Page 2 of Tears of Ink

I watch his face, my own is still blank. “But I’ve not graduated yet?”

He shrugs again. “So? It’s the summer.”

“But, you must have lots of post-graduate students who deserve that chance?”

Gerard’s eyes fall on my untouched lump of marble. “Maybe, who’s to say?” This is a ridiculous comment. What does he mean who’s to say? I say. He says. People say. “It’s a great opportunity, it will really get your name out there.”

“I don’t know if I want my name out there,” I mumble. Gerard catches my hand and squeezes my fingers with reassurance. I pull away and slide my hand back into the pockets of my shorts.

“You need your name out there, Faith.” His face is serious. Great, I’m going to have a lecture. “Art isn’t for fun. It isn’t just for loaded people who can swan about and pretend to spend time doing things.”

I grin teasingly. “Like you.”

“Hey! I work.” He smiles, and it sparkles. His face warms as his freckles crinkle around his eyes. I remember all too well how he convinced me into his bed and it had nothing to do with vodka. “I teach you, and some other truly awful students who I can’t possibly name.” He shifts away, and I finish my cigarette, watching as he starts picking things up and tidying. He peers into one coffee mug with a disgusted look and I chuckle. Housekeeping has never been a passion of mine. I’m more a 'wreck it and trash it' kind of girl, than tidy it up and put it away.

Gerard Steers is easy to like, and he’s been kind to me. When I arrived nearly two years before, I’d expected all the tutors to be stuffy and old. Gerard wasn’t either of those things. With red hair and fiery freckles, he’d captured my attention, and his lessons had always been my favourite.

Then for a short while, he’d been my favourite everything. Smell, taste, touch. It had been impulsive, torturous, and very short-lived.

Now we are something in between university lecturer and student. Not friends, either, and definitely not lovers.

Ignoring his indiscreet tidying, I step back up to my own personal Everest, running my hand along the pitted and cool surface. “So, the installation?” I prompt, using any excuse I can not to mark the marble with my chisel.

Although I’d be crazy to ignore the possibility of my own exhibit. They are rare and hard to come by. Especially for unheard of students.

“An old friend of mine is drawing attention to his, er, family home.” Gerard fiddles with the cuff of his pale-blue sleeve.

“What, is it some ironic installation in a council house?” I ask. Not that I’m opposed to irony. My life is one long ironic moment.

“No,” he hesitates, “it’s a place called Bowsley Hall in Hampshire.”

“What?” I stare at him waiting for a smile to crack. “Are you kidding? Your old friend lives in a place called Bowsley Hall?” I snort and chuckle as I move around my lump of marble, looking at it this way and that, trying to visualise what it could be—other than a lump of rock.

“It’s not as posh as it sounds. It’s skint. The ceiling is like dry cheese, there are cracks in the plasterwork a refugee family could live in, that type of thing; so he’s opening it up to the public. Well his mother is, and he asked if I had any ideas.”

“And you thought of me.” I narrow my gaze. I could do with another cigarette right about now.

Bowsley Hall?

“Well, I figured you wouldn’t be going anywhere, and you could use the money and the exposure, right?”

I nod, meeting his pale gaze. “Money is good.” With a wry smile, I shrug. My art degree is full of different people—lots of them rich, their voices dripping with education and money. Then there are the likes of me. Not rich, covered in tattoos, and so anti-establishment I could be put on display myself. “Any particular themes?” I dab at a bead of sweat as it rolls down my chest under the shirt. His eyes trail across my skin. Not going there again, Gerard.

“Come on, Faith, take a break. We can go and grab a coffee, wine, whatever, and discuss it more.” He fans himself dramatically. “It’s too hot to breathe in here, let alone talk.”

“I’ve got to come back, though.” I’m not so worried about the sculpture still sitting undone, but rather making a statement that I won’t be ending the night in his bed.

I never go back for seconds. Not ever. It’s the only unbreakable rule I have.

He grins. “Of course, I wouldn’t presume otherwise. This is just a lecturer offering his student a coffee to discuss summer work.”

I shake my head. “You make that sound all levels of dirty.”

“You hear all levels of dirty.”

I exhale a deep breath and step away from the gleaming rock. “Come on, I could do with a coffee.”

“I mean you’ve got so much you could use.”