I look up through my hair. ‘It’s just a hobby.’
A few more minutes pass by. The eyeliner is blunt now, barely any colour left. I add a touch more shade to the dimple in her chin then stop.
She twists the ring on her finger. ‘Can I see?’
I shrug and pass her the paper. I’m itching for a cigarette. Instead, I take out a piece of gum.
‘You’ve been generous,’ she says, leaning closer to the paper. ‘Made me more than I am.’
I don’t reply. I haven’t. I’ve drawn her exactly as she is.
Her fingers hover above the lines of her eyes, not touching, just following the shape. ‘Can I keep it?’
‘If you want. You never know, I could die just before I make it big. You might make a few bob.’
‘Well then, you need to sign it. For authenticity.’
She hands it back and I scribble my signature, such as it is.
I crick my neck, look around at the empty street. We’ve still got a few hours left.
‘Shall we walk?’ she asks, folding the paper into her bag. ‘There’s something I want to see.’
The walk through town slips by in bursts of laughter and half-shared stories. It’s only been a few hours, and I already feel like I’ve known Alice for longer. We wander up the streets, the air still warm. Rare for these parts. She prefers non-fiction to fiction and reads the end of a book before she reads the beginning. She laughs at the look on my face when she tells me that, and when I say she’s just ripped my heart clean out of my chest.
Street lights bounce off puddles from the earlier rain as we make our way further through town; shops become less frequent. Her eyes catch on the mural next to the hairdressers where Mam goes for a cut and blow dry before special occasions. I watch her expression, dig my hands into my pockets. I focus on the pavement, the uneven slabs, before finally finding my balls and looking up. Her expression is open and alight as she hesitates, hand reaching up and following the outline of the painting I did a few years back. You can’t really see it any more. Just the outline of hills, the pithead, the rest of my work hidden under posters and adverts. I want to ask her what she thinks, but she just smiles and carries on walking.
‘So, apart from drawing women you’ve only just met—’ she smirks at me ‘—what do you like to draw? Paint?’
The question is more loaded than she knows. Because I don’t draw what I like. It’s more that I draw what I need. That makes me sound like a dick, though. Instead, I just say I prefer black and white to colour.
‘Kate says I should do more with it. Apply to college, but?—’
‘Kate’s your friend?’
‘Aye. Known her since we were nippers. Disagree as much as we agree on things. She’s like my little sister.’
‘What kind of things?’
‘Well, the fact that her bloke is a complete tool, for one.’
She snorts. ‘Why is he a tool?’
‘I’m not being fair really. He’s alright. Just likes the sound of his own voice too much.’
We talk about first kisses, first loves, first heartbreak. The journey from teenage years to adults. How one minute you’re a kid and the biggest thing you’ve got to worry about is how many keepie-uppies you can do. Then the next you’re stuck in a shitty job you hate.
‘There’s still time to change it all though, right? Try a new start.’
‘A new start isn’t on the cards for me just now.’
She doesn’t ask why.
Somehow, we end up on the old canal bridge, leaning against the railing.
‘God, you’re impatient,’ she says, shaking her head when I ask again what it is she wants to see.
‘Just look.’ She takes my shoulders and turns me to the left.
