Life Drawing for Beginners (31 page)

“Zarek—I’m
so
sorry.” She yanked off her helmet and dumped it on the seat, and began pulling a canvas bag from the front basket. “I’m a little…disorganized, I’m afraid.”

Zarek reached for the bag. “Please, I take.” It was surprisingly heavy, and contained numerous bottles and cartons.

“Oh, thank you, dear.” She rushed ahead of him, keeping up a scattered commentary as she opened the front door and led him into the hall and through to the kitchen. “Oh, you brought wine, how thoughtful, please excuse the mess, I’m afraid I’ve been a little…oh sorry, don’t mind Dolly, she’s perfectly harmless,
stop
that, Dolly, go
down
…yes, yes, just over there, thank you so much…
no
, Dolly,
bad
dog, I’ll just put her outside in the—yes, if you could put the white into the freezer, I’m afraid they’re not very cold—”

She broke off abruptly, her face changing. “
Oh!
” she cried, just as Zarek became aware of a burning smell. They turned simultaneously towards the oven, and Audrey threw open the door. Waves of black smoke rolled out immediately. “Oh
no
—”

To Zarek’s dismay she burst into tears. “Oh, it’s all going wrong,” she wept, her hands pressed to her cheeks. “My neighbor, you see, he
died
on Tuesday, he was barely forty, such a
lovely
man, you have no idea”—lunging for a tea towel and swiping at the tears—“but of course it made me forget about this party,
completely
forget until I got your text, and then I had to
dash
out, and I put them into the oven
much
too soon, not thinking at
all
, and now everything’s
ruined
—”

She began flapping the tea towel at the smoke, which helped distribute it about the kitchen. Zarek grabbed a pair of oven gloves that hung beside the cooker and slid out the two baking sheets and brought them to the back door. They each held what looked to him like short, fat lengths of charcoal.

Audrey looked tearfully at the burned offerings as Zarek opened the door and laid the trays on the ground outside. “I had so little
time
, you see,” she sobbed, “it was such a
rush
—oh
goodness
, and everyone coming, such a
disaster
—” Dropping the tea towel and pulling tissues from a box on the worktop to dab frantically at her eyes.

“No, no,” Zarek said, propping the back door open with a chair, “is no disaster, don’t worry, Audrey.” He searched for words to reassure her, so woebegone she looked. “Important things for party is friends, and wine, and…perhaps little music, that is plenty.” He decided to assume that Audrey possessed some sort of sound system.

“But it’s a
party
,” she cried, “and all I have is, oh, I don’t know, maybe some
popcorn
, and
that’s
not going to be much help.”

“You have popcorn?” Zarek asked. “I make every Saturday in my apartment, I am popcorn king. Popcorn is perfect food for party. Where is popcorn?”

Audrey blew her nose, regarding him doubtfully. “You think that would do?” She reached into a press and drew out a box that contained bags of microwavable popcorn. “Oh, but it’s only—”

“Perfect,” Zarek repeated firmly, taking it from her and lifting out a bag. “Healthy food.” Which may have been pushing it a bit, but no matter. He put the bag into Audrey’s microwave and switched it on.

“See?” he said, smiling. Choosing to ignore the little dog, who seemed to be enjoying the charcoal. “Simple as pie.”

“Oh, and I think there are crackers,” Audrey said, sniffing as she opened another press, “and there’s cheese in that—”

The doorbell rang, causing her to start violently. “Oh
Lord
, someone else,” she wailed, practically throwing the box of crackers at him as she pulled out another tissue and dabbed at her eyes again, “and we’re still in such a
mess
, and I must look an absolute
fright
—”

Her face was certainly blotchy, the skin around her eyes puffy, the shiny pink lipstick he’d noticed earlier all but gone. Zarek saw no reason to point any of that out. He handed her a bottle of red wine and a carton of juice.

“You smile, you look beautiful,” he told her. “Now you go, say welcome, put music, give drinks, and do talking. Go now, and I make food. I am chef.”

And thankfully she went, leaving him to make the best of what he’d been given.

In the end, five of the six guests showed up. Fiona, it would appear, hadn’t yet recovered. Audrey felt a twinge when she remembered that she’d intended calling her on Saturday morning, but if she’d felt able to come she would have rung, presumably, to get the address. Audrey would ring her in the morning, see how she was. Hopefully her husband was taking good care of her.

