I amble into the main body of the narrowboat wearing only a pair of black boxers. I grin at Jase, who’s sitting at the table attempting to eat breakfast.
I toss him a blue and white check tea towel.
“You never did learn how to eat cereal without wearing it.”
His response is an open-mouthed smile accompanied by half-eaten cornflakes drenched in milk that slide down his chin.
I push up the tip of my nose and oink.
“Fuck you.” He laughs, sticking his middle finger up. “So, go on then, Gabe, what happened with that bird of yours?”
“We’re over, that’s what. I can’t live with her any more.”
“Finally, you’re starting to see sense. Women. They’re all the same. Fucking trouble,” he says.
“Says the man with Tiffany’s name painted on the side of his boat.”
He gets up with his bowl, walks over to the sink and, with his back towards me, looks out of the window.
“It’s just a name. Means nothing. If you’re going to make something of it, it’s probably best you fuck off now.”
“Woah!” I say, lifting my hands.
I jump as his bowl crashes into the sink.
“Don’t comment when you don’t know the slightest thing about my life.”
“Okay.” I shrug. “So tell me.”
I can’t believe how strained the relationship is between the two of us. As kids, we were so close. That was until Mum and Dad went their separate ways. Jase called me a traitor when I moved to Matlock with Dad. From then on, it was only Christmas and the odd weekend over the summer holidays when we managed to get together. Jase went off the rails for a while, stealing cars and setting fire to them. For a short time he even took drugs. I think it was his close friendship with Derick that finally straightened him out. He sees him more like a brother than he does me. But I won’t be going back to Matlock, so who knows? Maybe we can build a few bridges.
“Haven’t got the time,” he utters. “I’ve got to be at the garage in the next half an hour.”
I shake my head. “Just for once, can’t you call in sick?”
“No chance, and I can’t be turning in late, as the boss is on holiday.”
My eyes follow him as he picks up a creased pair of overalls. He then goes to the fridge and takes out a plastic container, which I guess is filled with sandwiches.
I raise my hand to give him a half-hearted wave as he leaves. Sighing, I slide along the padded bench. Leaning my arms on the table, I stare out of the window at the water and passing narrowboats, reading all the quirky names. I can’t help but wonder if they have a story to tell.
With Jase gone, I’m not quite sure what to do. Eight hours is a long time to sit twiddling my thumbs. After pacing and talking to myself for a while, I see my easel, bag and brushes. Why not? It’s a warm day, and Regent’s Park will be swarming with possible clients, so it may be a chance to earn some well-needed cash. It’s more habit than anything. Whenever I visit my brother, I meander down to the park and set up my easel. It depends on the time of day whether I choose the bandstand, the gardens or the lake, and also my mood, but once my mind’s made up, I sit on a bench and wait. Whether it’s a mum and dad with their child, a young couple who just want to capture their day or an old woman walking her yappy dog, there’s always someone who wants to be painted.
I smile up at a young mum with long blonde hair. She stops next to the bench I’m sitting at and unfastens the straps of her pushchair. She places her hands under the arms of the young girl.
“Molly, you’re going to have your portrait painted,” she says, pointing towards my easel.
I get up and tap her on the shoulder.
“Sorry, love. I’ve finished for the day.”
I see her checking her wristwatch as she walks away and can imagine what’s going through her mind, as it’s not even lunchtime yet.
That blank sheet of paper has been my life and love for years, yet sitting here, staring at it, I feel almost intimidated. Two hours ago, I began painting my first client of the day—an 8-year-old girl with bright-blue eyes and a contagious smile. She had the slightest touch of make-up on her face and a scarlet ribbon tied in her long chestnut hair. Her mum brought her to me to have her portrait painted for her grandmother’s sixtieth birthday. The girl’s mum told me the family had booked a surprise meal, and once they’d eaten, the portrait would be presented to her.
