Page 1 of Tears of Ink

C H A P T E R O N E

A loud bang startles me and I almost slide off my stool. I wasn't asleep, though; far from it. My gaze is glued, with barely controlled fear, to a lump of untouched marble. The slab of rock is my Everest and I’m on a futile attempt to climb it wearing Birkenstocks. Between us has been a silent battle of wills. Me desperate to try to create a beautiful and exquisite creation from the gifts of the earth; the marble taunting me with its veined perfection until I’ve been almost frozen into not making a mark along its surface.

“What?” I holler. Everyone knows not to interrupt between the hours of nine and three. When the door shakes on its hinges, I consider it interrupting.

“Faith, open up.”

I groan as I recognise the voice coming from the other side of the door and get off my stool. My back creaks with the unexpected movement and I wince. I walk like an eighty-year-old as I try to unknot the tight muscles along my spine. My fingers push my hair back under the bandana I have wrapped around my forehead. The stretch is good, and I point my fingers towards the high ceiling trying to unknot the stiffness in my spine. The few steps to the small hallway are like wading through thin wallpaper paste. Humidity is turning the air into a cloud of invisible glue. London is unbearable when hot. It’s probably the only thing which makes me long for the sea air of home.

“Coming.” My chisel is still in my hand and I have to remind myself it’s not a weapon.

It’s frowned upon to stab your lecturer, no matter how screwed up you are.

On my way to the door, I grab at a loose white cotton shirt and yank it over my shoulders, buttoning it up before I pull on the handle which I very rarely open during working hours.

I shouldn’t be precious, I’m lucky I got the space to myself.

“Hi.” I force a smile as Gerard darts through the door. Two years ago, my heart would have been in my mouth and I’d have been blushing like a teenager at him being close. Manly and broad with an impressive beard, he once made my heart pitter patter like raindrops on canvas. Then we fucked, and I got over it.

“Ger, I’m kinda busy.” His eyes sweep along the cotton shirt and I know he knows what’s underneath. Now he wants to know if he’s on there, inked on my skin. Another regret in need of a permanent reminder. You’ll never know.

“I know, babe, but I’ve got some news that can’t wait.”

I roll my eyes as he calls me babe, but I don’t say a word. Instead, I point at the untouched Italian marble which is supposed to be my final second year piece—it should not be looking like it’s straight out of the mine. Shit. This is bad.

I leave him to investigate the lump of rock while I grab my packet of cigarettes from the top of the small kitchenette counter. The lighter sparks as I light one and inhale deeply as I turn and lean a hip on the side. I watch him closely as he studies my unimpressive development. “Coffee?” I ask eventually, just to break the awkward silence.

He glances at me and frowns. “Are you mad? It’s baking outside. No one wants a hot drink when it’s like this.” Giving up with my hopeless project—which isn’t a project at all, just rock—he stands and steps closer. “Have you even been outside today?”

I shrug. “Not since I arrived.” I can’t even remember what time I got here this morning. It had been light; the streets were busy, but that’s nothing new. Since then I’d been sitting on the stool, watching the rock; waiting for some form of divine intervention because, apparently, I’m all out of ideas.

Gerard shakes his head and steps closer. “Fresh air’s good, even if it is sticky and humid. You need to take care of yourself; the best artists burn out because they won’t stop.” He puts his hand on my shoulder and pats gently, but I shrug it away and blow smoke in his face.

“I’ll get some fresh air when this is getting somewhere.” My eyes narrow at the rock. Bloody stuff. I should have chosen a different material to use. Glass would have been easier. I roll my head and try to release the tight muscles in my neck. Who am I trying to kid? My last effort at glass was a near on disaster, too. Every piece I’ve turned my hand to in the last five months has been a disaster.

Gerard shifts me towards the marble and I glare at it as his fingers kneed my tight shoulder blades. “You’re blocked, Faith. You’ve got to kick back a bit. Come out for a drink with me and we can chat, see if we can get to the root of everything.”

His touch through the thin material sends waves of warmth along my tired limbs and I begin to soften a little. My body’s always been a traitorous bitch, her reactions can’t be trusted.

I shrug away from his touch. The warm tingle in the pit of my belly berates me. Spoilsport. “I’m fine, this is the last hurdle before the summer and then I can relax.”

His quick gaze slips over my face. “Have you thought about the summer, where you’re going to go?” His unspoken question hangs between us and I shudder. Are you going home?

“I’m going to stay here. Get some bar work, something to get some cash, maybe look at some private jobs.”

“I’m glad you said that.” His face lights up and I know I’ve walked into a carefully contrived trap he’s created.

“I’m not coming to your summer camp.”

He grins. “Have I asked too many times?”

I can’t help but chuckle. “Yes. I’m twenty-four, not an eighteen-year-old fresher.”

Our eyes meet. He thinks he knows who I am, that I’ve shown him. There’s a heavy pause, then he clears his throat. “So, how would you feel about a residential installation?”

I stare at him blankly. “Sorry?”

“A residential installation? I know someone who is creating one, and I thought of you.”