Page 62 of The Art of Loving You

Ridiculously, I had expected Jack’s studio to remain empty after Faith and Michael had moved out all of his stuff and sent it to his parents. It hadn’t even crossed my mind that another business would take over the lease, particularly not within a matter of weeks,but in the car park was a white transit van and a black Ford Focus. Inside the studio, a couple in the empty space, his arms around her waist, her smiling up at him. She was talking animatedly, gesturing to the wall, the grin on her face breaking me apart.

‘So, over here …’ Jack had taken my hand the first time we had viewed the studio and led me beneath the skylight, ‘imagine a row of easels.’ He paced out a stretch of floor without once letting go of me. ‘And …’ we had headed into the smaller room, ‘a couple of sofas in here. Somewhere to sit and sketch.’

Now the space would be full of someone else’s hopes. Someone else’s dreams. A new sign hanging on the hooks where Jack’s sign had once swung, ‘Alethic Art’ painted in swirls of midnight blue.

‘What does it even mean, alethic?’ I had asked.

‘It’s a philosophy term meaning various modalities of truth. You can’t get more honest than drawing what’s in your heart.’

‘That’s clever. If I was naming a business I’d name it after something I loved, chocolate ice cream or custard creams.’

‘Naming a business after something you love is …’ Jack had stared at me intently. ‘Alethic, it does mean modalities of truth, although I’m not quite using it in the right context, but I didn’t choose it for its accuracy. More for what it represented. I … I took all the letters from Jack and Elizabeth and kept playing around with them until … Alethic.’

Overcome, I had stood on tiptoes and given him the most heartfelt of kisses which contained all the feelings I had felt, all the things words could not cover.

Now I turned my attention away from the couple; it was too painful to watch them.

Before I could start the engine I noticed a figure darting across the car park, keeping to the shadows. Hood up, aerosol in hand.

Quietly I got out of my car. Crept around the van to the side hidden from view. Liam had his arm raised, poised to deface the white panel.

‘Liam,’ I hissed. He turned to me. Emotions slid lightning fast across his face, shock, fear, anger, before vulnerability settled. ‘What are you doing?’

‘Writing BASTARD.’ His chin tilted defiantly.

‘It’s not their fault … It’s business.’

‘It’s not fair.’ His voice was as deep as a man’s but he looked as despairing as a child who couldn’t get his own way. I didn’t know what to tell him. The bruises he wore on the outside the last time I had seen him had faded but the hurt he carried on the inside was worse.

‘Why aren’t you at college?’

‘Got a project to do. Don’t have to go in often for teaching.’

‘And do you go in? When you’re supposed to?’

He shrugged. Didn’t anybody care if he was bunking off? He wasn’t my responsibility and yet responsible was how I felt towards him.

‘Are you hungry?’ I asked. ‘My sister works at The Happy Bean, the coffee shop down the road. I’m on my way there. Fancy a bacon sarnie?’

‘Ain’t got no cash.’

‘I’m not asking you to pay.’

He shrugged again but he began to walk and I fell into step beside him, leaving the car where it was.

It was lunchtime-busy. The coffee machine hissed. The comforting smell of tomato and basil hanging in the air – that was soup of the day then. Alice wasn’t behind the counter. I could only see one spare table, by the door; there could be others beyond the arch where the coffee shop opened up but I didn’t want to risk losing this one.

‘Let’s grab those seats.’ I ushered Liam in front of me. He sat, eyes lowered, knee jiggling up and down.

I set my bag down on my chair to save it. ‘I’m going to see where Alice is. Have a look at the menu.’

Myexcuse meswere on repeat as I squeezed through the gaps between the tables, making my way towards the arch, the space beyond.

It was then that I saw them.

Alice andhim.

My ex.

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