The young girl’s name was Francesca. I opened my small canvas stool, took her hand and sat her down. I couldn’t have asked for a better day to paint. I picked up my pencil and began to sketch the outline of her face. Even during the early stages, I felt uneasy with the initial sketch. As I manoeuvred the light grey pencil over the paper, I seemed unable to capture the soft heart shape that ran down from her cheeks to just below her chin. I sat back for a moment with my hands in my lap and glanced with a critical eye. I wasn’t far off perfecting her nose, but eyes as pretty as hers needed perfection. I bit down and ran my tongue between my lips, because what my pencil had brought to life was way off those large blue eyes gazing back at me. I hadn’t even opened my paints or started mixing colours, yet I already felt beaten. I mixed some beige and white paint on my palette to create the warm tone of her skin, and with a fine brush applied the gentlest of strokes, adding curves and depth.
Moving on to her hair, with shading I managed to give the appearance of light and texture to her long, dark waves, but even so, I was still unable to capture the girl.
When I got up from the bench, stood back and looked over my work, my eyes didn’t widen like I know they should. There was no ‘wow’ on the tip of my tongue and my heart didn’t beat that little bit faster. Francesca was all smiles, and her mum didn’t seem able to see what I could, but then I guess she hadn’t seen my real works of art, paintings I was proud to put my name to. I couldn’t charge her, not a goddamn penny, it just wasn’t in my nature to do so. Eventually, I said the painting was on me, and I hoped her grandmother would be pleased. She shook my hand, thanked me and told me she’d tell all of her friends so I was sure to get lots of custom. I managed a smile for her sake, but I wouldn’t be back in Regent’s Park. It was a hard thing to admit to myself, but my days of sitting painting had quite abruptly come to an end.
Voices, children laughing, dogs barking, I can hear everything going on around me, but all I’m able to visualise is my easel and the blank sheet of paper waiting to be brought to life. For as long as I can remember, my hands have itched to pick up a brush and create. Now all I can create is self-doubt and negativity. I glance down at my shoes and the short tufts of grass surrounding them. What am I without a brush in my hand? I’m no more than an untalented no-hoper. My mind wanders to Matlock. If things had worked out between Natasha and me, would there really have been any point? How would I possibly have provided? For a brief moment I close my eyes, picturing the twins’ faces. How would I have managed to be a dad? A dad whom, in time, my girls should grow up to be proud of? How many times can my head keep going round in circles? How many times can I stare at the same sheet of paper?
I feel my phone vibrate in my pocket and blow out. Whoever it is, they can wait. Time seems to have stopped still for me today. The only way I know that the afternoon is moving on is by the position of the sun in the sky. I slouch down, crossing my left foot over my right. It’s still reasonably warm. I’ve got no one waiting for me and don’t have anywhere I need to be. I look at the plastic paint pots sitting at my side and, hardly realising, I close my eyes.
“Bloody hell, you’re still here? I’ve been texting you for the last hour.”
Half dazed, I grab for my phone and look up into Jase’s face. He reaches down and pushes the pots of paint to the far end of the bench, then hitches up the legs of his grey overalls and sits next to me.
“Bet you’ve made a pretty penny here today. Well, probably a damn sight more than I have at the garage.”
I can’t find the energy to raise a smile.
“Afraid not,” I mutter.
He raises his eyebrows and shrugs. “On a day like today, you must have.”
I hang my head to avoid his eyes. “It’s not for lack of opportunity. Believe me, I’ve had plenty. But what’s the point of clients when I can’t paint?”
“Enough of the bullshit. Come on, Gabe, how much have you really made?”
I turn out my pockets, which are empty, and watch my brother’s expression change. He leans forward, tilting his head in such a way that I can’t escape how he’s looking at me.
“I don’t get it. You’ve got your sight back, so you don’t have to feel your way around an easel. With your talent, you could be making a small fortune. You really could.”
“Didn’t you hear what I said? I’m just not feeling it. I never had to think before. Painting to me was like eating a meal to most people.” I’m staring at the plain piece of paper again. “And now every stroke of my brush feels clumsy.”
