Pilar’s dumplings, on the other hand, smelled of wet wool.

“Is celebration,” she announced, dabbing at her face with the tea towel. “For new job.” She laughed. “Sorry, I mean old job.”

Zarek wasn’t entirely sure of the facts, but it appeared that Irene, also known as the terrible Mrs. Dillon, had phoned the day before and invited Pilar back to work. According to Pilar, Irene had told her that she herself was leaving, which sounded unlikely to Zarek—what mother would abandon her child? But he wasn’t about to argue with Pilar, who was clearly delighted with the turn of events.