Page 29 of Tears of Ink

Elijah Fairclough has managed to worm his way under my skin.

I want to scrape my fingers across thick blue paint.

I also want to kiss him; have his fingers against my ink. My hands in his hair.

What does he care about kids needing something to do during the holidays, those long summer weeks that stretch out in an endless golden haze? I remember those days.

Days spent reading, listening, sketching. Sketching dreams that would one day take physical form in clay beneath my fingers. Days filled with the hum of ink machines buzzing the air like a swarm of bees. The groans and curses of grown men wishing they’d never laid on the table.

I wished I’d asked Elijah more. I left agitated and confused, and now I don’t have the right amount of information to make an informed decision. The ride back to London in his stunning MG crackled with a heavy atmosphere and neither of us attempted to lift it. He seemed frustrated as I exited the car.

I don’t know what he wants from me. To create art in front of people? I can’t do that. Sometimes I can’t even create it for myself.

My phone vibrates, so breaking eye contact with the curious child opposite, I root about in my bag.

Gerard Steers: How did you get on?

I frown. I can’t believe what Peter alluded to at lunch… I should just ask him. Are you married? Because if you are, I’m going to cut your knob off with a Stanley knife.

I put my phone back. I can’t believe he might be married. Not that it matters. Well, it does. But then, what of the other men I’ve slept with? I’ve never asked them. But then, I’ve never even talked to them, nothing more than a few niceties. It’s just physical, and most of the time I’m already over it before the act is even finished.

But Gerard’s my friend. My confidante. Someone who I trust, within the very limited allowance I give myself to trust.

The train pulls into the station and I’m happy to sit and wait for everyone to get off and start barging for the beach. There will be a scrum for space. Thank God, I’m not doing that.

When the carriage is empty, I grab my bag and jacket off the floor and step out. The lingering scent of salt and brine fills the air and I breathe in deep.

I can’t ever say I miss home because I no longer have a home to miss. Not bricks and mortar anyway. I won’t be walking down a pathway and sliding a key into a lock that contains my childhood memories. The house is still there, but the memories are evil demons and I won’t allow them to dance in my heart anymore. There is no longer a heart to dance in.

Instead, I turn in the opposite direction, knocking on a smart red door after a short walk through the back lanes.

For a moment, I wonder if there is anyone home, but then I hear the familiar slam of the back door. Abi opens the door, and I love watching her face drop in shock and little tears spring from the corners of her eyes. “You aren’t supposed to cry.” I smile.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” She grabs me in tight and pulls me over the threshold. Light splatters of water land on my shoulders.

“Hey.” I smooth a hand through her brown waves and lean back to check her face. “Are you okay?”

She squeezes me again. “I’m just pleased to see your ugly mug, that’s all.”

I chuckle, despite the odd wave of emotion that washes over me.

She turns and pulls me into the neat and tidy home. “Adam,” she screeches. “Look who’s home.”

I smile at her use of “home”. She’s my best friend and she will always be home to me.

“Are you going to stop by and see Al before you get the train back?” Abi puts another mug of tea down in front of me. I stroke Charlotte’s curls as she sleeps on my lap. Roger has gone to bed, but Charlotte fought sleep until the last minute, her eyes fluttering shut even as she adamantly told us she wasn’t sleepy.

It was cute with a dollop of adorable on top.

A seagull squawks as it flies overhead. It’s getting late. The long July evening is stretching out, but I know the train to London is calling. “Do you think he will still be up?” I ask.

“For you? Yes.”

I nod, and she points at my mug. “Drink your tea. I’ll come with you.”

An unsettled, unwelcome pinch pulls on my insides. I’m scared to see Al. What if he’s so sick I barely recognise him? What if it’s the last time I ever see him? I’m not ready for a last time yet.

Abi walks around the garden table and hangs her arms around Adam’s neck, dropping her chin onto his shoulder and kissing his earlobe. He squeezes her joined hands and pecks her cheek. “You take Faith, and I’ll sort the kids. We’ve still got to get the school uniform ready.”