True Colours (13 page)

It’s the end of October. Soon it’ll be half term and I still haven’t been able to talk to Rex. I’ve tried to ring him and sent him text after text but he never gets back to me. The last time I tried to ring he’d obviously got himself a new phone – and number, so the link has finally gone and I’m slowly coming to terms with the idea that our marriage is over.

He’ll have to get in touch eventually of course. Half of Greenings is his and once it’s sold he’ll have some money to collect. Not all that much, it’s true. We only put down the minimum deposit and once the debt to my parents is paid back there won’t be much to share out. Though now that the builders have finished and the house is sound and saleable it should be worth a lot more than we paid for it. I have to admit that it does look wonderful. Just the dream home I visualized. The only downside is that I’m rattling around in it sad and alone.

At the beginning of term my colleagues at school were surprised by my new look. I had one or two snide remarks from two of the bitchier female teachers and the cheeky young sports master remarked with a wink that it was great to see my legs at last. But I was too preoccupied with bigger problems to get annoyed and they all soon found something else to gossip about. Fran, bless her, was so kind to me when she found me in tears that day at the restaurant. She rang me a couple of times after our lunch date to ask if there was any news, but lately I haven’t heard from her. Everyone has their own life and problems to worry about, so why should anyone
care about me? Anyway I expect she’s looking forward to seeing her son at half term.

The new intake of kids has been worse than usual this year. Hardly any of them have the slightest interest in art. It doesn’t matter how innovative I try to make it for them the lessons usually end in disruption and somehow I just don’t seem to have the energy to deal with it. On one particularly bad day someone started throwing paint around and before I could take control of the situation it had developed into chaos. As luck would have it John Harrison, the head, happened to walk past as things were reaching crisis point. To my embarrassment he walked in and read them the riot act. As he passed me on his way out he asked me quietly to look in to his office for ‘a chat’ after school.

I’ve always liked and respected John Harrison since he became headmaster three years ago. He’s a talented teacher in his forties with a great track record for pulling round failing schools and he’s done wonders since he came here. I’ve always found his treatment of staff and children fair and kindly, though his patience isn’t endless and he can be extremely tough if he has to. As I made my exhausted way upstairs to his office after the bell had gone, I had a horrible feeling that this was going to be one of those occasions.

I knocked and he called out to enter. As I opened the door he looked up. To my relief he was smiling. ‘Ah, Sophie, come in and sit down.’ He put the file he was working on to one side and gave me his full attention. ‘So, that commotion in the studio this afternoon, what was that all about? I’ve never known you to lose control of a class before.’

‘It’s this year’s new intake,’ I said wearily, sinking on to a chair. ‘They just don’t like art and I can’t get them interested. It doesn’t seem to matter what I try and do.’

‘That’s not like you. You’re usually so inventive. Surely there must be something you could find that would grab their imagination.’

‘They don’t seem to have any.’ I shook my head. ‘They think that art is for infants. I tried sculpture last week but they insisted on calling it plasticine. When I give them complete freedom to draw what they like they draw crude, obscene pictures, and as for painting – well, you saw for yourself what they do with paint.’

He looked at me for a moment. ‘Surely it can’t be all of them – the whole class?’

‘There are two or three ring leaders. They take great pleasure in winding the others up.’

‘Then single them out.’ He leaned forward. ‘You’ve had first year problems before, Sophie, and you’ve coped admirably. So what’s different about this term?’ To my horror I could feel tears pricking the corners of my eyes. He noticed at once. ‘Problems at home?’ he asked softly. ‘Want to talk about it? I’m sure you know that anything you say inside this room goes no further.’

I blinked angrily at the threatening tears. ‘It’s no excuse. I shouldn’t be bringing my domestic issues into school.’

‘Sometimes it’s unavoidable.’ He took a box of tissues out of the drawer and passed them silently across the desk.

I took a deep breath. ‘Rex has left me.’ Saying it out loud to my boss was like admitting defeat and failure. It made me feel utterly desolate, but I swallowed hard at the lump in my throat, determined not to avail myself of the tissues. ‘It’s a long story,’ I went on. ‘And a lot of it is my fault.’ I looked up at him. ‘But
not all
!’

He smiled. ‘That’s more like the Sophie Turner I know.’ He looked at his watch. ‘Look, it’s too early for the pub but Mary’s Tearoom down the road will be open. How about a cup of tea and an off-the-record chat?’

‘Aren’t you expected at home?’

He shook his head.

