Chapter 40

40

Eris, summer 2002

It had been raining for weeks, but that morning, the sun shone.

Grace was sitting in the kitchen, reading the newspaper over breakfast, when Vanessa appeared, shyly smiling. Her face was flushed and her fingers trembled a little as she took Grace's hand. ‘I have something to show you,' she said.

Up at the studio, leaning against the wall, was the picture, the portrait of Grace holding the wooden bird. Vanessa had been working on it ever since the rain started.

‘I call it Totem ,' Vanessa said. She paused for a moment, then inhaled quickly. ‘Well, what do you think? Do you like it?'

Grace swallowed. She was embarrassed to find herself moved to tears. ‘I do,' she said. She coughed to clear the lump in her throat. ‘I really do.' She is not beautiful in the portrait – she could never be that – but she is majestic. Sitting at their kitchen table, she has pushed her chair back a little so that you can see that she is holding, in her lap, a carving. The wall behind her is the yellow of old paper, the afternoon light soft and warm. In her faded blue shirt, Grace looks a nobler and more relaxed figure than she ever could have imagined herself.

Vanessa slipped her arms around Grace's waist and squeezed. ‘I'm so pleased. I'm so happy with how it's turned out, but I know what it's like to sit for a portrait and expect one thing and then to be confronted with it … it's never an uncomplicated sensation.' She squeezed again. ‘Grace … are you crying? You are! Oh, Grace .'

There had been something between them lately, an awkwardness, unspoken; they both knew where it came from, but both had been ignoring it. ‘You don't mind, do you,' Vanessa said, ‘not coming to opening night? I would like to have you there, it's just … we belong to different worlds, you and I, don't we? And those things are always so stressful, I never feel myself, I'm so nervous, and I'll have to be pressing flesh and … selling , and you won't know anyone, and I won't be able to look after you. I worry you won't enjoy yourself—'

‘I don't mind,' Grace said quickly, though she did. She'd not told Vanessa that, although she'd grown to suspect she might not be invited, she had already picked out an outfit to wear; she'd been pricing rooms at three-star hotels, thinking about where they might eat before the show. ‘I understand completely. I'll come the week after the opening, and then we can relax and enjoy ourselves, have dinner somewhere nice.' She fell silent a moment, swallowing her disappointment, tamping it down, determined that it would not ruin this moment between them. ‘It's so odd ,' she said finally, ‘to think that this will be hanging there in a fancy gallery, and people will be looking at it, and then someone will buy it and take it home. Me! On the wall!'

‘Very fine you'll look, too,' Vanessa said, beaming. She let go of Grace and took a step back to admire the painting from slightly further away. ‘I mean, I would love to keep it, I'd love to hang it in the house. I'd love to give it to you, but I'm afraid we need the money.' She laughed. ‘You know what? Although I can't give you the portrait, I can give you … this.' She reached behind her and from the trestle table seized the little wooden bird, holding it out in front of her like an offering.

‘Oh, well ,' Grace said, her smile teasing. ‘I am honoured.' She took the bird in her hands and held it to her breast. ‘All this makes me feel very important.' Her face flushed. ‘It connects us, doesn't it? You and I? We're linked by it.'

‘We are,' Vanessa said, taking Grace's hand again. ‘No matter what happens, there will always be this, the moment I put the brush to the canvas and painted you. Always.'

The next day, Julian arrived.

The following week, after Vanessa's argument with Julian, after she drove drunk through the village and argued with Grace, too, Vanessa left Grace's home in the village early to get back to Eris, to pick up the smaller paintings and drive down to Glasgow on the Thursday. That same day, Grace arrived to a full waiting room at the surgery. There was a bug going around and half the kids in the village seemed to be off school with it, so it wasn't until around 2.30 that she finally managed to take her lunch break. She escaped, as usual, to her bench overlooking the harbour and it was from there that she saw Julian Chapman's little red sports car come haring over the causeway, throwing spray high into the air. The car came racing up the hill and accelerated through the village and Grace thought, Oh, thank God , he's gone.

