Page 13 of The Absence of You
“The boy’s too soft, Melissa. He needs to grow up and join the real world.” I pictured my father’s face, the anger clear in his voice. “He’s going to be taking over the company as my successor, and he needs to get in line.” Lia’s bottom lip wobbled. His cruel words clearly upsetting her. I whispered an apology to her, wishing she never heard him.
“Don’t tell me sorry, Grayson. You did nothing wrong. You are nothing like him, and I’m glad.” Her soft words soothed me in a way nobody else’s did. She truly believed I was nothing like that man and pride swelled in my chest.
GRAYSON - PRESENT
Another day, another fucking job for my father. I throw open my closet, looking for something dark to wear. I pull on a pair of black tracksuit pants and a black long-sleeved hooded t-shirt. His long-term plan for me is to get a law degree, yet I could very easily get put away for this job. A criminal record would mean I could never practice law, so this seems like a fucking stupid risk to take. Don’t get me wrong, I have zero desire to be his personal lawyer, but I don’t fancy spending time in jail, either. But I’m way past questioning my father’s decisions. I just go along with whatever he wants to make life easier.
A few hours later, I pull up at the address he’s given me. It’s pretty much what I expected. A small, modern, art gallery on the outskirts of the city. I check the time on my dashboard. It’s already past midnight, so I’ll be lucky if I get back home before 2am, which is never fun midweek.
The car I’ve driven in is a shitty old banger I paid for with cash earlier, before switching the plates for false ones. The gallery uses an external company for security so I’d hacked into their server and looped the CCTV footage as an extra precaution. The car park is unsurprisingly deserted at this time of night, but I still choose to park behind a couple of large storage containers so the car is hidden from any passersby. There’s enough light from the moon to get away without using a torch tonight. It’s always better if I don’t need to use it. It’s unlikely I’ll meet anyone out here, but the less attention I can draw to myself, the better. I pull on my gloves and raise my hood before I retrieve a crowbar from my boot. Double checking the building plans on my phone first, I stride towards it, heading to the rear.
I walk the perimeter of the building until I find the fire door. Accessing the security firm’s server again, I cut the alarms remotely. They’ll receive notification that there’s been a breach and the police will be called, but even if they send a patrol car out immediately, I figure I’ll still have at least ten minutes to get in and out. I jimmy the door open and slip inside.
The main gallery space is open plan and painted entirely in white. There are paintings dotted sparsely on the walls and some small sculptures on raised pedestals in the centre part of the room. There’s a staircase in the corner up to an office on a raised level with glass windows that overlook the gallery floor but I stride past it until I reach the far wall. I’d done a virtual viewing of the gallery online a couple of days ago so as long as nothing had been moved, the painting I’d come for should be the fifth one along. I flick the torch on my phone on low. A quick glance at the time reveals I’ve already been four minutes. Shit, I need to get a move on. I count the artwork as I walk along the edge of the room until I get to the one I’m looking for. Confirming the name, I note it’s one of the smaller pieces of art on display. I briefly study the picture. I’m no expert and it’s difficult to understand how something like this can be worthy of such a high price tag. At less than a metre wide, it lifts off the wall easily and I tuck it under my arm before dimming the torch on my phone again.
Conscious of the time ticking away, I exit the gallery and run to my car, placing the picture carefully onto the backseat. My father will probably destroy it as soon as I give it to him, but at least that will be on his conscious instead of mine. I start the car, my heart thumping with adrenaline and the familiar feeling of self-loathing coursing through my veins. The painting is worth several tens of thousands of pounds but the gallery will have insurance. It’s what the theft represents that my father is more interested in. When word gets out about the stolen painting, artists will withdraw their pieces from the gallery and likely never display their work here again. Word of mouth will do the rest of the damage. As I drive away, I look in my rear-view mirror as the gallery grows smaller and along with it what’s left of my soul, as I destroy another innocent person’s livelihood.
The drive back takes an hour and my thoughts turn to Dahlia. She wouldn’t recognise this version of me. I’m so far from the boy I used to be. I shouldn’t care what she thinks, but it’s there, in the back of my mind. She was so sure I would never follow in my father’s footsteps. She thought I could do no wrong but look at me now. I’m a criminal. A soldier made in the image of my father. Everything I said I’d never be. And it’s all her fucking fault.
