Chapter Fourteen
FOURTEEN
Despite my good intentions, the internet connection failed almost immediately, so I didn’t get much further in my research.
Instead I spent half an hour trying to reconnect to the Wi-Fi.
Ford moved his easel and Izzy not-so-subtly followed him, so I turned my back to the room and I’ve been flicking through magazines and staring out the window for the last ten minutes.
“So, what’s the vision here?” I turn to see Noah hovering, looking over my shoulder at a selection of colorful toys that were definitely not made for children. I slam the magazine shut. Damn you, Cosmo.
“I wasn’t…I mean…” My face is on fire, and I can’t get the right words out, which makes me look even guiltier. Noah smirks and plays with the lens of the camera draped round his neck. “I was thinking of making a…collage,” I finish weakly.
“Sure you were.” There’s humor in his voice, but he’s not making eye contact, and I can tell he’s regretting saying anything. Good. At least I’m not the only one who feels awkward now.
“Computer’s acting up.” I change the subject. “It’s older than Ramona.”
“Hey, leave Ramona out of this,” Noah jokes as he sits down on a tall stool. I study him for a second. I haven’t quite grasped his personality yet, but the thought that he might be flirting flits through my mind. I push it away. Wishful thinking, Fliss. “I wasn’t sure if you’d be in today.”
“Oh, Izzy made me,” I joke back, pointing to where she’s wrapping the bright red wool around a wooden frame.
She’s set up her loom next to Ford, and he is sitting in front of his easel with the posture of a man awaiting sentencing.
The canvas in front of him looks blank and I wonder if he erased all the work he did before.
“Does Izzy always make you do things you don’t want to do?”
I recall all the things she’s forced me into that have gotten me into trouble over the years. “Yep.” I grin.
“Izzy sounds fun.” He laughs. “I haven’t spoken to her in years, but I recognized her straightaway.”
“She’s an icon,” I say, smiling. “And she didn’t really make me come. We both needed some normality after…well, you know.”
Noah takes a second and his face softens. “I saw it on the news this morning. I’m sorry I joked about things last night. I didn’t realize what had happened or how bad it was. That must have been…I mean, I don’t even know.”
“It was horrible,” I say softly, looking down at the table. Tears prick at my eyes, surprising me, and I sniff hard, trying to keep them back. Guess I’m not seeing it that objectively after all.
“Yeah.” Noah’s quiet for a second and then surprises me by jumping up and changing the subject. “Come on, let’s get you some water. We can snoop on everyone else’s projects that way.”
“Okay,” I reply, puzzling over his sudden change in demeanor. Maybe he’s not good with feelings either and the sarcasm thing is a front.
We cross the room toward the water cooler, and I lower my voice as we pass Scarlett, who is cross-legged and barefoot on the tile floor, surrounded by a selection of broken beauty products. “Her idea sounds so interesting, don’t you think?”
“I don’t really know what she’s doing,” Noah admits.
“I excused myself when she said the words ‘feminine rage’ to Ramona.” I make a show of raising my eyebrows at him and he splutters.
“I mean, I’m all for, you know, feminism and…
rage…” He trails off. “Fine, she scares the crap out of me, is that what you want to hear?”
I burst out laughing as Scarlett closes her eyes and starts to hum to herself softly. “Oh, yeah, she’s terrifying,” I say.
I grab a paper cup, trying not to think about last night as I fill it up. I remind myself it’s only water in this cup, but I still can’t seem to bring myself to drink it.
“What about this guy?” I point at the man I spotted yesterday, he of the tweed and fabulous mustache. “He doesn’t look like an amateur. I wonder why he’s here? Do you think he looks the part but really just draws stick figures?”
“Who, Bob?” I look at Noah in surprise. “What? I spoke to him this morning. He said he paints still lifes, so I guess fruit and flowers? Let’s go and have a look.”
Noah starts to cross the room in the least casual way ever, forcing a smile to tug at my lips. I follow him and he makes a choking sound as he passes Bob’s canvas. I hurry over to him.
“What is it?” I ask. He points at the canvas as he gasps for air between what I now recognize are fits of laughter.