As soon as she finished work that evening, she drove across to the island.

She took a pair of Marigolds and some cleaning products from beneath the kitchen sink and set about scouring the place, removing all traces of him. She worked methodically through the house, from the kitchen, which was in a foul state – dirty plates and glasses everywhere, ashtrays overflowing on to the counter, pans encrusted with dried-on food – to the living room and the bathroom, and finally into Vanessa's room. She stripped the bed, shuddering with disgust as she retrieved a used condom from between the sheets. She loaded the washing machine and was remaking the bed with fresh linens when she spotted Vanessa's note, which had fallen down between the bed and the nightstand.

J, we can't keep going round and round and round!

I'm going to be back on the weekend and you must be gone.There's no more money in the pot.

We have loved each other and we have hated each other and now we can be free of each other.

Isn't that wonderful?

You must find your own way.

Love,

Nessa

Grace could feel herself beaming as she read it. Now we can be free of each other. Hallelujah! She wanted to punch the air. He was banished. Gone! Out of Vanessa's life, out of her own. Out of their life together.

On the little stool in front of Vanessa's dressing table, Grace spotted a black wallet. She picked it up and looked through it: four credit cards (no wonder the man was in debt), fifty pounds in cash and a photograph of Julian with a woman who was not Vanessa. Celia Gray, perhaps? Julian looked very happy in the picture. Grace slipped the wallet into the drawer, making a note to herself to tell Vanessa to send it back to him on her return, but then she changed her mind. Sod him , she thought. She retrieved the wallet from the drawer, pocketed the cash, walked across the room and flung the wallet clean out of the window, into the sea.

It must have been around eight o'clock when she finally finished cleaning the house. She took the padlock key from the hook in the kitchen and strolled up the hill to the studio. It was a glorious evening, peach clouds scudding over a pale sky, the coconutty scent of gorse in the air. When she got to the door, she saw that there was a note there, too, tucked into the arch of the padlock. She extracted it, slipping it into her pocket with the cash while she unlocked and rolled back the door to allow the soft evening light into the studio.

Everything was in order here. Against the south wall stood a number of large canvases while the ceramic pieces destined for the show were ranged on the trestle table in the centre of the room, along with a giant roll of bubble wrap and two rolls of tape, ready for packing.

Grace took the note from her pocket.

OK, Nessa, you win. I'll leave you be.

But I worry about you, locking yourself away up here. The work you are doing is beautiful, but so are you .

Eris is a wonderful retreat – don't make it your whole world. Come back to the land of the living! You can't hide away here for ever, knocking around with dreary old butterball – you'll go mad.

I meant what I said about Morocco. Izzy is taking a riad in Marrakech in October/November – there will be loads of room and I won't bother you (unless you ask nicely).

No one will bother you! You can work, play, go out into the desert, look at the stars.

Paint the stars.

Think about it.

See you on opening night!

All my love, always,

J

Before she even knew what she was doing, Grace's hand had closed around the sinuous, flared-lip vase closest to her right hip, and an instant later it was flying through the air, hitting the wall with a satisfying crash. The sound of fine porcelain tinkling to the floor was like music.

Opening night? Julian was going to opening night ? While she was told to stay at home, because she wouldn't enjoy herself, because Vanessa couldn't look after her?

And Morocco ? With Izzy ? That would happen over Grace's dead body. A shallow bowl, perfectly weighted and glazed in icy blue, went flying.

‘What the fuck are you doing?'

Grace yelped in fright and spun around, knocking her hip against the table as she did, sending another piece crashing to the ground.

Julian was standing in the doorway, arms folded across his chest, lip curling. ‘Butterball? What are you up to?'

Grace felt the earth tilt beneath her feet. ‘What are you doing here?' She took a couple of steps towards him. ‘Vanessa told you to leave.'