Chapter Twelve
DAHLIA
Ithought yesterday was hard. Seeing Grayson in the corridor and having him ignore me entirely, but today turns out to be even worse.
When I walked into English Lit this morning, he was already sitting in the back row, his long legs stretched out in front of him and crossed at the ankle. I should have known he’d be taking English, he always loved to read. His focus was on a dog-eared book that he was flicking through, so I took the opportunity to properly look at him.
I was probably thirteen when I first started to appreciate how attractive he was, noticing that he smelt good and that if he looked at me in a certain way it’d make me feel warm all over. My hormones were clearly raging, but seeing him now, there is no denying it, he is objectively an incredibly good looking guy. The way he casually lounges in his chair, confident and athletic, effortlessly handsome, Grayson could easily pass for a model. I’m not the only one who sees it either. I don’t miss the other girls in the class checking him out as they walk in. I don’t blame them. He’s gorgeous.
My ogling has distracted me, and the seats are filling up fast, so when Callie arrives there are only a few chairs left unoccupied. We’re partners on our current project, so we need to sit together, but the last two seats next to each other just happen to be directly in front of Grayson. As I pull out my chair, it accidentally bangs into his outstretched legs. He immediately scowls, but as soon as he looks up and realises it’s me, his scowl darkens further. He looks me up and down, disgust on his face.
“Watch where you’re fucking going,” he growls at me and then slams the book he’s holding down on the table, making me jump. The bang causes a couple of students around me to startle.
“Sorry,” I mumble, my cheeks heating. Callie shoots me a look of pity. I hang my bag on the back of my chair and carefully sit down, narrowly managing to avoid knocking into him again. As we wait for the lesson to start, I swear I can feel his eyes drilling into the back of my neck. It takes everything in me not to turn around and check if I’m right.
“Right class, we will continue today’s lesson where we left off last week. Dahlia, can you just remind the class what we’ve been discussing?” I snap my head up when I hear my name, having missed entirely what Professor Campbell said.
“I’m so sorry. Can you repeat what you said, please?”
“Remind the class what we covered last week, please.” Her displeasure is obvious in her tone. Wonderful, now I’ve pissed Professor Campbell off too. Not a great start to the morning.
“Right, er, we identified the common themes between ‘The Great Gatsby’ and ‘The Kite Runner’, and we were all allocated one of those themes to research over the weekend.”
“Correct, Dahlia. I want you all to spend the next half an hour sharing with your partners what you learnt. Grayson, you weren’t here, so you can listen to Calliope and Dahlia and make notes.” Well, this should be fun.
Callie and I turn our chairs so we’re facing each other and can include Grayson. I open my notebook.
“So our theme was friendship and betrayal. I started by looking at the relationship between Hassan and Amir…” but before I can get any further, Grayson throws his head back and lets out a guffaw followed by a slow clap.
“Oh, that is just fucking brilliant. Of course, your theme was friendship and betrayal. Can’t wait to hear what fascinating insight you bring to the discussion.” He has disturbed half the class with his loud outburst, and Professor Campbell frowns at him and motions at him to keep his voice down. Callie raises an eyebrow at me. Grayson lowers his voice but it still drips with derision, “Oh, sorry, don’t let me stop you. Carry on.”
I continue, but the words are sour on my tongue.
“In the Kite Runner, the plot revolves around the protagonist’s betrayal of his best friend, the theme repeating itself at various points throughout the novel between the two friends. In the Great Gatsby we see betrayal when Daisy betrays Gatsby but also when Gatsby betrays himself.” Over the next hour Callie and I continue our discussion and Grayson’s only contribution is to smirk and mutter sarcastic comments under his breath. Every barb cuts a little deeper and cements the fact that this bitter man is nothing like my old childhood friend. He has every justification to hate me, I know that. As far as he’s concerned, I cut him off three years ago for no good reason. But even if I convinced him to hear me out, would there be anything left to salvage?
Eventually Grayson stops listening to us and goes back to reading whatever book it was he was engrossed in when I came into the classroom. I try to sneak a peek a few times, but I can’t see what it is. As we’re leaving the classroom, Professor Campbell asks Grayson if he has made enough notes to start his essay.
He replies, “Oh yes, don’t worry. Dahlia is quite the expert on the subject.”
