Page 3 of Tears of Ink

I frown over the top of my wine glass. It had taken no persuading to veer me off the proposed coffee. “Yeah, but there is nothing tying them together… they aren’t cohesive. There is no theme there that can be used.”

Gerard shrugs. “That can all be worked out, though.” He looks thoughtful, his hands linked together as he ponders the erratic collection of pieces I’ve managed to grow. “There’s got to be a theme running there; you’re just too close to it to see.”

An installation? Could I do that? In a stately home?

I shake my head. “Suggest Meg. She’s far more sensible.” I pause before adding, “And reliable.”

Gerard’s gaze is scorching. “Meg’s not as good.”

I mock gasp and pretend to fan myself down. “I’m better than Meg?”

He rolls his eyes. “You know you are, don’t make me tell you again.”

I grin. I fucking hate Meg. With her long legs, blonde hair, and gallery friendly demeanour.

“So, can I tell them you’ll meet?”

“Meet who exactly? Your friend?” I sound about twelve and take another deep sip of wine to counterbalance the child in me.

Gerard grimaces, much like he did earlier looking at my mouldy coffee mug. “No, his mother probably.”

“And it’s just for the summer?”

“Yeah, just the summer, for four weeks only. I wouldn’t suggest it if I didn’t think it would be great exposure for you.”

“And they’re really paying me five thousand pounds? Just for the summer?”

“Yep.” He nods and drains his glass of beer.

“Why don’t they just invest the money in the property if that’s what it all comes down to?”

“I guess they want to do something a bit better than investing money in a leaky roof.” He glances at my glass. “Fancy another? I’ll walk you home after.”

“Sure,” I pass him my glass, “but I’ll get a taxi, no need for you to walk me.”

He wanders off to the bar which is packed with a Friday night crowd. Conversation is humming loudly, girls laugh, and glasses clink. I love this pub although not so much on a Friday night. Normally it’s filled with regulars and their dogs. But, there is always the after-work crowd drinking pints and drowning the week in Prosecco. I glance up and find a pair of dark eyes watching me. I stare and take in the package containing the dark eyes: tanned skin; light brown hair; plump lips—perfect for kissing. I smile and drop my gaze, concentrating on the bangles on my wrist. When I glance up again from under my lashes, the guy’s moved closer around his edge of the table, ignoring the conversation around him as he focuses his attention on me. Game on.

By the time Gerard comes back, I’m stuck into some serious eye flirting.

I’m not interested in conversation, never have been. The opposite sex are an itch that needs to be scratched.

“What are you staring at?” Gerard slides my glass of wine in front of me, and I watch the flicker of disappointment flash in the dark eyes of the man on the opposite table.

“Nothing.” I grin and shake my head. Last thing I need is a pissing competition between my friend/lecturer and a random in a bar.

Gerard pulls my hand closer and turns it palm up, cradling it in his hand. His thumb traces the lightning strike I have inked on the delicate skin of my wrist. “Tell me about this one?”

I glance at the zigzag with its blurred edges. It’s old now, one of my earliest lessons I marked myself with. Lightning doesn’t strike twice, apart from where you let it.

I smile wryly. “Lightning doesn’t strike twice.” I hold his gaze, making my message clear.

His lips turn down, and a light frown mark wrinkles his brow. “Why do you pull away? We had a fun thing going, Faith. I would never have compromised your position with the faculty or the art board.”

“It’s crazy to stay still too long. Don’t you feel it?” I lean forward and his eyes graze along the opening of my shirt. “It makes you age, the longer you stand still; the more you cling onto things that have already happened. How can we innovate and inspire if we can only see the past?”

The frown on Gerard’s face deepens. “So, you’re never going to have a full relationship because you’re worried about becoming stagnant?”

I shrug. “Maybe.”