His eyes flashed up at me from the ground, where they had previously been fixed, and I got the uncanny sensation of fingers tracing themselves the full length of my spine, a curling feeling that increased my unease further. I couldn’t tell what exact colour they were.
‘I can see,’ he said, with a wolf grin. ‘Do you want to go and put some clothes on? I don’t mind waiting.’ I wasn’t sure what to say to that so I obliged instead, letting him in despite the shivers running up my back as I felt him watch me dash up the stairs to dress. I turned the old lock in my bedroom door as I did.
I rifled through my wardrobe and pulled out a new cotton jumpsuit that I’d bought on a whim last time I’d taken Vivian shopping. She’d been complaining that my ‘look’ was embarrassing. It was a bit tight for my liking, but she had approved, so I kept it on and attempted to run a comb through my mad hair.
‘I was hoping you would give me art lessons,’ he said, as I returned to the hallway where he was waiting for me. ‘I’ve looked up your work online, and I really like it. I want to learn more about illustration.’ I noticed his eyes look me up and down as he spoke and I felt a bit embarrassed about the jumpsuit – maybe it was too young for me.
‘Oh, right. Well, I’m not sure there’s a lot I could teach you, really,’ I replied. ‘I’m not a proper teacher. I got strong-armed into running the life classes at the hall; I’ve never actually had real pupils or any sort of training.’
‘It can’t be hard, can it?’ he replied, with a smirk. ‘I don’t think any of my art teachers have had more than three brain cells.’
Did I like this arrogant boy? I decided to humour him.
‘And how much would you pay for these lessons?’
‘Ten pounds an hour,’ he offered. ‘For two lessons a week, and I’ll keep coming to the life classes, too.’
‘Aren’t there other things you would rather spend your money on?’
‘No. I don’t care about anything else.’
This stumped me slightly. I didn’t really need the money: the sale of our house in Walthamstow six years before had left us financially secure, and I really only worked to keep my mind busy and away from other things. It wasn’t only that bothering me, though; there was still something unnerving me about Alex that I couldn’t put my finger on. But what could I do? It felt cruel to refuse him while he was standing in front of me looking hopeful.
‘Look, Alex, I’m not sure about this, but maybe we can give it a go for a couple of weeks and see if it works. For both of us. Okay?’
He smiled suddenly, properly smiled, and I was dazzled. It transformed his face, utterly, and I decided his eyes were sea coloured, changing by mood, because I had just pinned them as green but then I saw blue too, and gold. They were fathomless. It gave me a pang deep in my chest, because I didn’t think he smiled much; at least, not this smile. I wanted badly to draw it.
‘I’ve brought some of my work,’ he said, hefting his folio under his arm again. ‘Can I show you?’ His enthusiasm infected me.
‘Sure – come through.’ I gestured to the sitting room and he walked in.
As I followed him in I saw he was looking at my bookshelf. I was mildly embarrassed about the eclectic nature of my collection, and for some reason hoped he had only noticed my high-brow classics, which I’d not actually had the chance to read yet, as opposed to some of my holiday trash romances, which were well-thumbed.
He put his folio down on the sofa and reached out and picked one up. He smoothed his hand along its cover and touched the edges before sliding it back into its place, then sitting down on the sofa. He liked books. I liked book people. I thought maybe he wasn’t so bad, and I was determined not to let my past tar every man with the same brush.
‘Let’s have a look at your stuff, then,’ I said, in a falsely cheery voice. ‘I don’t have long, though – I’m meeting friends at the pub in a bit.’ This was a lie, but I didn’t want him hanging around all night.
‘Okay.’ He looked at me with a knowing glint in his eye; I wasn’t fooling him for a second with my escape plan. ‘Here.’
He passed across his folio as I sat down beside him. I pulled off the elastic and opened it up. I leafed through each piece slowly, drinking in his talent. Nearly everything was in black ink or pencil, there was no colour anywhere. They were mostly observational sketches and I wondered if he took pictures of people and worked on the drawings later, because some of the detail was incredible.
‘Alex, I’m really not sure what you think I can teach you,’ I told him as I flicked through some simple drawings he’d done of foxes crouching in long grass. I could almost see their whiskers twitching, the movement in the page was incredible. I touched the lines of the fox’s spine, almost expecting to feel silky fur under my finger. The last page in the folio was a front-on self-portrait. He’d caught the planes and angles of his beautiful face impeccably, but the almond shapes of his eyes had been shaded in an entirely pitiless black, and the effect made the skin on the back of my neck crawl.
‘I’m hoping you can teach me about colour,’ he said, shifting too close to me and looking down at the picture.
