Chapter 6
MICHAEL
‘What’s that?’ my brother asks. He’s standing over me, eating a piece of toast, crumbs falling onto the paper. I fold it quickly.
I haven’t been able to draw for a long time.
Every time I’ve tried has felt like forcing an image onto paper that doesn’t want to be drawn on.
Like I’m intruding, like my mark doesn’t belong.
Until last night. Once I’d got home, sleep-deprived but grinning like an idiot, I’d laid the ring on my desk.
And just like when I was sitting at the bus stop, with Alice in front of me, the paper hadn’t resisted, the graphite soft and malleable beneath the pressure of my fingers.
‘None of your business. And have you ever heard of a plate?’ He takes another bite, chewing loudly. Give us strength. I need to move out of here, else I’m going to end up killing this little gobshite. He grins at me, jam at the corner of his mouth.
Mam walks into the room, her head poking out above a pile of laundry.
‘Mike’s drawing again,’ he says as she starts pairing socks and shoving them into his drawers.
‘Stop teasing your brother, it’s his little hobby while he looks for proper work. And it keeps him out of trouble, which is more than can be said about you.’
‘He can put away his own laundry, Mam.’ I change the subject.
‘Yes, but if I know your brother, this pile here will be festering on his bed all day and then be thrown on the floor and then I’ll only end up washing the whole bleeding lot again.’
I glare at my brother and nod towards Mam, but my pointed stare is lost on him and I’m not fast enough when his hand swiftly snatches the paper from my hands.
‘Carl, I’m warning you, give that back or I swear I’ll…’
But he’s in full on little brother mode. ‘What is this, a ring? I was at least hoping you’d be drawing a nice pair of…’ He cups imaginary boobs in front of his bony chest.
Mam clips him around the ear, takes the drawing, and passes it back to me.
I fold it into the back pocket of my jeans.
‘I’ve got to go, I said I’d help Kate,’ I say, not meeting her eyes as she moves to my desk, picking up the ring.
My throat thickens as she holds it up.
‘Whose is this?’
‘A girl I met last night, she dropped it. It’s no big deal. I’m going to send it to her in the post.’
‘She’s not local?’ she asks, the slight lift in her voice saying all the things she expects of me: Yorkshire lads work hard, marry a local girl and settle down in a nice semi-detached down the road.
And that’s honestly what I thought I’d do.
I love my home, my friends, my family. But when Sarah left, when she said she wanted more than a life here, it’s made me question if this is the life I want.
If I really want to be a replica of everyone else on my street.
‘No. Well, she lost her job and…’
‘Ah well, best not to get your hopes up then, eh, love? No good ever came of long-distance relationships.’ She realises what she’s just said, an almost blow by blow account of what Sarah had said. ‘Mikey, I didn’t mean…’
‘I’ve got to go.’ I grab my denim jacket and pull it on. ‘I’m helping Kate.’
Her face brightens at that. ‘Lovely girl, our Kate.’
‘Aye. She is.’
* * *
Kate, predictably, is sporting a headache and reaches out gratefully when I pass her a bottle of Lucozade and a bacon butty. ‘Where do you want this?’ I ask, lifting a crate of tomatoes while she rubs her temples.
‘Next to the lettuce.’
I help with setting up until she’s recovered enough to get behind the stall, her wide smile already in place.
The market is quickly becoming busy. The sun has brought out the salad hunters and the butcher’s at the end of the road was heaving. The whole town will smell of burnt sausages and sunburn by the end of the day.
Kate folds down the top of a brown paper bag, passing it over to the harried-looking woman rocking a pram forwards and backwards.
Kate takes the change and rifles around inside her brown apron’s pouch, passing over a handful of coppers.
After five more customers, once I’ve heaved the rest of the stock out of the back of the van, there is a small lull.
Across from Kate’s stall, Gary the Geezer is shouting his wares – buy one knock-off Calvin Klein and get another free.
‘So, where did you go last night? Shag the leggy brunette?’ She covers her eyes against the sun and takes another swig from her bottle.
‘Alice, and no.’ I sit down on the crate next to her, hiding a yawn with my hand.
She lets out a low laugh. ‘I’m guessing from your delightful mood this morning that she blew you off?’
‘None of your business.’
She snorts. ‘That’s a yes then.’
‘It’s not a yes, actually. She…’ I think back to the night before, which is becoming more and more surreal the more I think about it.
‘She gave me her address. She’s starting a new job, fresh start and all that.’ I don’t know why I don’t mention the rest of the night, or the ring.
‘Oh. And are you going to write to her?’
‘Yeah. I mean, maybe?’
‘Yeah, maybe?’ Kate watches me. ‘And what will you say?’
I pause. It’d been harder than I thought, putting pen to paper, like. Drawing was easier. And what exactly am I supposed to say? Hi, I can’t stop thinking about you. Hi, my life’s a right mess now…
‘Hello? Earth to Michael?’
‘Just, you know…’ Kate offers me her bottle and I take a long sip. ‘Stuff. About my life, I suppose… Boring shite really.’
‘You think this is boring?’ She gestures to the busy market. ‘Yorkshire’s finest, taking their lives in their hands for the best in not-so-designer gear?’
‘Maybe I’ll write to her about that.’
