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‘It’s hardly your fault.’
‘We can do Scarborough when I get back.’
He had one arm in a sleeve and stopped there. He peered over the top of the shirt. ‘I’ll be in York. There’s no point me going to Scarborough alone.’
‘But… You’re going to carry on with the painting?’
He yanked the t-shirt over his chest. ‘I have to. I need to think ahead to later in the month.’
‘Oh.’ I had no idea if I would be back tomorrow or the day after, however, it made sense for him to go to York. ‘I can meet you there instead.’
He ran across the field to the amenities block leaving me to scavenge for water from a nearby standpipe. Gulping down a cupful, I tried not to think too much about what he had said last night or wonder if his haste to complete the paintings was a symptom of regret. We hadn’t mentioned what I had told him at the abbey; my so-called “gift” now seemed insignificant compared to his troubled life.
In the car, I interrupted the unpleasant quietness with a nervous cough. ‘We’re okay, yeah? We’re going to see each other again?’
He glanced in my direction. ‘Yes, why not? Didn’t we have good time last night?’
A good time sounded like something I might say about a trip out to the cinema. I had given him so much of me last night, and a “good time” wasn’t what I had felt as he moved over me. Bloody brilliant was more like it.
I turned away and looked out the passenger window at the scenery flashing by. ‘You’ll wait for me at York?’
‘Yes, I said would. You’ll go straight there?’
‘As soon as Mum has the support she needs. Beryl has a younger brother who lives in France, and I suspect he’ll come over and help. Dad too.’ Dad was good with practical stuff, but he wasn’t the best person at dealing with emotional outbursts.
‘That could be more than a day or two.’ He overtook a tractor with little room to spare.
I winced, shrinking into the back of my seat. I battled nausea and gripped the overhead strap. ‘I suppose. I can’t really say until I’m there.’
‘Look,’ he said as the car approached our destination, ‘I know you’re taking your time with the photography and it’s not as if you have to get back to a job—’
‘True, but this is work—’
‘A paid hobby really, isn’t it? My commission is a job; it pays the rent.’ He pulled up the handbrake.
Through the open car window I heard the three siblings hollering to each other somewhere in the garden. I struggled to loosen my seatbelt, fumbling with the catch in my haste.
‘I see,’ I said curtly. ‘Then I can’t possibly stand in the way of you and your job. I’ll let Medici know we’re parting company, shall I?’
‘What the hell has he got to do with it?’ Joseph opened his door and threw out his long legs.
I retrieved my camera bag from the boot and faced him. The silence between us stretched until I couldn’t bear it.
‘He means nothing, obviously, since he’s given up on me too.’ I grabbed the tripod out of Joseph’s hand.
‘And there lies your problem, Robyn,’ he said, carelessly. ‘You need to stay focused, get a handle on thisconditionof yours.’
‘Condition? You mean like I’m psychologically damaged? That’s rich coming from you, given your obvious need for counselling. You’re still traumatised, blaming yourself, and now you won’t commit to me either.’
He slammed the boot door shut. ‘I just offered to meet you again.’
I opened my mouth, prepared to push back further, and I couldn’t say the words. What happened last night was never in my mind going to be a one night stand, and I had to hope he felt the same. The children’s voices were louder. We had little time to heal the rift.
‘I do want to meet again,’ I said. For the second time that morning, tears baited my eyes, but I refused to shed them.
He sighed, and with the hooded crook of his elbow shaded his eyes and the rest of his unfathomable features. ‘I have to keep painting, keep the momentum. It’s a fluid process for me. If I pause too long, I stopping seeing… what’s there,’ he ended, with an uncharacteristic stutter.
‘I’m there, with you.’ My lumpy throat restricted, painfully.
