Chapter 28
28
ALEX
Alex rubbed his eyes. They felt grainy and he was bone-tired from a sleepless night. He’d tossed and turned for hours thinking about Ella and his father – trying to tamp down the feelings of rejection and hurt. He’d made a mistake – but he’d learn from it and move on.
Shaking his head, he ran up the stairs and into Henry’s studio, expecting to find his mentor working, despite the lack of Rolling Stones music blaring from the speakers. But the room was empty. Instead, Christmas decorations fluttered gaily on the ceiling, taunting him.
Memories from last night assaulted Alex as he slowly crossed the room heading towards his easel and spotting a tiny patch of glitter on the ground. ‘ You’re ridiculous,’ his father had told him as the makeup had fallen – and in this moment, Alex couldn’t have agreed more.
He moved to his easel and stared at his painting. The work, which had given him such a sense of pride when he’d been crafting it over the last few weeks, mocked him. I’m not good enough, it seemed to shout. And neither are you. You never will be.
Alex shook his head vigorously, batting away the voice. The painting was almost done – there were just a few splashes of light to add, and he could finish it if he put in a couple more hours. His father didn’t want his work, and Alex had no clue what he’d do with it, but he’d finish what he’d started and then take it – and himself – back to Edinburgh.
He began to mix his paints but couldn’t stop his attention from straying to Ella’s easel. Someone had moved it closer to the window and he couldn’t see her work from here. Just the edge of the canvas, and the sheet which had been thrown over her betrayal. No wonder she hadn’t wanted anyone to see it.
He took in a deep breath and tracked across the room, unable to stop himself. He’d been so shocked and hurt last night that he’d barely had a chance to study her work. So he’d look again, burn the image of treachery into his brain – the picture that proved that no one could be trusted. That his father had always been right.
Alex suspected he’d have weak days in the future, moments when he might wonder if Ella had really meant what she’d said about the painting being for him. He might find himself wondering while staring at the ceiling in the dark hours of a lonely night, if perhaps she hadn’t tricked him. If she’d been telling the truth. But the picture would prove once and for all that she had been lying. Alex would know in his gut when he saw it again if it had been for him. He reached for the edge of the material, let his hand hover for a moment, not quite ready to face the pain as his stomach churned. In the end, he had to force himself to rip it off in one quick sweep, like he was removing a plaster. It might hurt more, but the pain wouldn’t last as long.
Then Alex started feeling sick. Any hope he had that Ella had been telling the truth disappeared like a snowball in sunshine and he shuddered. Because the painting was gone – and in its place someone had left a blank canvas. Her work was probably already on its way to Edinburgh and his father, the deal obviously done. He swallowed and nodded, acknowledging the irritating prickle of tears as they flooded the edges of his eyes and forcing them away, along with any lingering feelings.
Ella had betrayed him and the sooner he finished his picture and left Pinecone Manor, the faster he’d be able to get on with his life.
Two hours later, Alex heaved the damp painting and his suitcase down the stairs as Aggie let herself in through the front door.
‘Surely you aren’t leaving, lad?’ she gasped, frowning as she perused his luggage and the canvas.
‘I’m sorry, I have to,’ Alex said gruffly.
Aggie nodded as understanding dawned. ‘Mae’s called an emergency pantomime rehearsal for later today. I wondered what might have happened.’ She took a step forward, her face filled with sympathy. ‘Is everything okay?’
‘It’s fine,’ Alex said. ‘I’ve just…’ He didn’t want to lie to the older woman – but he didn’t want to tell her the truth either. It was still too painful, and he felt stupid just acknowledging what had happened. ‘I need to get back to my father.’
‘A family emergency.’ She grimaced. ‘Aye, I understand. When will you be back?’
‘I won’t,’ Alex said, cringing as Aggie’s face fell.
‘Ah, okay. I might be an old gossip, but I’m not going to ask you why, lad. I can see this is difficult for you.’ She frowned as she nodded towards the door. ‘Are you going to see Ella before you go? The lass left a wellington boot in the porch. I’ve no idea how she got home with only one. Do you?’ She turned back to him, her face a picture of confusion and worry. She might not be asking Alex what had gone on, but it was clear she was trying to puzzle it out.
Alex shook his head. ‘I won’t have a chance to see her, sorry.’
‘Well, can you take the time to say goodbye to Hunter at least?’ Aggie pleaded. ‘The lad’s very fond of you. He’d be devastated if you left without saying goodbye.’
‘Aye.’ Alex sighed. ‘But?—’
‘He’s in Blair’s tea room now. You could just pop in?’ she implored.
Alex took in a long breath. ‘Okay,’ he promised. He didn’t want to stop in Mistletoe Village, but he knew whatever happened, he couldn’t let the boy down. Alex wasn’t like his father – at least not yet…
‘Alex! Mr Charming,’ Hunter shouted from the booth in the corner of The Snug Tea Room as soon as Alex opened the door.
