Page 27 of Tears of Ink

“I thought you needed a new roof?”

Peter snorts. “Steers is such a jerk.” He coughs and clears his throat as his mother glares at him. I kind of like her despite the fact she’s clearly on a different planet to me, let alone in a different class. “Our roof is sound, do not worry about that. Elijah wanted it to be cultural. The idea being we have an artist…” She indicates me by pointing her silver fork, “ to stay here and fill the house with wonderful creations, and the public can come and watch, help maybe? You know, get involved.”

I stare open mouthed.

I’m sorry. Do what?

It’s no good, I’m going to have to ask. “You want me to create sculptures while people I don’t know stand and watch?”

The delphinium blues glint and shine. “That’s exactly what we want.”

C H A P T E R N I N E

I push my chair back and it scrapes against the tiled floor. If I had the time to stop and look properly, I’d admire the intricate, Victorian—I would hazard a guess—pattern. “That’s not an installation.” I place my napkin on my empty plate. Lunch hasn’t even been served but I already know I shouldn’t be here.

Installing art behind closed doors and then walking away before it’s seen is one thing. What they’re suggesting is something else entirely—and that’s not happening.

“I’m sorry. I’m not the right person for this.” I turn to Peter, “I suggest you talk to Gerard.” Because I’m never going to talk to the cheating scum again. “And ask him to give you Meg’s contact details. She’s highly talented.” And loves an audience.

I turn to Jennifer. I wish I had pockets to shove my hands in. “Sorry I wasted your time. Thank you for showing me your beautiful home.”

A deep sensation of disappointment fills me as I turn away. I can’t bear to stop and pretend I’d ever consider staying somewhere working with the public watching me. It’s just not viable.

My work is deeply private. It comes straight from my heart, inspired by my scars and yearnings, my feelings.

I think of the cameo, the delicate etching inspired by Elijah. I go to turn back. To say sorry. Sorry for wasting his time. Sorry he took me for that drink and made an effort with me. Sorry I couldn’t offer what he wanted. But I don’t. I walk away.

“Hey.” Firm fingers grab the black chiffon of my sleeve. “Where are you running to?”

I turn with my stomach tangled in knots. Elijah is standing behind me, his hand sliding through his short hair. A deep crease runs between his eyebrows, and his gaze is full of worry. He still looks beautiful though, and it makes me slow my need to run. “I’m sorry, but there is no way I can work in front of people. Gerard knows that. I won’t even work in front of him; lectures and workshop time on campus are painful.”

“How do you tattoo people’s skin then?” His question makes me stop.

“What do you mean?”

“How can you tattoo people’s skin if you can’t work in front of people? How does that work?”

I frown. His change in direction takes the wind out of my sails. “That’s different. That’s just instinctive.” I pause. “How do you know?”

“I told you. Facebook is a wonderful place.”

Jesus, how long did he waste researching Facebook for boring facts about me?

“You need to get a life.”

His eyes settle on my face and it gives me an uneasy sensation down in the pit of my tummy. “I have one, thanks.”

“You aren’t the only one who can research.”

His eyebrow rises, and he smirks. I’d punch him if he was one step closer. “What have you been finding out?”

“Like, you’re engaged?” To a skinny social pariah.

The smirk drops, and he shrugs. “So?”

And so I’ve been obsessed with the colour blue for days, and it annoys the fuck out of me.

“Nothing.” I straighten and regain my composure. “Look, I need to go home; I’m going to Brighton tomorrow.”