I edge closer to Bob and peer over his shoulder, but before I can clap a hand over my mouth, a loud snort escapes, sending Noah into hysterics.
I rush back to him, trying not to slop water over the sides of my cup, and we race back toward the water cooler.
“Oh my god,” I gasp, looking furtively back at Bob, who is wearing a disapproving frown.
He definitely heard us. “Do naked people count as still life? Some of us are under eighteen!”
“No wonder he has it turned away from the rest of the room.” Noah laughs again, crushing his cup and throwing it into the recycling bin.
“Izzy needs to see this,” I say, the laughter subsiding but leaving a warm glow in the center of my chest. I hold on to it. “Though Bob should be prepared for some, erm, technical questions when she does.”
Noah starts to chuckle again, and I pour my untouched water down the sink, watching it swirl round the plughole. Just water. I’m grateful when a gentle tinkling sound fills the room, slowly getting louder until Ramona stops tapping her triangle.
“That’s your five-minute warning for today, folks. You can leave your projects at your stations if you need to. Just clean away anything you’ve used and I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Noah nudges me and tips his head over at Bob, who is furtively draping a stained cloth over his painting.
“Oh, now he covers it.” I laugh, checking my watch. Three o’clock. “What are you doing after this?” I ask Noah before I can think it through. I realize I’m really enjoying his company.
“Oh, I don’t know.” He rubs the back of his neck and I swear he’s blushing a bit. “I’ll probably just go home. I still live in the same house as when we were kids. You?”
“No idea. We missed lunch to get here on time and I’m starving now,” I say honestly. It’s the first time I’ve thought about food since last night. “I’ll see what Izzy wants to do, but you could come, if you like?”
Noah nods and trails behind me as I approach her. She’s chatting to Ford and looking at his canvas, which is now a very pale yellow.
“Hey, guys.” She smiles at us. “How are your projects going?”
“I’m still in the research stages,” I say, lowering my voice as Bob walks past us with his bundle of brushes.
“But wait until I tell you what he achieved today.” Izzy furrows her brow, and I change the subject in case Bob hears us laughing at him again.
“Later, I promise. I’ve just realized how starving I am, though.
I don’t think we have any real food at home until the delivery Kim organized shows up later. Are you hungry?”
“I am, actually. We could have sandwiches on the quad? You want to join us, Ford?” Izzy asks. Ford shrugs in what I assume to be agreement.
“I can always eat,” he says before taking his brushes over to the sink. That’s Ford, a man of few words.
“Sounds good.” Scarlett’s breathy voice is suddenly next to me, and I glance around as she drops her Birkenstocks to the floor and slides them back on. “Are we all going?”
“Looks like it.” Izzy tries to hide a frown as Ford comes back and Scarlett smiles at him.
“Come on,” I say, leading them out of the studio. “That place with the lavender lattes had the most amazing-looking sandwiches.”
The grass that covers the green outside the Clarendon Building is springy beneath me, the soft, mossy kind that you can get really comfy on.
I sit cross-legged, grateful I threw on trousers this morning, and unwrap a pesto, mozzarella and tomato baguette that makes my mouth water.
The others settle around me, and I watch Scarlett take a huge bite from a pastrami sandwich and once again reassess my first impression of her.
I totally had her pegged as a vegetarian.
I adjust my gaze to look at the Heywood Gallery behind her, its glass facade twinkling innocently in the sunlight.
There’s no crime scene tape or anything, just a handwritten sign tacked to the front doors.
I wonder if they cleared everything away this morning, or if they’re investigating in the locker room.
I can’t imagine the university wants to advertise what happened more than it already has been.
“How long’s the gallery closed for?” Ford asks from across the circle, following my gaze. “I mean it is, right?”
“I don’t have a clue,” I admit, feeling in my bag for my iPad. “My dad will know, but I need to connect to Wi-Fi to text him—I probably should have thought to do that in class. We still don’t have our phones.”
“You can use the hot spot on my phone,” Noah offers, digging a smartphone that has seen better days from his pocket and swiping the screen. He places it on the grass in front of me. “Here.”
“Thanks.” I take a bite of my sandwich and carefully type in the hotspot password on my tablet.