Jase pats me on the shoulder. “Wait here, there’s something I need to do, but I will be back.”
I watch him walk away, unable to see any reason why he’d make his way back down to the park. Why does everyone walking past seem happy with their lives, laughing and walking tall, whereas me, I’m beginning to wish this bench would swallow me up? Why can’t life leave me alone, give me a break?
“Do you fancy painting my picture?”
Jase, true to his word, had come back, his greasy overalls replaced by a light-grey suit and white shirt.
I shake my head. “Stop messing about. I can’t.”
Jase gazes down. “Stand up,” he tells me.
As I do, he walks over to the easel and turns it ninety degrees before taking my shoulders and manoeuvring me round.
“Jase…”
He lifts his hand up and shakes his head.
“No, not Jase. I’m here as a client, so come on, show me what you can do. Impress me.”
I glance at him and manage a smirk.
“Look, you know my face inside out. If you’re finding it as hard as you say, then paint me the way you used to.”
He grabs my hands from my side and places them onto his face. I see the frowns and hear the snide comments from passers-by and know what they’re thinking. I grab his wrists and, jerking my head back, step free.
“Listen to me, will you?” I look him up and down, and frown. “You can wear a suit, dress it up however you want, but I’ve lost my talent.”
I swallow hard, because admitting that I’ve lost any ability I ever had isn’t easy.
We were heading back to Jason’s narrowboat, but somehow managed to make a detour and instead ended up in the Warwick Castle.
Jase has gone to the bar and got the drinks in while I’m standing here feeding loose change into a fruit machine. Making his way between tables, he walks towards me and passes me a beer. I turn and take it out of his hand, while feeding my last pound coin into the machine.
Jase looks down at his phone, then his eyes move up at me. He shakes his head.
“That’s the third text I’ve had from Tash in the last hour. What do you want me to do?”
I kick out at the base of the fruit machine.
“Well, that’s six pounds I’ve wasted!”
He raises his eyebrows. “So, what do you want me to do about Tash?”
“I’ve got no intention of speaking to her, so do me a favour and block her number.”
He reaches in front of me, pushes a pound coin into the narrow slot and then presses the button. We stand side by side and watch the reels as they spin.
“Is there no way you and her can sort things out?”
I shrug my shoulders. “No, Jase, it’s too late for that.”
Four gold stars slow and then one by one stop on the win line. Ten pound coins clatter into the tray below.
I hold out my hand.
“Six pounds of that is mine.”
“Sod off,” he laughs, pushing my hand away.
I glance down at the ten shiny pound coins.
“Believe me, I could do with it the way money’s been slipping through my fingers lately. Honestly, Jase, the way things are going at the moment, I’ll end up skint.”
He swigs through the frothy head of his beer and then wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.
“Fucking hell, Gabe. Surely things aren’t that bad?”
“You’ve got no idea.”
He scoops the coins up into his hands, counts them out loud and hands me half his winnings.
“Thanks.” I smile. “If only five pounds were the answer to my problems. I’ve had my solicitor on the phone.”
Jase looks at me, and I can tell by his expression that he’s waiting to hear what I have to say.
“The long and short of it is, I’m going to lose the court case. It’ll leave me broke. As for Dad’s house, that’ll be taken from me.”
I feel Jase’s hand on my shoulder. It feels kind of uneasy, so I shrug it away.
“Look, just forget what I said. It’s not right for me to burden you with my problems.”
“For God’s sake, I’m your brother, but if that’s the way you feel, I’m not going to pry. But if you ever need a place to stay, there’s always room on Tiffany, and if you don’t feel like living on the water, there’s always the flat.”
“Thanks.”
He places his pint on top of the fruit machine.
“I may be going soft in my old age, because tomorrow morning I’m going to do something I’ve never done before. I’m going to call the garage and tell them I’m sick, and then you and me, we’re going to have a brothers day out.”
My eyes meet his. We’re standing grinning at one another.
“Yeah, Jase, I’d kind of like that.”