‘But you must have work to do. It’s not fair for me to take up your time with my dreary moaning.’

‘If a member of my staff has a problem then it’s mine too,’ he said as he got up and reached for his coat. ‘As I think we’ve proved this afternoon.’

Mary’s Tearoom was decorated in the Olde English style. The ceiling had mock beams and there were blue and white checked table cloths and willow pattern china. When we arrived it was almost empty and we took a table near the fireplace with its blazing electric log fire. John ordered a pot of tea and two slices of Mary’s home made carrot cake. I shook my head at him.

‘I’m not hungry. You’ll probably have to eat mine.’

‘Nonsense. You look as though you could do with a good meal. It’s my guess you’ve been neglecting yourself.’

‘Do I look as bad as that?’

He grinned. ‘You know what I mean. Seriously, you’ve lost weight. I’d guess that you feel that cooking for one is a bit pointless.’ He cocked an eyebrow at me. ‘Am I right?’

‘You seem to know a lot about it.’

‘I do as a matter of fact. Between ourselves, Hillary has taken the boys and gone back to live with her parents in Yorkshire.’

‘Oh my God, John. I’d no idea. I’m so sorry.’

He shrugged. ‘Me too. But we’re here to talk about you, so fire away.’

I shook my head. ‘I feel awful now, burdening you with my domestic troubles when you’ve got far worse yourself.’

The waitress brought our tea and John picked up the pot. He looked at me. ‘Milk and sugar?’

‘Just milk, thanks.’ I watched him pour. ‘I don’t know where to begin.’

He passed me my cup. ‘The beginning is usually favourite.’

The tea was hot and very welcome and for a moment we were silent. At last I put my empty cup back on its saucer and looked at him. ‘We bought a house,’ I began. ‘A very old, very run down house. It was me who wanted it. The idea – my idea – was to renovate it ourselves. It was meant to be fun. I saw it as my dream house.’

He raised an eyebrow. ‘And Rex’s, his too?’

‘He wasn’t so keen, but he agreed.’

‘Because he loved you.’

I smiled wryly. ‘
Loved
being the operative word – past tense. Renovating the house has been a nightmare. We’ve never had so many rows. Rex was working freelance you see, from home. The idea was for him to do a lot of the plumbing and carpentering work, fit it in around his own work. But he never seemed to get round to it, whereas I worked every minute I could, evenings and holidays, on the decorating.’

‘And naturally you started to feel resentful.’

‘You could say that. In the end he went behind my back, cap in hand to my parents and asked them for money to pay a builder to
do the work.’

‘So, was that a problem?’

I sighed. ‘It’s complicated. They insisted on
giving
us the money.’

‘Lucky you!’

‘
No
!’ he looked shocked by my vehemence as I punched the table, making the cups rattle. ‘Sorry, but you don’t understand. I’ve never got on with my parents. When I was a child I hardly saw them. They were always too busy with their business to be bothered with a demanding child. Their idea of parenting was to throw money at me. They couldn’t see that it was their attention I needed. Now that I’m an adult they seem to think they can still buy me. They want me to be forever in their debt.’

‘Maybe they are just trying to make it up to you,’ he said. ‘Hence the gift.’

I shook my head. ‘It’s too late for that. When I got my first job I promised myself that I’d stand on my own feet from that day on. I vowed to take nothing more from them. I don’t want their money if that’s all they’ve got to give, which is why I was so angry with Rex for asking them for help without consulting me.’

‘They’re still your parents, Sophie,’ he said softly. ‘Don’t let your pride spoil your relationship with them.’

‘There’s never really
been
a relationship.’ I shook my shoulders impatiently. ‘The truth is I went to see them after the business with the cash and I made it clear that I didn’t want any more to do with them. Anyway, it’s the relationship between me and Rex that’s at stake now. And all because of….’

‘Your stubbornness,’ he cut in.

I stared at him. ‘
He’s
the one not answering his phone,’ I pointed out. ‘He’s the one who has cut off all contact.’

‘What about the house? You’re still living there, I take it.’

‘Yes. It’s finished,’ I told him. ‘It’s just as I always dreamed it would be. But when Rex told me he’d accepted money from my parents I told him that Greenings would have to go on the market so that my parents can have their money back.’

He sighed, ‘Oh, Sophie,
Sophie
! Can’t you see what a mess you’re making of everything? Can’t you see how many people you’re making unhappy?’

‘And what about
me
?’ I demanded. ‘What about my happiness?
Doesn’t that count?’