As soon as I hit enter, the screen fills with notifications, so I scroll through them. Some are from my mum and Izzy’s, both checking in, but most are from Dad. “Oh, great.”
“What’s up?” Izzy asks, leaning over to look. I tilt the screen so she can read. “Oh.”
“Yeah.” I type a quick reply and put down the tablet, my appetite making a quick exit. “It could be days until they get home now.”
“Is that your dad? Where is he, again?” Noah asks.
“In the Maldives on his honeymoon. It took like twelve hours to fly to Malé and then they had to get a speedboat to the resort, so they were traveling all of yesterday. He was planning to come straight back after what happened last night, but a tropical storm has hit and now there are no boats or planes coming or going.” I glance at the iPad.
“Storm Marco, apparently. Did you guys hear anything about it?”
“I saw something this morning. They used the word ‘unprecedented,’ which is never good,” Noah says before throwing the last bit of baguette in his mouth. How do boys eat so fast?
“Spooky,” Scarlett says, taking another bite and chewing thoughtfully. I wait for her to elaborate but nothing comes.
“Spooky?” Ford repeats slowly. He looks tired, and I wonder what’s on his mind.
He looked like he was struggling with that picture today and I wonder if his grandad is still alive—painting a loved one who isn’t around anymore would bring up a lot of emotions.
I think he achieved even less than I did.
“You know, the curse.” Scarlett wipes her fingers on a napkin as she talks. “From the portrait. It obviously makes bad things happen.”
“You don’t really believe that, do you? I was only joking yesterday,” Noah says. I want to voice my agreement, but an icy shiver slides down my back despite the sunshine. “A painting didn’t cause what happened last night. A person did.”
“It does have a bad reputation, though,” Izzy says carefully, avoiding my gaze. “Look at Professor Williams! He was hiding it in his house for who knows how long, and you know what happened to him.”
“I don’t,” Ford says, folding up his wrapper and leaning back on both arms. “Enlighten us.”
“He was grieving, that’s all,” I say, before Izzy can chime in with her version of events. “He’d just had to nurse his dying wife, and he must have had a heart condition he wasn’t aware of.”
“He had a heart attack?” Ford asks, his face softening. Something flits across it, but it’s gone before anyone else can see it.
“Yeah,” Noah says, and I realize he would have known Professor Williams better than any of us.
“We all knew him and his wife from around Blackwood. They were really nice. After she died, he lived on his own, so when he passed away over the Easter break, no one realized for a while.” Izzy winces—I didn’t tell her that part.
“I’m sorry, that’s really sad,” Scarlett says, admiring a ring on her finger. It’s one of many that she’s wearing, a gold band inlaid with enamel flowers set into a blue background. “I didn’t mean to upset anyone.”
“You didn’t,” I reassure her, and take the opportunity to change the subject. “I like your ring. It’s so pretty.”
“Thanks.” She smiles, holding her hand up in the sun.
“I liberated it from a garage sale. It’s cloisonné, almost a hundred years old, apparently.
” I ponder her use of the term “liberated.” As in, she stole it?
I try and fail to envision Scarlett as a shoplifter.
No, she must think she saved it from mundanity when she bought it.
“I got this one there too.” She points at another gold ring, this one set with a round black stone.
“It’s obsidian. For protection.” I think of Kim and wonder if she left some obsidian at home.
It might not hurt to have it around after recent events.
“Hold that pose,” Noah says, lifting his camera from round his neck.
With her flowing vintage kimono and the tiny plaits at the front of her long blond hair, Scarlett looks like she’s time-traveled straight from the sixties and landed in the middle of the twenty-first century.
I gather up everyone’s wrappers as Noah snaps away and stand up so I can put our rubbish in the bin.
I walk back slowly, stretching my back as I watch the group in the sunshine.
Noah is directing Scarlett, who is a natural in front of the camera, and Izzy and Ford seem to be locked in serious conversation.
I wonder if they’re talking about last night.
Despite how well I thought I was dealing with everything, the whole mention of a curse has freaked me out.
I’m not superstitious, and I know on a very rational level that last night was nothing but a terrible tragedy, that Dad’s journey home has been delayed by a completely natural storm. That there is no such thing as a curse.
So why can’t I stop thinking about it?