‘I know, and I did. Got all the way down to Fort Augustus, popped into the petrol station and realized I'd left my wallet behind. I had enough cash to fill up the car, but my phone was out of juice and I worked out that by the time I got back, the tide would be in. This fucking place!' He grinned at her. ‘I don't know how you stand it. I had a snooze in the car and then I drove all the way back up here. Have you seen it?' He walked towards her, squatting down to retrieve a saucer-sized disc of porcelain from the floor. ‘My wallet?'

‘No,' Grace said, ‘and I've cleaned the house, so you must have left it somewhere else.'

Julian placed the piece of porcelain on the table. ‘I don't think so,' he said softly. He took another step closer and reached out, taking hold of Grace's arm, looping his fingers around her right wrist. She tried to pull away, but he tightened his grasp. ‘So, what's going on, butterball? Why are you up here smashing Nessa's things?'

Grace's heart beat painfully hard. She struggled to pull away from him but he held on. ‘I wasn't smashing anything, it was an accident, you saw that, you startled me and I knocked against the table—'

‘That might have been an accident,' Julian said, wrapping his whole hand around her wrist now, squeezing tightly, ‘but the first time wasn't. Or,' he looked around, at the shards on the floor, ‘or was that actually the second time? Christ, how many pieces have you broken?'

Grace was starting to panic; she could feel darkness closing in at the edge of her vision, as though she were entering a tunnel. ‘I didn't mean to …' She thought she might cry, and the thought appalled her. She would not be able to bear the humiliation of breaking down in front of him.

‘What's happening?' Julian's voice was like treacle. ‘What's caused this little tantrum?' He looked around quizzically until finally his gaze came to rest on the note clutched in Grace's hand. ‘Oh,' he said, ‘ that . Poor Grace. Are you feeling left out?' He mocked a pout. ‘Upset about our holiday plans? Did she tell you she's coming to Venice with me for her birthday? We thought we'd stay at the Cipriani like we did when we were on honeymoon. We might actually try to see a bit of Venice this time. Or we might just stay in the room and fuck.'

‘She's not going to go away with you,' Grace said. ‘She'd never do that, she … let go of me!'

But still he held on, his grip tight and painful. ‘Ah, but you see, that's the thing about Nessa. No matter how she tries, she can't deny herself that.' He licked his lips, looking at Grace from beneath lowered lids. ‘She always opens up for me.' He laughed, a soft chuckle. ‘I've got a room for us on opening night, too. So we can celebrate. It's a shame you won't be there. I think she genuinely feels bad about it, but she just couldn't bear it, the thought of you there in some hideous trouser suit, lowering the tone.'

The tears ran down Grace's face unchecked. She couldn't stomach it – the heavy scent of his aftershave she'd smelt on Vanessa's sheets, the stink of tobacco on his breath, the mocking twist of his lip – not for a second longer. She wrenched her arm free of his grasp and tried to flee, but her trembling knees buckled and she stumbled against one of the canvases leaning against the wall.

‘Careful,' Julian said, ‘don't want to do any more damage.' He grinned. ‘Do you know,' he said, ‘that I sold a painting of hers once without her permission? Has she told you about that? I was short of cash and in a bit of a fix and so I flogged one of her pieces. I got a good price for it, too – but she didn't talk to me for months .' He turned away, walking slowly towards the studio door. ‘I can't even begin to think what she's going to do when she finds out what you've been up to. I suspect you might find yourself banished from paradise.'

There was a moment, then, when everything stilled. The gulls fell silent and the wind dropped, and Julian stood silhouetted in the doorway, looking out towards a shimmering sea. And then the sun dipped behind a cloud, and the world went into black and white; Grace must have made a sound, a shivering gasp, perhaps, or maybe she trod on a shard of broken pottery as she approached, because Julian turned his head a little, just enough for Grace to see the shock register on his face as she swung the mason's hammer, smashing it into his temple and shattering his skull.