Chapter 22

 

April stared in awe at the paintings Henry had laid out on his bed for her to look at.

“These are stunning, Henry, they really are.” She genuinely meant it. It was obvious he had an incredible talent.

He’d been hovering around most of the morning. Each day she came to clean he was noticeable by his absence. Today, she’d quickly cleaned Dylan’s bedroom and bathroom so she could legitimately go to his son’s room as Elizabeth had said he was in there.

“May I?” she asked before she handled any of them.

For the first time she saw genuine delight on his young face. It actually transformed him from an awkward teenager, into an attractive young man. It was evident he was Dylan Rider’s son. He had the same stature, coloured hair and amazingly long eye lashes like his father. She noticed his skin was much clearer of the acne, so guessed he must have seen a specialist.

She held up a stunning picture of a young boy, no more than five or six, leant against the wall with his face covered by his elbow. The pose reminded her of when her and Chloe played hide and seek as kids. She would lean against the wall in just the same way and count to twenty while Chloe hid.

Although you couldn’t see the child’s face as he was hiding it, he appeared to be crying, which added a melancholy charm to the painting. The clarity made it seem almost like a photograph.

Was that him as a child?

“Have you shown your dad these, yet?” she asked, convinced his father would recognise his talent immediately.

Henry’s expression changed from delight, back to his usual sullenness. Clearly, he hadn’t.

“I really think you should,” she coaxed, “I’m sure that would influence him to consider you studying Art.”

She lifted a painting of a beautiful female with piercing blue eyes. Her blonde hair was piled on top of her head, but it was too thick for the clasp as curly strands had sprung out giving her a messy but appealing look. The smile on her appealing face indicated she was happy, but it was Henry’s skill with a paintbrush that captured her joy and transcribed it to canvas. Next to the painting was the same picture as a photograph.”

“Did you paint that from the photograph?”

His expression darkened. Gone was the eagerness and brightness from minutes earlier. Now he looked sad and forlorn. She guessed why. The woman must be his mother. The closer she looked, the more obvious it became.

Despite knowing from Elizabeth Lile that Henry didn’t let anyone touch him, she put her hand on his arm.

“It’s your mum, isn’t it?” she asked sympathetically.

He shrugged her hand away and reached for the large portfolio holder alongside the bed. It saddened her more than it should he wasn’t going to open up to her.

But why should he? She wasn’t his friend.

He took the painting from her.

“You look like her,” she told him as she watched him systematically putting each of the paintings in a reinforced compartment inside the holder. “That’s a huge holder for storing them, it must weigh a ton.”

“It’s my portfolio. Mum bought me it so that I could show them at potential interviews.”

“Did your mum want you to study Art?”

“Not at first,” he shrugged, “she was a bit like him. But in the end, she was okay about it.”

“Look, I’m not saying I’ve got any influence with your father, but do you want me to say something? I’d like to support you.”

His expression was indifferent.

“I think you should at least show him them.”

“Why do you want to help me?” It was a whisper, almost as if he didn’t really want to ask.

“Because I think you have real talent. And as I said before, I believe you can do anything you want to do with your life. It’s hard at the moment because you’re young and financially dependent on your father, but it won’t always be like that. I honestly think you should pursue this, Henry. You clearly have a gift.”

He zipped up the holder, “I’d not get in anyway because of my drugs conviction.”

“Who told you that, your dad?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, I’m not entirely sure that would be the case. But if it is, you mustn’t let that stand in your way. If you want to study Art, then make an appointment at the college and speak to the tutors. Plead your case. Tell them you made mistakes, got in with the wrong crowd, anything to make them give you a place. Speak to the college principle if you have to.”

Were they tears in his eyes?

Even though she wasn’t a particularly tactile person, she had an urge to give him a hug. She’d been where he was. Not the same issues, but the gut-wrenching pain of loss was the same for anyone. And nobody had been there to put their arms around her and say everything was going to be alright. Dylan needed to try harder. He was the adult and should be encouraging his son.

Right now though, she’d said enough. It was up to Henry. There was no point in even trying to hug him, he wouldn’t want that. And she was only the cleaner, she reminded herself. All she could do was to encourage him with his dream, but not get sentimentally involved. She wasn’t there to sort out the dynamics of the Rider family. Getting emotionally attached and offering support to a seventeen-year-old boy were not options she needed to consider.

Doing so would not bring his father to justice.

This was a job.

She needed to remember that.