Page 29 of The Art of Being a Psychopath

As I pushed through the metal doors, I spotted Lloyd across the gallery, taking a framed piece of art off the wall. I caught his eye, and he handed the art to another member of staff, before sauntering over to me.

“Emma,” he said with a curious frown.

He didn’t look overjoyed to see me, not that I expected him to be doing cartwheels. There was a hint of annoyance in his gaze, and the visible tension as he ticked his jaw told me exactly how he felt about me.

He’d read the article.

I owed him money and I’d shit all over the gallery at the same time.

I was the last person he wanted to be polite to.

But he masked his anger as best he could, painted on a fake smile and extended his arm to shake my hand. “I didn’t expect to see you here again so soon. How can I help?”

I shook his hand, then took a deep breath.

“I had to come today. I felt so awful about what happened on Friday. I wanted to discuss how I can settle my debt... and... I expect you’ve seen the article.” I felt so ashamed I wished the ground would open up and swallow me whole.

Lloyd dipped his head, then cleared his throat.

“The article. Yes. We’ve all read it. That’s why I’m surprised you’re here.”

He probably thought I was a real piece of work, bad-mouthing his place of work and then turning up like this to justify myself.

“I’m so sorry,” I blurted out, stepping closer to him, trying not to hang my head in shame. He didn’t move away from me, so that was a positive. “That article and the things it said, they weren’t written by me. I mean, yes, it had my name on it, but I didn’t write it. On Friday, you were nothing but generous. So welcoming. And I really enjoyed being here and the performance, the art, all of it. It was amazing... and you... you’re amazing. This gallery put on a magnificent event and...”

“I’m sure you can understand how your article reflected badly on us, though,” he interjected, looking at me like he pitied me, but wasn’t quite sure how to deal with me being here. “The artists we invite here can be somewhat... fragile, when it comes to the critique of their work. Your article was pretty damning.”

“But it wasn’t my article, that’s what I’m trying to tell you. And I feel awful about it.”

I took a moment, waiting for him to tell me it was all okay. But he didn’t. He stayed silent. So, I went on. “I don’t want to upset any artists. And I was thinking, if you’re in contact with S.K.A.M. you could tell him how sorry we are at the Echo for printing that piece. I don’t have any way of contacting him, but I know you do.” I pleaded with my eyes now, as well as my words. “Please, Lloyd. Tell him it was a huge mistake. Tell him I didn’t mean to cause him so much hurt, but...”

“The words are out there now,” Lloyd stated plainly. Snapped even. He didn’t look convinced. “You can’t take them back, Emma. And if you can’t live with the consequences, then maybe you shouldn’t have written...”

“But I already told you, it wasn’t me,” I argued, feeling like I was banging my head against a brick wall. Lloyd clearly wasn’t listening.

“Nevertheless, the ripple effect from a review like that can be truly staggering.”

I felt a ten-tonne weight hit the bottom of my stomach, and adrenaline shots fired through me when I heard those words.

Truly staggering.

That’s what he’d said in the email he’d sent me.

You just achieved something truly staggering.

I swallowed, trying to control my nerves as I leaned a little closer and whispered, “It’s you, isn’t it.”

“What’s me?” Lloyd asked with a frown.

“S.K.A.M. It’s you. You’re the artist.”

Lloyd threw his head back and laughed. It was the first time I’d seen him crack his tough exterior since I’d arrived.

“Are you serious?” he asked, struggling to keep his laughter under control.

I nodded, and he shook his head.

“I wish I had that much talent.” His face softened. “But sadly, no. I’m not S.K.A.M.”