‘Well, if you want to tell her I’m selling three punnets of grapes for a quid, then I’m sure she’ll be just dying to write back saying what a bargain it is.’ I shake my head as she writes a new price sign on the back of a piece of cardboard and props it behind the grapes.
‘Do you think I should?’ I pull at my ear.
‘Tell her about my bargains?’
‘Write to her, like? I mean, it’s not like anything can come of it, right?’
Kate sits next to me, popping the lid back on the pen.
‘Why not?’ She tightens her blonde ponytail.
‘She was—’ I tap my leg with my thumb ‘—different.’
‘How?’
‘I don’t know. Like she doesn’t belong here.’ I gesture to our surroundings. ‘She was…’
Kate takes a bite out of an apple, leg bouncing in her jeans, then laughs. ‘Oh, bloody hell. You’ve got the look.’
‘The look?’
‘Yeah, the same look you used to have every time Sarah wafted past in a cloud of superiority.’ She finishes the apple, and throws the core into the tub under the stall.
‘I don’t have a look,’ I reply, folding my arms.
‘Yes, you do.’ She unwraps a stick of Wrigley’s, offers me one, which I decline with a shake of my head. Kate pops it into her mouth, chewing thoughtfully. ‘You always go for the ones that have one foot out of the door, eyes on some prize off in the distance.’
‘That’s not what this is.’
‘So what is it?’
‘Don’t you ever want more?’ I look down at my hands, rubbing my thumb along the callus on my middle finger.
‘More?’
‘More from life other than working every day, getting married and settling down.’
‘Such as?’
I think about my folder filled with earlier drawings and paintings of the raw untarnished Yorkshire landscape most folk think of, and places I’ve never visited inspired by the travel books section in the library. ‘Travel? Do a job you love rather than one that’s going to pay bills.’
She frowns. ‘Look, I know this isn’t glamorous,’ she begins a little defensively, ‘and I’m not going to be a millionaire, but there’s a lot to be said about an honest day’s work. I love my job. I can’t imagine doing anything else.’
‘I know, that’s not what I meant… I just—’
‘And what’s wrong with getting married and settling down here? There’s worse places.’
‘I’m not saying that, it’s just… something feels like it’s missing. In here.’ I tap my chest. ‘You know?’
Her voice softens. ‘Sarah really did you over, didn’t she? Look, you’re still recovering. This time last year, you were happy. It’s only fish face leaving that’s stirred up all this guff.’
A small smile tugs at me. ‘How long have you been calling her fish face?’
‘Since you first met. It was the lips. Always had a pout on, that one.’ She puckers her lips and I laugh, despite the pull of unease. I always thought Kate liked Sarah. ‘You’ll be alright. Have you thought any more about applying to St Martins?’
I think of the application Kate had given me, hidden in my top drawer beneath my boxers. But every time I tried to put together a portfolio for the application, it was just shite. Each attempt worse than the last.
‘Nah. I’m not good enough.’
‘That’s bull. You’re brilliant, Mike.’
‘Not London Art School standard. And I’m too old. I’m starting that new job and God only knows I need to bring some money in soon. I’ve got to get my own place. Carl’s driving me mad.’
‘You’ve just got a lot on your plate, but don’t dismiss the art course. Lots of people study later in life.’
‘Christ, that makes us sound ancient.’
‘We’re not getting any younger, that’s for sure. I’m getting wrinkles.’ She fans out her hands, plucking at the skin beneath her knuckles. ‘Look! I’ve hands like an Egyptian mummy.’
We take a beat; the sun is starting to gather some heat. I scratch behind my ear. ‘So you don’t think I should write to her?’
‘I don’t know. Maybe ask yourself what you want from it?’
‘Well, a reply would be a good start.’
‘Aye, but what then?’
Our attention is pulled towards Danny. He’s a six-foot bear of a man.
‘Here she is!’ Danny swaggers towards us with a grin. Kate beams, stands and is brought quickly to his soft, meaty chest. ‘And how are you, my gorgeous girl?’
I stay a while, making small talk with Danny while Kate fills up a bag of new potatoes and chats to the middle-aged woman with bright-blue eyeshadow.
I don’t know how Kate remembers the names and families of all her regular customers.
She’s mid-conversation when Danny throws in a few one-liners.
But Kate doesn’t seem to notice the way he talks and talks and talks, barely giving her enough space to tell the woman the price.
He’s all right though, even if he does think he’s funnier than he is. And he loves Kate.
I say my goodbyes and head off back up the high street, past the cinema, and take a right until I get to John Menzies and buy a first-class stamp, a notepad, then head out of the sun towards home.
Mam and Dad are downstairs, watching Grandstand.
Carl is thankfully out doing God only knows what with his mates.
I chuck one of Carl’s crisp wrappers in the bin beneath my desk and shift a septic glass of milk out of the way.
I sit at my desk in the same way as I did when I was a teenager studying for my O levels.
I slide open my drawer and unfold the corner of chip paper.
It still smells of vinegar, and I know it’s my imagination, but I swear I smell cherries too.
I shake my head, and double-check the address.
Her writing is slightly smudged, but the number 76 is clear enough.
I pick up the ring, sliding it through the chain around my neck so that it sits beneath my grey T-shirt, and reach for a pen.