‘No! Okay, I’m aware I— No thanks, I’m still working on the first one.’
Charles puts the beers he had raised back into the fridge. He doesn’t need another one either. What he needs is to shove nasty feelings back where they belong, which isn’t in this flat. So he takes an instant to gather himself, focusing on the concert ticket stuck on the fridge. A French rock festival, nineteen years ago. Loris couldn’t have been older than five when it happened.
‘I’m aware my lecture reduced Pavel to a privileged glory hunter, but I know he was more layered than that, and I’m not criticising him for opening up about it. I’m sceptical about his revelations in the form ofThe Mind of Wonders.It’s too convenient, as if he built his backstory based on what was on theLands, and not the other way around. Plus, I hate that it alters the initial creative process he talked about. But of course he was a complex person. Of course people are scarred and… even more beautiful and interesting because of it.’
Loris’ soft smile feels like a slap. Softness is dangerous. Charles needs to veer back.
‘Did you know that the book “ruins everything that’s great about Olwinski” before you read it?’
‘Kind of, yeah. My mum had warned me.’
‘So you were wearing your sceptical glasses from the front cover. You should put mine on and give it another read.’
‘Your glasses? Heart-shaped but dark tinted? I’m gonna pass. You wouldn’t wear mine.’
‘I did over the weekend.’ Charles pulls his coat closer to delve into his pocket. ‘I tried to find anything that’d justify your comment.’
‘Glad to hear that I got under your skin to the point of taking over your weekend.’
Charles rolls his eyes but doesn’t refute the statement, because Loris is teasing, and all is well. He replies to a message from Elsy and flops back down against the pillows.
‘You’ve got to go?’
‘Soon. I’m meeting Elsy. She was with me last week, I don’t know if you remember.’
‘She’s hard to forget.’ Loris sways away from the easel, only to move very close and add a firm pencil stroke. ‘Are you guys dating?’
Charles is about to recite is well-rehearsed answer, when it occurs to him that it’s superfluous in this flat. ‘No. We used to. Now she’s my ride or die. And I’m trying to be hers. She’s the best.’
‘She seems fun. And she’s beautiful. I’d be happy to draw her.’
‘I don’t think she’d let you.’
‘About that…’ Loris rubs his lips together, stroking the back of his neck. ‘I’ve started something without your permission and I’m soon gonna reach the point of no return.’
‘What are you on about?’
Loris points his chin at the easel, so Charles gets up, ready to be mind-blown again and to admit it without filters. But the drawing leaves him speechless.
Loris has greatly improved the fissured mirror, adding depth and a reflection among the waves. It’s only a sketch, split between several pieces of glass, but it’s remarkably expressive and distinctly Charles’ face.
‘I’m sorry if it’s too intrusive, even for the stalker in you. I was always gonna draw someone and… you were here, so it happened. But if you mind, I can erase you.’
‘It’s fine.’ Charles is too shocked to be bothered and wouldn’t bebothered in any case. ‘My grandfather is addicted to family oil portraits, so I’ve been there, done that. But how? You barely looked at me!’
‘I flick-look, it’s subtle. It brings the model to the support, and I trace it. If that makes sense.’
‘No, your talent doesn’t make sense, Loris. It’s scary good.’
‘So it’s okay? I can carry on and colour you?’
‘Yes…’
‘Awesome!’
‘As long as you rereadThe Mind of Wonders.’
Loris spins towards him, gaping, and Charles places his forefinger underneath his chin to lift it up.
