Coming Down (7 page)

“
She didn’t put me in danger. I did that all by myself.” I’ve walked right into it. His lips twitch at my words.

“
Then you need to choose your friends more wisely.”

“
Since when did you decide to become my dad?”

“
When you started to act like a child. You don’t seem to be thinking straight, Beth. You went to the worst tower block in London, walked up to the fourth floor and then broke into a junkie’s flat. Did you not think it through? What if her boyfriend had been there? What if he’d beaten you up, too? I could have lost you.”

Standing up, I
throw my arms around him, burying my sobs in his shoulder. His stance is stiff, his muscles unyielding. “I’m sorry. I just wanted to know she was okay.”

He pushes me back. His hands
grip my shoulders as he looks at me. “This is going to sound harsh but I really don’t care if your friend is all right. I do care if you’re okay, though. And you’re not okay. You haven’t been okay for weeks. If the clinic is making you feel like this, if it’s going to come between us and affect our relationship, then I want you to give it up.”

“
It’s not the clinic that’s made me feel this way.”

“
Then what is it?”

I open my mouth to say something, but nothing comes out. I know I
’ve been behaving differently—erratically sometimes. My mood has been swinging from high to low, and I know exactly why it is. It’s nothing I want to share with Simon, though.

I
t isn’t Niall Joseph’s fault he’s stirred everything up until I don’t know which way is up. Not his fault I’ve been digging up memories I’ve long since buried. The past is making me feel raw and open. A wound that refuses to heal.

“
I don’t know. I’ve just been feeling down.”

“
Why didn’t you say anything?”

Because I can
’t stop thinking about another man and it makes me the worst kind of person. “I can deal with it. I promise.”

“
You don’t have to deal with it alone. I’m your husband, let me help you.”

I
feel like his child again. Rather than accepting his dominance of me, I start to bristle. What once felt like protection now seems more like a prison.

My eyes feel
as though they are glued together, my lips are cracked and dry. I slowly moisten them with my tongue before attempting to open my eyelids, fighting against the sleep that’s keeping them closed.

“
Don’t move.” Niall’s voice is raspy and low, the aural equivalent of my own come-down state. Of course I do the opposite, sitting up in his unmade bed, seeking him out. He’s perched on an old wooden chair, a large sketchpad propped on his knees. Pulling an over-sharpened stub of a pencil across it, his movements are just short of furious. When he looks up and sees I’ve moved a flash of irritation crosses his face.

“
I told you to stay still.” Even though his words are harsh, he manages to soften them with a smile.

I reach up my arms and stretch them to the ceiling, letting a yawn escape my lips.
“What are you drawing?”

He puts the sketchpad down, locking his gaze on to my exposed
chest. My nipples peak as they’re bathed with cool air.

“
Nothing.” He’s still staring at me. I cover myself up with my arms, feeling self-conscious. The irritation returns to his face. “Don’t hide yourself from me.”

“
You’re being very bossy this morning.” I don’t tell him that I like it, but I do. There’s nothing I don’t like about this man. I’m totally infatuated with him.

“
And you’re being very disobedient.” Niall crawls across the mattress until he’s looming over me on all fours. Dipping down, he captures a nipple between his lips and scrapes his teeth across it. I arch my back in pleasured response. “What can I do to persuade you to lie still?” he asks.

I gasp as his fingers find me and push inside.
“Not that.” I prove my point by starting to squirm. He laughs into my chest, and I feel the vibrations on my skin. Then he lifts his head up and kisses me hard, and I forget about everything except the sensation of his body on mine, and the absolute, sheer pleasure of come-down sex.

Later, we lean out of his window and share a joint, looking out at the green
, undulating campus, watching the few solitary figures who are braving the early morning rain. Mostly staff; no students would feel the need to be up at this hour. He offers me a toke, exhaling smoke that quickly dissipates into the damp, misty air. “I want you to model for me.”

I
lift the joint to my lips and breathe it in. “Nude?”

“
Of course.” He sounds as if he’s smirking and I turn to look at him.

Yep, he
’s smirking.

“
How very Rose and Jack of you.”

Propping his elbow on the windowsill, Niall
stares at me. “Who are they? Friends of yours?”

I start to blush, feeling stupid and suburban and so very ordinary. I can
’t bring myself to tell him I’m talking about
Titanic
. This is why I feel silly whenever he is around. He paints beautiful pictures and makes love as if it’s an art form, and I go around talking about overly melodramatic films. I’m a child trying to catch a butterfly.

It seems like a good time to change the subject.
“What time is it?”

“
Nearly seven. Why?’

I take another puff.
“I have a nine o’clock seminar.” I can’t miss this one. Lectures are one thing—easy to avoid and then borrow notes from somebody else—but at seminars there’s only a few of us. It’s obvious when we aren’t there.

“
Skip it. Stay with me.”

I want to, I really do. But somewhere beneath the lust and the intoxication lies obedient Beth
any from Essex. Daughter of a city banker. Mostly A-grade student. She stretches her arms and slowly wakes up.

