Page 46 of Loving Netta Wilde

‘I think I’m good staying with Frank, if he doesn’t mind. But I’d like to come over sometimes, if that’s acceptable.’

‘Yes, it is. You know I’m here when you’re ready to talk?’

He nodded and went back into the house before he did something stupid like try to kiss her.

The stale curry odour hit him again as soon as he returned to the kitchen. Last night he’d been salivating at the thought of it. It didn’t smell quite so tasty now. He scraped the dried-up leftovers into a bag and took them straight out to the bin at the front of the house.

A pretty girl with long blonde hair was going through Netta’s gate. She waved at him as she walked down the path, and then he realised who she was. It was Belle, Will’s girlfriend. He’d only seen her once before, about a year ago. Coincidentally, that had been the last time he and Arianne had been to the Rajdoot. Frank’s daughter had come down with some friends from Edinburgh and there was a big party of them taking up theback of the restaurant. That girl had been there too. Kelly. Colin struggled to understand the hold that young woman had over his ex-wife and children. He’d tried his utmost to sow seeds of doubt in Liza’s head about her, but all it got him was a warning to back off and a label. Snob. Apparently, he was a nasty snob. It was the only time he thought Liza might fall out with him.

He gave Belle a little wave back, threw the bag into the bin and scurried off before Will opened the door to her. Back inside, he tackled the dirty dishes, wiped round the worktops, and opened the windows to get rid of the remaining smells. He’d enjoyed talking to Frank last night. He’d probably said too much though. He didn’t have any male friends. He didn’t have any friends at all really. Arianne had been his friend once. They’d met at an art class not long after the second coming. He’d gone there for something to take his mind off Netta and Chambers. He’d always been good at drawing and painting, but it was just a hobby, until it became something to be. Something Netta might respect. What a waste of time that had been.

He looked through the open door to Frank’s studio. Last night, he’d made it across the threshold, gone in there and seen Liza’s painting. And what a painting. Frank had said it was inspired and it was. But it was also devastating. He needed to see it again. He needed to feel it.

He forced himself into the room, closed his eyes and breathed in. No curry smells here. Just paint, layer upon layer of it filling the room, filling his nostrils, reminding him of the person he used to be. Underneath it all, there was a different smell lingering in the air. White spirit.

The last time he’d set foot in his own studio, the day he finally gave in, was nearly three months ago. There’d been an argument because he’d turned down his usual summer residency at Lake Como. He’d known there’d be hell to pay: Arianne loved those retreats, but he’d had no choice. What good was an art teacherwhose hands shook every time he got close to a canvas? She was in a rage, knocking over his paints, throwing things. And then she saw a glass jar filled with white spirit. When she’d done with venting her anger. Colin cleaned the room up, closed the door and didn’t go in again.

He reopened his eyes and looked around Frank’s studio. It was a small room, but Frank had managed to cram in three easels, a bench for his paints and a little café style table with two chairs. The easels each had canvases and there were another four finished paintings leaning against the wall. Frank occasionally exhibited at the same gallery as him, so he was familiar with his work. It was impressive. Wild and natural. Nothing like Colin’s style.

He stopped in front of Liza’s portrait. Now that he was looking at it sober, he could appreciate it properly. It was good. More than good. It was amazing. His daughter was an amazingly talented artist. How had he not known this? If anything, she was too good, because she’d captured the real Colin Grey. Not the one he wanted to be but the one he truly was. A sad, and angry man with a broken past and no future. Nasty and bitter, with all the kindness emptied out of him. That’s what they’d done to him, his ex-wife and her lover. He needed to remember that instead of getting all sentimental.

Colin backed away. He had to get out of there. Away from this room, this house and the one next door. He needed to be with someone who didn’t know him.

27

ARTHUR SPEAKS OUT

Luckily, Clyde was near the entrance talking to someone. Colin called out to attract his attention. Clyde acknowledged him but didn’t come over straight away. That was a little annoying, but Colin knew he had no choice but to wait. He’d been coming here long enough to know Clyde would see to him when he was good and ready, and he would not be good and ready until he’d finished his extremely long and drawn-out discussion on sweet potatoes.

When he was done, the old man ambled over to the gate. ‘What you doing here? Arthur doesn’t come on Sundays.’

That was another thing he’d come to understand about Clyde. Not only could he talk for England, he could hold a grudge for it, too. It didn’t matter that Colin had never done anything bad to him personally. It was enough that he’d offended Arthur and Geraldine. ‘I was at a loose end, so I thought I’d carry on with the digging.’

‘Arthur know?’ For all his conversational expertise, Clyde didn’t usually waste too many words on him.

‘I don’t think so. Should I have told him?’ He was trying to play the innocent. Probably a waste of time since the miserable old sod had no interest in his innocence.

Clyde took off his hat, scratched his head and clicked his tongue. ‘Okay, you can come in. I’ll let Arthur know.’ He fished around in his pocket and pulled out a familiar key. ‘Use one of the spades in Samuel’s shed. Give the key to Ursula when you’re done.’

‘Oh, is Ursula here?’ A sudden tingly feeling pranced across Colin’s chest.

‘Ursula’s always here.’ Clyde unlocked the gate and let him get a few steps along the path before calling out: ‘And no funny business.’

Colin took a deep breath. Fucking Clyde and his proxy grudge. He stuck his hand up to acknowledge the instruction and carried on walking. ‘Scout’s honour.’

The route through the thicket hedge was less of a squeeze since Arthur and Clyde had been cutting it back while Chambers had carried on with the digging. There were two allotments fully dug now, a third one half done and one final untouched patch. It was all coming together nicely. Not long till it was finished, and he’d have no need to come here. He wondered what new punishments his ex-in-laws had planned for him then. Perhaps they just hoped he’d be gone before they had to think of any.

Ursula was sitting on the wicker chair which was still getting an airing outside the shed. She had her eyes closed and hardly seemed to be breathing. Colin stopped far enough away not to disturb her and waited for them to flicker open. She smiled. ‘You’ve come.’

‘I thought I’d get on with the digging. Clyde says I should give you the key when I’m done. I’ve finished tidying it up, by the way. I suppose you already know that.’

‘No. I haven’t been inside yet. I thought I’d wait for you to show me. Can I see now?’

‘Sure. You go first.’ He unlocked the door and stood back, unable to believe his eagerness for approval from this woman.

She stood in the centre of the small shed and clasped her hands together. ‘It’s lovely. Just as Samuel would have liked it. You’ve brought him back to us. Thank you.’

‘It was my pleasure.’ His cheeks were instantly flooded with an intense and unforeseen heat. He looked down at his scruffy trainers and curry-stained jeans and wished he’d remembered to tidy himself up before leaving the house.

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