One of my pupils had died, as had his mother and baby sister, and I was here in the sunshine and feeling interested in a situation that wasn’t me trying to give my all to my class.
“I need to go home and catch up on some sleep. I was up all night.” He looked at me as he explained, and I saw paint on his arms, fine splatters of it caught in the fair hair that was there.
“You’re renovating at night?” I frowned, my eyes stuck on the different colours. If he was, why? The house might be pulled down and why the rainbow?
Gabe slowly shook his head. “Painting pictures.”
“Oh.” Now it made sense. “You were up all night painting?” I’d seen him taking photos on the beach, maybe they were used to help him with inspiration. As someone who dreaded teaching art lessons, I couldn’t begin to comprehend the process.
“I was. I use the barn next to the house: I have lighting set up in there. And a sound system.”
Realisation dawned. “That’s where you’re sleeping?”
He laughed, sheepishly. “Yeah, I know. A grown man sleeping in a barn.”
Catrin shrugged. “I’ve slept in worse places. But there’s no way you can do that when the autumn storms start. You need a plan.”
She had that look on her face that suggested she had gone into plan and fix mode, and it wasn’t one I thought Gabe needed to experience right now. “Let the man get some rest and we can hit the beach. No doubt we’ll see you later”. My eyes didn’t leave his face even though I was speaking to Catrin.
He gave a short nod. “Sure. There’s a beach party tomorrow, I think? I’ve been told I have to go to it.”
“Who by? Because they’re right. You’ve been far too much of a recluse.” Catrin was nothing if not unfiltered.
In fact, this was pretty good for her.
“Shep. And a couple of others. But I’m not making enough of being here. I mean…. I’ve been here four months and…”. He stopped and laughed. “I sound like I’m talking complete shit. I’ll let you ladies get on with your day.” He picked up one of the containers of fish, biceps flexing.
I tried not to look, because I knew that Catrin would notice and we’d be having words later, but it was too difficult.
At least I felt alive for the first time in months. That was a gift.
Gabe
She was pretty. I don’t think I’d used that adjective since I was about twelve, but it summed her up well. Half-a-foot smaller than me with dark brown hair, brown eyes and freckles, she looked delicate and dainty, which made her sound like my great-aunt’s china tea set that I’d once smashed by accident.
I didn’t think I’d be able to smash her though. She was unsure and I sensed the same apprehension that I’d felt myself, but I also sensed her strength and maybe that was what made me afraid. And curious.
The barn doors were wide open, just as I’d left them when I’d headed out into the before-dawn morning. I’d gone without sleep for longer, three, four days after I’d been discharged from the hospital after more surgeries than I cared to think about, but right now I was exhausted and I wanted to sleep. And to think about Anya.
The large canvas practically called my name. My usual lines weren’t needed for this, its style completely different than normal. The hues of the sunset covered the white, darker shades to the top and sides, almost a vignette. What the painting needed was her essence.
What I needed before I went anywhere near it was sleep.
I yanked off my jeans and threw them into a pile of washing that was growing quicker than a nettle patch. At some point soon I had to start to get my life together: Catrin had been right; I couldn’t live through winter here in the barn. Part of the house was liveable; the kitchen, bathroom, one reception room, one bedroom. The rest needed to come down. The part I could keep was the old part, the original farmhouse and the part of the building that had soul.
The ladder up to the mezzanine area of the barn where I slept was rickety and unstable. I’d never brought a woman back here. I’d fucked a few since moving here: women on weekends away, staying in lodges and posh caravans, looking for a screw to pass the time and make them feel good.
Did I feel used or a user? Something told me I probably should feel one, at least, although when I’d lived in London I’d acted in the same way. All the women loved an architect in a suit. My behaviour had been no different, although I had felt more in control back then. Of a lot of things.
The mattress took up most of the mezzanine. It was thick and comfortable, orthopaedic to support the bones of my body that were probably still healing. The sheets were pretty clean – I had a thing for clean sheets – and I felt safe up here, away from traffic.
I closed my eyes, usually hating to sleep during the day, but my body clock was fucked and I knew that if I didn’t catch up I’d be a mess for a few days.
I was just about losing consciousness when a vibration nudged me back into reality. My phone was down to about six percent battery and usually I’d ignore the call but it was my sister’s name on the screen. I liked my family. They were good people and they’d been through a lot because of me. I especially liked my sister and her rugrats, so I was answering.
“Janie.” My voice sounded sleep-ridden already.
“You sound tired.” She was ever the observer.