I go to the seminar, but I barely pay attention. Instead, I find myself daydreaming about him.

7

I’m running late again. I almost make it to the Tube station before my phone rings. Stopping mid-pace, I pull it out of my bag, pausing a moment to catch my breath.

“
Hello?”

“
It’s Simon.” He has this propensity to think we’re still using analogue phones. It’s as if he forgets his name comes up on my screen when he calls.

“
Hello. Everything okay?” We’ve been treading on eggshells for the past week. Pretending to be asleep when I know we’re not; neither of us mentioning Daisy or the clinic. When I went to visit Allegra last weekend, he didn’t bother asking me where I was going. I didn’t volunteer the information, either.

“
Do you know if my suit came back from the cleaners? I want to wear it tonight.” Another thing he does: leaves all things domestic until the last minute. I don’t think that’s why he’s calling this time; we both know his suit came back last Friday. He’s trying to remind me we are going out tonight.

“
It’s there. I should be home after seven. What time are we leaving?” The last thing I want to do after taking ten kids around an art gallery is go out to some dry, work-related dinner party. They’re clients of Simon’s and it’s important to him, though, so I’ll pull on a dress and paint my face and make small talk as I always do.

That doesn
’t mean I have to like it.

“
Drinks at eight thirty. Try not to be late.”

Thanks, Dad.

“Mmhmm.” I hang up, biting my tongue to prevent a pithy response. Even if the train arrives on time, I’ll be ten minutes late. I hastily tap out a text and send it to Niall.

When I get to the clinic it
’s mayhem. The lobby is full of kids, shouting out questions at a harassed-looking Niall. His face lights up when he sees me walk into the room. Smiling, he takes a step forward and reaches for my hand. “You’re here.”

“
Of course I am. And the bus is outside,” I say.

A
look of relief washes over him. Does he even know what he’s let himself in for? We may have limited this expedition to ten children—mostly so we can all fit in one minibus—but that’s still a lot of bodies to be following around one very large art gallery.

He gives
the impression he hasn’t had a lot to do with children. Looks on them as mini-adults. Which is great when you’re in the classroom; it makes them feel mature and liked, and that’s why they respond to him so well. But when we’re out in public, in the middle of a gallery that he has associations with… not quite so good.

“
Let’s go. Come on, everybody.” Niall heads for the door and they all follow him. Cameron Gibbs pushes everybody out of the way and runs toward the bus, calling dibs on the back seat. There are a few stragglers who hang back with me, afraid of the older boys and their over-eagerness.

Allegra
folds her hand around mine. “Shall we go?”

“
Sure, lead the way.”

Predictably,
there’s a pile-up in the minibus as everybody fights for seats. I end up having to pull Cameron Gibbs off another boy. His hand has already curled into a pretty sizeable fist. I whisper in his ear that I’m watching him, and he rolls his eyes at me.

Cameron
has one of those unfortunate faces. A thin, almost mean mouth which, combined with a heavy brow and narrow eyes, serves to make him look like a thug in training. He could be the sweetest kid in the world—which he isn’t—and still he’d be the first to get into trouble. Dragged to the headmaster’s room after a fight, or up in front of a magistrate after a robbery. A usual suspect waiting to happen.

N
ow he’s growing into his looks. On the cusp of puberty, he’s developing an air of menace about him. I’m unsure how much of it is bluster and how much is malevolence, but he’s changing in front of my eyes. Whenever he’s around there’s an edge to the atmosphere. I hate that I can’t stop him from growing up this way.

After everybody
’s sat down, I grab the only seat left—next to Niall. He looks up from his phone and smiles warmly at me.

“
You’re good at that.”

“
Shouting at kids?”

“
No, you’re good at dealing with them. You know what to say and how to say it. I can tell they trust you.”

Farther back in the minibus,
Cameron is still glowering. While we were having words somebody else stole his seat. He’s not happy about it at all.

“
Some of them do,” I say.

“
Are you planning to have kids of your own?” he asks. His blue eyes stare right at me. It’s the kind of easy question anybody might ask.

“
No.” If I left it at that, maybe all would be well. But I’m me, and I find the need to fill in the blanks. I never could stand silence. “Simon doesn’t want any more children.”

His brows rise up.
“That doesn’t seem fair if you want some. A bit selfish.”

My reply is crisp. Blunt.
“He told me he didn’t want any before we got married.” I agreed to it, too. Back then, children weren’t even on my radar. The world still felt like a nightmare place. Bringing children into it would be a selfish act. But now… I’m not sure I feel the same way.

Simon does
, though. That’s why I could never tell him about my volte-face. I’d be breaking our agreement.

“
I’m sorry to hear that.” He gives my hand a squeeze. “You’d make a fantastic ma.”

The fire in my stomach burns out, replaced by a huge lump in my throat. I try not to choke up, but it
’s hard when I’m being comforted by the man who’s stirred everything up. We’re sitting close, his thigh warm against mine, his upper arm pressed into my bicep. Any anger I felt a moment ago has dissipated with his kind words, until all I’m left with is longing. It would be so easy to turn to him, to bury my head in his shoulder and let him hug me until everything else disappeared.