He reached across the table to pat my hand. ‘Sophie, forgive me for saying this but you sound just like a spoilt child,’ he said. ‘That same little girl your parents showered with gifts because they were too busy working to spend as much time with you as they’d have liked. Who do you think they did it for?’ I stared at him. ‘For
you
, of course. You were – you
are
their family. Who else do we work our socks off for?’

Suddenly I got an inkling of what he was getting at. ‘Is that why Hillary left?’ I asked quietly.

He sighed. ‘Sometimes it’s hard to get the priorities right, to balance career and family. It seems that – like your folks – I failed.’ He looked up at me, smiling wryly. ‘I’m a fine one to give you advice, aren’t I? But I will say this: Get in touch with Rex, Sophie. Do it before it’s too late. Don’t let things drift on.’

I lifted my shoulders. ‘I told you. I have been trying,’ I reminded him. ‘But now that he’s changed his phone I’ve no way of finding out where he is.’

‘Well, when you do you’re going to have to put your pride in your pocket, aren’t you? It’s either that or wipe the slate clean, and I’ve a feeling that you desperately want things to be back as they were.’ When I didn’t reply he refilled our teacups and pushed mine towards me.

‘Forgive me for asking, but this change of style you’ve adopted, is it…?’

‘I was getting too old for the art student look,’ I cut in impatiently. ‘That’s all it is. But oddly enough that was what tipped the scales with Rex. He thought I was trying to prove something.’

‘Like what?’ He frowned.

‘I don’t really know. Maybe he thought I was trying to shake off the person he’d married, turn myself into someone new.’

‘And were you?’

‘
No
! I told you.’ I stopped suddenly, asking myself if perhaps there was a deeper, subconscious reason for changing the way I looked. I glanced up at him. ‘Who knows? Maybe he saw something I didn’t. I’m so mixed up I can’t think straight any more.’

For a few minutes neither of us spoke then he asked, ‘Are you still doing those child portraits, Sophie?’

I was surprised. I wasn’t aware that he knew about my extra curricula work. ‘Yes, I suppose so.’ I glanced at him. ‘I’ve only ever done them in my spare time,’ I said defensively. ‘I’ve never let it interfere with my teaching.’

He smiled. ‘I know that, Sophie. I wasn’t objecting. I asked because I wondered if you’d do some work for me.’ He spooned sugar into his cup and stirred. ‘Hillary says I can have the boys in the school holidays and at half term. As that’s all I’m likely to see of them I’d love to have a couple of portraits to keep me company when they’re not there.’ He smiled at me. ‘Would you consider taking us on?’

‘You want me to do it this half term?’

‘Will you be free?’

‘Do you need to ask? I’ve been dreading half term as a matter of fact. Rattling round in that house alone with nothing to do. But surely they’ll be looking forward to better things to do than spend time posing for portraits. You’ll have outings planned.’

‘I’m sure they wouldn’t mind the odd half hour.’

‘How old are they?’

‘Ian’s seven and David is nine.’

A week was a very short time for two portraits and I hesitated, then I had a sudden idea. ‘I could do them in pastel. It’s a great medium for children and it’s quick – far less sitting than you need for oils. I think you’d like the effect. A couple of half hour sessions would do and I’ll bring my camera and take photographs to work on at home.’

‘Fine.’ He smiled. ‘Sounds like a plan. You know more about the technical stuff than I do so I’ll leave it up to you.’ He beckoned the waitress for the bill. ‘We’ll talk about times and so on later.’ He paid the waitress and stood up. ‘Oh, just one thing: I want you to charge whatever your other clients charge, right? No “mates” rates. Right?’

I grinned at him. ‘Right, if you insist.’

John still lived in the Harrisons’ family home, a pleasant detached house in a tree-lined avenue not far from school. When I went round for my first session with his young sons on the Monday of half term week they were a little shy and apprehensive. Understandably the idea of sitting still for a whole thirty minutes
while some strange female drew them was not appealing to two small boys. But once I began talking to them and showing them the pastels, the special paper and the brushes and tools I would use, we soon became friends. They were surprised when I told them they didn’t have to sit still all the time. I set to work, making quick sketches of them while they told me about their new school and all the things they liked to do. I wanted to get to know all their expressions so that I could capture something of their personalities. In half an hour I had enough material to make a start at home and I took photographs to refer to later so that I could get their colouring correct. They seemed surprised when I began to pack up my camera and pencils.