Chapter 40
ALICE
Kate’s voice is quiet as she speaks. I have to concentrate to stay with her.
‘He was still hoping to see her. The day he died. He still somehow believed that she’d get his letters, eventually. He asked her to meet him there. For the solstice.’
The memory of waiting for him beneath the arches of the abbey, Spence’s face as he delivered the news of his death all feels like something I dreamt. ‘I know,’ I say softly.
I lean forward, taking another sip of wine. ‘Do you have any more photos? I’d love to know more about him.’
She smiles, nodding. ‘Yes.’ She breathes like she’s been wanting to share her memories for a long time. Kate hurries from the room as I exhale long and hard.
I finish the glass of wine. Kate’s eyes are bright as she comes back in, her arms carrying an old photo album under her arm, along with a packet of crisps and the bottle of wine.
An hour passes quickly as she shows me old photos of a younger Mike, starting from primary age, right up until his thirties.
Kate is in most of them too, as well as his brother, who Kate points out to me, sometimes his parents in the background wearing Christmas party hats, or watching on, cigarettes in hand. Spence tops up our glasses.
‘Thank you.’ Kate smiles at him easily, like she’s known him all her life and tells him to help himself to more snacks in the kitchen. Spence has always had that way about him. He returns with more crisps.
‘Perfect,’ she replies, as he sits on the floor. Kate tells me about Mike’s break-up with Sarah, his family, how he hated being back there, the responsibilities that rested on his shoulders.
‘I wish I’d met him,’ I say. The bottle is finished, Kate’s cheeks flushed.
‘You did. In a way. When he drew, painted, wrote… That’s the real him. That’s how he saw life.’ She reaches for a large A3 folder. ‘This was from his application. Carl gave it to me when he moved house.’
She spreads the pages out. They’re exquisite.
Small sketches developed into larger ones, black and white mostly, except for a brief flash of colour: a red rose discarded and battered on a paving slab, the gnarled hands of an old man, just the tip of the cigarette glowing, the red welts of chapped hands…
They’re all so honest, so real. The curl of orange peel in the gutter.
A puddle with a deflated blue balloon floating on the top.
‘He wanted to show that there was beauty among the hardship. He always could see what needed to be shown, the real story.’
I stop still at one in particular. At first glance, it looks like another of his sketches of me…
I mean, Alice. But when I lean in closer, I can see that the shape is formed in words, not lines.
Fragments of the words in the letters I know so well all written in various tones, so that the side profile still has light and shade.
‘I’d never seen that one until Carl sent this all over.’
Spence leans forwards, ‘Can I…?’ He reaches out and takes the picture, examining it, looking from the picture, to me, to Kate. ‘I think he drew you too. Same eyes.’ He smiles at her.
She lets out a scoff. ‘No. Mike was focused on Alice; I didn’t come into it. Never wanted to draw me.’
‘Look…’ He passes the drawing back, something like hurt, love, surprise crossing her expression. ‘Well, I never. The cheeky bugger.’ She sits with the portrait, as though seeing it for the first time. She hands it back over, watching me.
We’re quiet as we all continue to leaf through his work.
Spence drums his thumb against his palm, giving a small nod towards Kate that reads you need to ask her.
‘Kate?’ I begin gently. ‘I would like to tell his story. I’m a journalist. Was. It’s complicated. But if it’s OK with you, I’d like to share his work… give him a moment in the limelight?’
‘I…’ She starts to shuffle the papers, organising them back into the folder. ‘I don’t know. It’s not really up to me. You’d best speak to Carl. He’s still local. Owns the pub down the road.’
‘I’d also like to see if we can find Alice. The real…’ I clear my throat. ‘I’d like to give her the letters, but I can leave them with you.’ I nod towards them. ‘And we could pick them up tomorrow? Give you time to read them properly.’
I look over to Spence, and he gives me a quick nod of consent to making an unscheduled overnighter.
Her shoulders sink with relief. ‘I’d like that. Thank you, Alice.’
The room settles, the tensions easing in the rhythm of the clock on the mantlepiece, the gentle hum of a lawnmower in the background.
A key in the lock breaks the spell. Bobby’s voice booming into the hallway. Kate springs into movement, sliding the letters into the portfolio case.
‘In here, love!’
‘Hello again,’ he says, walking into the room and kissing Kate on the head.
‘This is Alice and Spence.’
‘Aye. We’ve met.’ He puts out a hand to Spence then me.
‘They wanted to know about Mike… Alice is a writer. She’s…’
‘Is she now?’ He folds his arms.
‘She is,’ Spence replies.
‘Oh, ignore him, his bark’s worse than his bite.’ Kate looks up at her husband. ‘She wants to write about Michael’s work. His art. His writing…’ she tags on at the end.
‘Really?’ His voice is flat.
‘Oh, you silly old sod. You’ve nowt to be jealous of.’ She meets my eyes, mischief in them. ‘He knows the whole story, how I felt back then.’ She elbows him good naturedly. ‘Been with your sorry arse for most of my life, haven’t I?’
Bobby’s face softens as Kate pops up on tiptoes and kisses his cheek.
‘Silly bugger,’ she says again shaking her head. ‘So, what do you think?’
Bobby has softened, his hand rubbing his chin. ‘Aye. Reckon he’d have liked that. I didn’t know him too well, but he was a decent bloke. Got me a job at the pub when times were hard.’
Kate grins as though to say Yep, that’s our Mike.
‘We’re out of cheesecake, love. Thought I’d check if you had one ready?’
‘Yep. All ready.’
‘We’d best be off,’ Spence says, standing. ‘It was lovely to meet you, Kate.’
I follow his actions as he leads the way into the hall. At the foot of the stairs, I pull Kate into a hug. Spence steps back, holding my bag. ‘Thank you. We’ll pop back tomorrow for the letters. When is a good time?’ I ask.
She looks at Spence, eyes dropping to my bag clutched in his hands.
Behind her, Bobby is moving around in the kitchen.
‘How about three?’ she asks.
‘Perfect.’
‘And thank you. For coming to see me.’ She fiddles with the ring again.
‘I still miss him. Even after all these years.’ She nods to Spence, standing by the door, his phone back in his hand, before she pulls me into another hug.
I don’t want to go. I want to spend the rest of the day learning more about Michael.
‘You’ve got a good one there,’ she says quietly into my ear.
I pull back. ‘Oh, we’re not… We’re just friends.’ She tilts her head, her mouth opening as though she wants to say more.
But she doesn’t.