I never did choose easy. Perhaps it
’s for the best.

Niall and I imploded like a dying star, burning brightly one moment then fading into blackness the next. That sort of excitement, emotional highs and lows, may be something to live for when you
’re a teenager. Now, though, I should long for comfort, for steadiness, for Simon.

I need to keep reminding myself
of that.

We get to the Tate Modern about half an hour later. It
’s an amazing building. Converted from a decommissioned power station in the 1990s, the brown-brick edifice has a huge chimney rising up from its almost Art-Deco roof. Seated on the edge of the South Bank, it is virtually opposite St Paul’s Cathedral, which rises majestically from the north. The kids get all excited when they see the Millennium Bridge over the Thames that connects the two, recognising it from a Harry Potter movie. A couple of them start to run to the steps.

“
Oy, get back here.” It’s amazing how easily the Essex tinge comes back to my voice. “Cameron Gibbs, get down from there now.” He’s already made it to the top of the stairs, and is mucking about with all the padlocks that lovers have attached to the rails.

Somehow, we manage to herd them all into the building. Niall speaks with the woman at the information desk, and she smiles
back at him, handing him a book to fill in. When he comes back, we all follow, heading for the engine room.

The giant
turbine hall is in the middle of the building, accessible from stone steps leading down to the recessed floor. Where engines once blasted out energy, now there is space and light. It’s the main installation of the gallery. The kids start to run down the stairs and we quickly follow after them. I try not to smile as they look around.

“
Where’re the paintings?” Cameron Gibbs asks, standing on the bottom step.

“
There is no painting. This is an installation,” Niall replies. “Sometimes there are sculptures, sometimes images projected on screens.”

“
So where’s the fuckin’ art then?” Cameron spits out. He’s still annoyed with me.

I catch Niall
’s eye. Like me, he looks torn between amusement and irritation.

“
The people are the installation,” he says. “If you go down there, they’ll interact with you. The artist has planned it all out.”

“
I’m not talking to fucking strangers.”

I begin to lose my patience.
“Language, Cameron.” Some of the younger children are staring at him with their mouths open. “We’re out in public.”

“
All I’m saying is,” Cameron continues, his voice almost patient, “if this is fucking art, then my street’s a bleedin’ masterpiece. All you have to do is come over and we’ll talk to you for nothing. How much does somebody get paid for something like this anyway? It’s like that naked geezer, innit?”

I frown for a moment, before working it out.
“You mean
The Emperor’s New Clothes
?”

“
I mean money for old bloody rope. Seriously, if this is art then I don’t want any of it.” Cameron turns around and wanders off into the crowd of people. Do the actors know what they’ve let themselves in for?

“
He’s some kid.” Niall and I walk into the main room. “Not backward at coming forward.”

“
Were you at his age?”

Niall laughs.
“Not really. I was the scourge of the neighbourhood. My ma used to pull her hair out whenever I was brought back by a Garda or one of the neighbours. Luckily, I grew out of it.”

“
You weren’t one for authority at university, either,” I point out. “Smoking dope in halls, breaking into buildings at night.”

“
Ah, but that was all in the name of art. It served a higher purpose.”

“
What purpose?” He’s got me interested now. I remember back to those days with a smile on my face. That doesn’t happen very often.

“
Mostly getting a girl naked.”

What can I say to that? Apart from the fact he didn
’t need to break into a building to get me naked. I practically tore my clothes off every time we were together.

“
Shall we go and round them up? There’s only another hour or so.” I change the subject quickly.

He smiles easily.
“Sure. I thought we’d go around the Abstract Impressionists. Show them some Rothko and Monet.” His face lights up, as if an idea has come into his mind. “Hey, you should do the talking; you’re the one with the Art History degree.”

“
I don’t have a degree,” I point out. “I never finished.”

And there it is. Our past seems to seep into everything. There
’s a reason I didn’t finish, one we’re both more than aware of. It makes for awkward conversation.

“
Well, we can share the burden.”

We
’re about half an hour into the gallery when I decide to do a quick headcount. Trying to get them all to stand still is easier said than done. Eventually, I manage to tap each child gently on the shoulder as I count them off, making my way up to ten.

Except I only get to nine.

Low-level panic starts to twist in my stomach as I do a recount. Still nine. When I meet Niall’s eyes he can see something’s wrong.

“
Who’s missing?” I don’t know if I’m asking him, myself or the children. “There’s only nine of you.” I glance over at Allegra, who’s standing next to Niall. Thank God she’s okay.

The kids start murmuring but none of them are talking to me.
“Come on, which one of you knows something?”

Twelve-year-old Maisie Weeks catches my eye.
“Cameron walked off about ten minutes ago.”

I swallow hard.
“He walked off?”

She shrugs.
“Yeah, he said this was boring and he was going to find something better to do.”

I catch Niall
’s eye. “We’re in the middle of London. He could be anywhere.” I know I sound shrill. Sheer panic has raised my voice by an octave.