AllFreeNovel
Share Us
It’s not exactly proper dark as Paoul leads me up from the river to a lumpy grass field. He’s carrying a thick rope over his shoulder.
‘Net already there,’ he whispers. ‘We frighten rabbit and rabbit run to net.’
He gives me one end of the rope and walks across the field until it’s fully stretched out. Then he signals me to walk forwards, and he like lifts and thumps the rope on the ground as we go. Sure enough there’s a scurrying as a few rabbits hop away at top speed, scattering in all directions. After a bit Paoul drops the rope and runs, beckoning me to follow. I can just see a low net about twenty-five metres long strung up between two trees. Paoul inspects the net, points to something moving. An actual rabbit caught by its front legs, frozen with fear as we approach. Paoul kneels and before I can even register, he’s twisted the rabbit’s neck and thrown it in his canvas bag.
‘There!’ He beams at me. I’m totally shocked at how matter of fact this is, but then, if I want to eat meat…
Paoul beckons me further down the net. There’s another smaller rabbit, its little body trembling.
‘You take this one.’ Paoul shoves me forward.
I kneel beside the rabbit to hold it. Its heart flutters furiously as I ease its legs from the net.
‘Twist the neck. Do it quick,’ Paoul hisses.
I look up at him and then back at the rabbit. I want to tell Paoul I can’t do it, when I somehow loosen my grip and the rabbit escapes across the field.
I stare at my empty hands, not daring to look at Paoul, crouched beside me. I hear his heavy impatient breathing. He punches me under the shoulder, and I brace myself for worse. Then he lets out a massive bellowing laugh, rocks himself as he catches his breath.
‘Aee you British, so soft to the animals, better than to humans!’
There’s not enough rabbit stew for everyone, and I say I’m not hungry, which is true enough. The wine’s finished, my tobacco’s been passed round, and all I want is to crawl into my sleeping bag with my chocolate for comfort.
‘Well, I’ll be hitting the sack, then?’ I try to sound casual, getting up from the fire.
‘Aye, I hope the ground’s soft enough for your sensitive bones?’ Skunky says.
‘Oh, I’ve slept out in the country a few times, with my mates.’ Another pang, thinking of them all out there tonight.
‘And then you get the bus home to mammy in the morning, laddie? No,’ he holds his hand up to my stuttering. ‘Dinnae be ashamed. You dinnae need to hang about with the likes of us. You’ll hitch yourself a ride to Lochgillan tomorrow and find that father of yours, will you no’?’
I clutch my stolen sleeping bag, my secret stash of chocolate. I feel about six. Such a fail.
‘Good night, and thanks for everything.’ I say.
Deconstruction – Pat
I jump off the bus into water bouncing off the street and I’m soaked immediately in my canvas pumps and sleeveless top. As I got Charlie’s text I rushed out, not thinking of an umbrella. On way to exhibition with Chloe – meeting Reh there. Cursing as I splash my way through the torrent. Why the hell do I want to be a bloody artist? I hate showing my work to people I know.
One of the gallery girls sits at the front desk with the inevitable laptop. They are all the same in this trendy pop-up gallery, with their back-combed hair and vintage make-up – eye-contact is obviously beneath them. How is anyone supposed to even know there’s a show on, there’s no signage and the laptop girl doesn’t speak.
I stand at the gallery entrance, absorbing the dry smell of paint and plaster dust while I look around for Charlie and Rehana. The only people I can see are a silver-haired man in a crumpled linen jacket and spotty bow tie, with a woman with a big hooked nose, carmine-pink lipstick and a tight blue dress. They’re looking at Divided Lines – piles of earth from opposite sides of the Scottish border. The man is holding forth, the woman leaning towards him, seemingly attentive.
‘…reductive symbolism of nationalism, the literalism of earth…?’ the man drones as I walk past. The woman shoots me a you’re-a-piece-of-dirt look. I scowl back at her, and she snaps her face shut.
My installation is past the video room at the end of the L shaped gallery. I turn the corner and hear a young girl’s voice.
‘Dad, do you think I should try…?’ It’s Chloe, Charlie’s twelve-year-old, emerging from the video room with Charlie and Rehana.
I catch Rehana looking at me and quickly averting her eyes. Has she seen my installation? Maybe she hates it.
‘You arehere!’ Charlie says. ‘I see you got caught in the rain.’
‘There’s this video, right, of a totally naked girl, like smearing herself in paint,’ Chloe tells me. ‘Shall I do it, Dad, for my art project?’ Cheeky grin at Charlie, head to one side.
‘Been done before, circa 1968.’ Charlie bats her blond ponytail.
‘Waste of paint.’ Rehana purses her lips. She glances at my top and turns away again. The top is a lacy antique number from a charity shop. The wet has made it almost see-through, and I’m not wearing a bra. Oh God, no wonder she can’t look at me.
