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Finn was clearly exhausted and I wasn’t exactly in the mood for an in-depth conversation myself, but I relished the opportunity to rest my head against his chest and just be with him. I only glanced down at my watch when I felt the first grumblings of hunger. “Bloody hell, it’s ten o’clock already!”
“Fuck, I’ve done it again, haven’t I?” Finn said. “Kept you here, I mean. Don’t feel like you’ve got to stay just ‘cos I was bein’ a bit of a tool earlier. I’ve already stopped you working for so long now -”
“Whoa, you’re stopping me working? What on earth gives you that idea?”
Finn gave a laugh devoid of any humour whatsoever. “Ah, c’mon Lili, I’ve seen you doing your thing, remember. Blaine got Coyle to break your hand and knock you senseless, and you were back in the studio the next day. Hell, you even had an asthma attack that almost finished you off and half an hour later you were sketching me out in the gardens. Then you get lumbered with the fuck-up to end all fuck-ups here and you haven’t so much as picked up a pencil since we arrived in Spain. You can’t deny I’ve royally shafted your life since I crash-landed into it; everything you went through back in England, and now you’re not even working because of me.”
“Oh God, that’s not you, you stupid sod!” Too late, I realised the additional burden I had unknowingly made Finn carry, through misplaced concern and a fair amount of traditional British reserve.
I took a deep breath to steady myself before I disclosed the uncomfortable truth. “I know that this is going to sound so ridiculous, but right now I can’t look at a canvas without thinking about that bloody woman and what she put us through. I’m hoping that some day soon I’ll be able to walk into my studio and not get a flashback to Lady bastarding Albermarle and her perfect silicone tits, but right now the slightest whiff of linseed has me back on that island.”
“Oh.” Finn stared at me nonplussed, clearly amazed that something could actually be wrong in my life that wasn’t his responsibility. “You never said, so I just… well, I kinda assumed.” He frowned. “You know, you never really tell me what’s going on in your head, and there must be some serious shit in there with all you’ve been through. I guess right now it doesn’t look like I’d be any good at it, but I swear on my life Lili, I want to be here for you as much as you are for me. Y’know, you could tell me… stuff, if you wanted to,” he offered, and gave me that shy, hopeful smile that could melt me from a hundred yards.
I wriggled up his torso so that we were face to face. His breath was sour with chemicals and fatigue, but I didn’t care as I laid a kiss firmly on his lips. “I will. I promise,” I said. “This is all new to me, Finn. This is the first time I’ve shared my life with anyone like this, and as much as it pains me to admit it, I'm going to make mistakes and say and do the wrong thing, but I swear -” I kissed him again, and was rewarded with a slightly off-target but willing kiss in return, “I will endeavour to tell you whatever ‘stuff’ is required from now on. Does that sound fair?”
“Yeah, more than fair,” Finn said and gave a deep sigh. “Oh Jesus, you wouldn’t believe how fuckin’ relieved I feel right now. I was imagining getting lynched by a load of posh twat art lovers the minute I left this place.”
I reluctantly got up from the bed, already missing Finn’s warmth. “Like I’d bloody well let that happen.”
*****
I arrived home to find a creamy white envelope lurking in the mailbox. I reached in with my sweater pulled over my fingers and tried to imagine a happy place that involved not having to contaminate my own mail with fingerprints and failed miserably as soon as I saw that the font was identical to the letter that had triggered Finn’s crisis. “Oh well that’s just fucking marvellous,” I said, and took it into the apartment to open.
There are no refunds for damaged goods.
“Nice.” I dropped the mail into an evidence bag with a hiss of irritation. “Whoever you are, I sincerely hope you die an agonising and protracted death.”
I made a call to Sergent Mendoza who promised to send an officer over to collect the letter later that evening then went to my bedroom and put in a second call, this time to Call-Me-Ed, the protector of what was left of my own sanity. It was only when I heard his warm, steady voice that I felt my shoulders drop.
“Ed, I know this is going to sound a little odd, but please could you tell me what you’re doing right now?” I asked.
There was a brief pause, followed by a distinctly confused, “Um…”
“I really need to hear something ordinary. Right this second. Something mundane and lovely and bloody normal.”
“Having a bad day, love?”
“ I’ve had better.”
“Same for the lad?”
“Yes.”
“Ah.” To my relief, Ed understood and I was spared further exposition. I let my breath out in a sigh as he began to talk. “Okay… Well, I’m just catching up with the football scores on the telly with a cuppa at the moment, but I mowed the front lawn this morning. First cut of the year – a bit earlier than usual, but we’ve had a decent warm spell…”
I curled up on the sofa with a bowl of cereal and my phone propped to my ear and let Ed’s soft voice take me to a safe, calm place a million miles away from where I was currently stranded.
“…And then we’ve got a meal with our Damon’s fiancée tomorrow. Wedding plans and all that. The missus is in her element.”
“Your son’s getting married?” I interrupted, and immediately felt guilty. I’d spent weeks with Ed during the Newcastle trials and never known; I’d been too wrapped up in my own drama.
“Aye. November. Still months away, but you’d think it was next week, the way they’re all banging on.”
I smiled, and then the wall that had been separating me from my work all these months started to wobble. “Do you have a recent picture of the two of them?”
Ed laughed. “Bloody hundreds, I should imagine. Why?”
“Could you send me a few so I could do them a portrait?”