‘Hunter.’ Alex glanced around, ensuring Ella wasn’t here as he made his way towards the small boy. ‘Shouldn’t you be in school?’ He slid into the seat opposite, taking in the sketch pad and colouring pens piled on the table.
‘Don’t be silly.’ The boy giggled. ‘It’s the Christmas holidays now.’ His smile dimmed. ‘Da isn’t going to make it back until tomorrow. But Mam told me he’s definitely coming to the pantomime this time.’
‘That’s good,’ Alex said, thinking of all the Christmas events his father had missed due to his important work. How each absence had chipped away at his confidence. But ironically, when his father had finally attended his show, it was the last thing in the world he’d wanted. ‘Did he get your picture yet?’ he asked.
Hunter shook his head. ‘It’s going to arrive today.’ He bounced on his seat. ‘I can’t wait until he gets it. Nana promised she’d let me know as soon as he rings.’ He glanced up as Blair made her way across the tea room carrying a tray.
‘It’s good to see you, lad. Mae’s called an emergency rehearsal for later today, any idea why?’
‘Um.’ Alex swallowed as Blair put a mug of coffee in front of him. He wasn’t ready to tell Hunter he was leaving yet, to pop his happy bubble. He just wanted to chat, to take a moment before he upset him.
Luckily, a crowd of people bustled into the café at that moment, distracting Blair. ‘I’ll bring over some cake in a moment,’ she said, eyeing them. ‘Don’t bother the man too much, lad.’
‘It’s okay. We’re friends,’ Alex said quietly.
‘We are friends,’ Hunter said, beaming at him. ‘I drew you another picture.’ He flicked through the pad and carefully tore out a page. ‘It’s of you and Ella this time.’ Hunter slid the paper towards him and Alex felt as if something inside of him had just been punctured. She was wearing the Cinderella ballgown and he was dressed up as Prince Charming. Beside them were two mice. ‘I’m in it and so is Maxwell,’ the boy said shyly. ‘I thought you could take it with you when you go back to your work. It’ll remind you of me.’
‘It will.’ Alex nodded, a little overcome. Hunter’s kindness and determination to befriend him was humbling. All that innocence. Had he been like this once, what had happened? ‘It’s really brilliant, lad,’ he croaked suddenly wishing he could talk to Stan. His friend might be able to help him make sense of the feelings he’d always been able to control. The ones that were now threatening to consume him.
‘Hunter, your da’s on the phone,’ Blair said, appearing again at the table. She placed a mince pie in front of Alex. ‘I thought you’d like to take it in the office, it’s quieter there.’
Hunter gave Alex a quick smile and then bounded after his aunt. Alex sat staring out of the window of the tea room, his mind swirling. He took his mobile from his pocket and quickly calculated the time in New Zealand. It would be late evening, not too late to call his friend.
He tugged his coat back on and left the mince pie, quickly swigged a gulp of his coffee before indicating to Blair that he’d be back. When he was outside, he dialled Stan’s number, pacing back and forth on the snowy pavement as it continued to ring. When the message clicked on, he frowned.
‘Stan. I don’t know where you are, but can you call me when you can? I’ve got some things to say.’ He frowned. ‘Probably things I should have said a long time ago. Like I value your friendship.’
He swallowed.
‘I don’t think I ever really realised how rare it is to be able to trust someone so completely. I know you always tell me that I don’t say how I feel, and I’m not going to suddenly start doing it now.’ He shut his eyes. ‘But I will say you’re the best person I know. I got your email about the business and…’ Alex honestly didn’t know what to say next.
He hung up and shoved his mobile back into his pocket and walked into the tea room again. He could see Hunter was sitting back in the booth – but something was different. The boy was drawing again, hunched over his pad, his body rigid.
Alex caught Blair’s eye and saw her lips were drawn. She motioned him over.
‘What happened?’ he asked, glancing back towards the booth.
She sucked in a breath. ‘The lad’s da told him his picture isn’t any good. Said he needed to try harder.’
Alex frowned. ‘But the picture was brilliant.’
‘Ach, well. The eejit never thinks anything his son does is good enough’. She sighed. ‘He’s always been the same. He believes in harsh words and the power of criticism. He’s never realised how easy it is to break a spirit. To make a wee lad feel like he’s not enough. Doesn’t seem to matter what any of us say.’ She looked at Alex, her expression hopeful. ‘I know it’s a lot to ask, but could you talk to him? I think he might listen to you.’
Alex felt a knot form in the centre of his chest. ‘I can try,’ he muttered. ‘But I need to get something first.’ Before Blair could say anything, he headed out of the tea room. He knew exactly what he needed to do.
Alex returned a few moments later, carrying his canvas. He slid back into his seat in the booth opposite Hunter and rested his picture beside him on the bench. He hadn’t bothered to wrap it so put it facing the seat so the boy didn’t see it yet, but Hunter didn’t look up from his drawing. He watched the boy work. He was concentrating hard, but his mouth was tense and unhappy – a sharp contrast to the way he’d looked when Alex had arrived. ‘What happened with your da?’ he asked gently.
‘He said my drawing was really bad,’ the boy said. ‘It’s not real enough, and the colours are all wrong. He said it was ridiculous.’
The familiar word had something vicious spiking inside Alex’s heart. ‘What do you think?’ he asked gruffly.
‘About what?’ Hunter looked up, as if he were surprised that mattered.
Alex mulled what to say. He knew every word counted; mere syllables had the power to snap a spirit or build it. His father had always had the same choice – why had he chosen to break it every time?
He leaned forward and held Hunter’s eyes. The boys were red from tears. He understood those too – not that he’d shed any recently. Not until last night. He cleared his throat. ‘I showed my da my painting yesterday,’ he said and saw the boy’s forehead twitch as he finally noticed the canvas beside Alex.
‘What did he say?’ Hunter leaned forward as Alex turned the picture around, distracted momentarily from his misery.
‘He told me it wasn’t good enough,’ Alex said, shaking his head. ‘What do you think?’ Hunter looked equally dazzled and bewildered, and Alex wondered why he’d always given his father’s opinion so much weight. Why had he spent a lifetime allowing him to control how he felt – hadn’t Stan said as much? Why hadn’t he listened?
‘But your picture is fantastic.’ Hunter frowned, his young face twisting as he tried to come up with an explanation. ‘You paint brilliantly. Even Mr Lockhart thinks so and he doesn’t think anyone can draw.’ The boy sat back, a tumble of emotions flickering across his face as he studied the work. ‘I don’t understand.’
Alex shrugged. He wasn’t sure how to articulate something he was only just beginning to comprehend himself. He turned to look at his painting again, allowed himself to see it properly. It was good and he was just as talented as everyone said. ‘I wonder if some people only know how to look for the bad in the world.’ Perhaps they were born with a mind intent to criticise. Maybe it made them feel better about themselves?
He didn’t know how to put that into words and wasn’t sure he should. He wasn’t here to knock Hunter’s father down, to make him look small in the eyes of his son. All he could do was provide a few hints so that one day the boy might work it out for himself. Hopefully, it wouldn’t take him thirty years.
‘But why?’ Hunter looked bemused.
Alex shrugged. ‘I can only tell you I think my father does it because he thinks it’s going to help. He wants to make me into the best version of myself. Only.’ He paused. ‘I’m not sure his best version is the same as mine.’
Alex breathed out as the words sunk in, looking for a space where they could live, and form a new truth. He’d spent his life living up to the belief that if he just tried harder, did more, he’d be enough – but in this moment, he wondered if he ever would.
Was it time for him to start living for himself and not Michael Charming? The realisation floored him, and it took him a moment to notice Hunter was nodding.
‘I think I know what you mean,’ the boy said. ‘In school we learned not everyone likes the same things.’ He glanced at Alex’s mug. ‘I hate coffee, but I love hot chocolate. As long as it’s not too hot and has extra sugar in it. Maxwell likes haggis, but I think it’s—’ He pulled a face and Alex laughed, then the little boy began to laugh too.
‘Aye, which means we all need to decide what we think is good. To believe in ourselves,’ Alex agreed. ‘Do what we think is right, like what we want to like, be proud of what we accomplish.’ He pulled a face – he didn’t want to overstep. ‘That doesn’t mean I’m saying your da is wrong…’ he added carefully. ‘I just don’t agree with him, so I say draw what you love, lad. Don’t let anyone tell you it’s not good enough. Also…’ Alex turned to his picture as a thought occurred. ‘I wondered if you’d like to keep this picture?’ he asked.
‘You want to give me your painting?’ Hunter marvelled, his voice hushed.
‘Aye,’ Alex said, handing the canvas across the table. The boy took it, his eyes rounding with delight. ‘I owe you a picture or two, and I can’t think of anyone I’d rather give this to…’ Alex paused, taking his time so he got the words right. ‘I hope it’ll help to remind you not to listen to everyone’s opinion.’ Hunter blinked. ‘Sometimes, the only one that matters is your own.’
‘Aye.’ Hunter stared at the canvas before carefully placing it beside him in the booth – then he nodded before giving Alex a thoughtful smile.
He picked up his mug and sipped, swiping foam from his lip before he tore out a blank piece of paper from his sketch pad and offered it. ‘You can use my pens,’ he said before starting to colour again. This time, when he began to work, Hunter was smiling.
Alex stared at the blank piece of paper. Was it time for him to make a new start too?