Remarkably, the guests who’d come seemed to be not unhappy with the proceedings. Could they possibly not have noticed how thrown-together the party was? They could hardly have missed the distinct smell of burning in the hall, but none of them had commented, bless them—and now, an hour into the affair, she’d caught nobody looking at a watch or stifling a yawn.

And poor Zarek had outdone himself on the food front, appearing within minutes with a mountain of popcorn, a platter of crackers topped with slices of cheese and cubes of pineapple, and Audrey’s fruit bowl filled with assorted chocolate bars. He’d found her supply in the jar, all by himself. It wasn’t a banquet, but when you considered that it had been conjured up out of practically nothing, it was perfectly acceptable.

Audrey circulated among the small assembly, offering more drinks. She needn’t have worried about running out of wine. Everyone had brought a bottle except for Irene, who’d brought two in a little wooden crate,
and
a box of Black Magic chocolates, which Audrey didn’t actually care for—she found dark chocolate too bitter—but of course it was the thought that counted. She’d pass them on to poor Pauline, who preferred dark chocolate.

The food disappeared, and nobody seemed to mind that they weren’t getting chicken kebabs or cheese balls or onion bhajis—​or indeed, fake cocktail sausages and chips. Audrey must remember to take in the baking sheets later, or Dolly, who must be still in the kitchen, might try to eat them and end up with a stomachache.

The fire flickered, casting a soft, warm glow in the room—​much better, after all, than the colored lightbulbs Audrey had originally been thinking of for her table lamps. The guests chatted, glasses were refilled, and the music was looked after by Jackie, who wore a really pretty, colorful dress.

Just after ten o’clock there was a general pulling on of jackets and collecting of bags that Audrey didn’t attempt to discourage, feeling a little drained from her earlier panicked preparations, followed by two hours of trying to be the perfect hostess. Kevin’s death was still much too raw for her to look happy without an enormous effort.

In the hall there was some discussion about where everyone lived before it was discovered that James, Jackie, and Irene were heading in one direction and Meg and Zarek in the other. Audrey stood on the doorstep and waved them off, thinking with longing of her bath, followed by an hour with her book in front of the fire in dressing gown and slippers.

All things considered though, despite the disastrous start, the evening could be said to have been, if not exactly the party of the year, then far from an abject failure.

As soon as they left Audrey’s road Meg pushed a button and some female whose voice Zarek didn’t recognize began to sing, accompanied by a soft saxophone. “
I’ve been waiting so long
,” she sang, slow enough for Zarek to understand, “
for you to notice me
.”

Meg’s perfume reminded him of Turkish Delight. He sat tensely in the passenger seat, marveling at the mischance that had led to him being her only passenger. He’d assured her that walking was no problem for him, but she wouldn’t hear of it—“Not in the dark, on a Saturday night; you could meet anyone”—and to insist would, he felt, have seemed ungrateful for her offer, so now he was trapped.

“That was a lovely evening,” she said. “You were good to help with the food.”

“Food was easy,” he said, happy to talk about such an impartial subject. “Popcorn in microwave, not complicated. Also putting cheese on biscuit, and pin-apple.”

She laughed. “Pineapple.”

“Yes, thank you, pineapple. And the chocolate I find in a box.”

“Still though,” she went on, “I’m sure Audrey was delighted to have you.”

She wore a low-cut green dress that stopped at her knees, and gold sandals with lots of straps. Around her left wrist was a charm bracelet that jangled when she moved her arm.

“So,” she said, “how d’you like living in Ireland?”

“Is good,” he said, determined again to keep the conversation as unthreatening as possible. “I like it very much. Peoples are friendly, but my job not very interesting. In Poland I work with the computers.”

“Really?” Slowing as they approached a junction. “And what do you do here?”

“I work in chip shop,” he replied, hoping she wouldn’t ask its name. Carrickbawn had lots of fast-food cafés. “Polish food very different to Irish,” he added, attempting to steer things away from his job.

She waited for two cars to pass, and then she swung right. “And,” she said, “I’m sure you had no trouble finding a nice Irish girlfriend.” Turning to flash him a brief smile. “If I was single I’d be interested.” Laughing lightly as she took another turn. “Or even if I wasn’t.”

Zarek kept his gaze straight ahead and made no response. When the silence began to stretch, Meg said, “Sorry—I didn’t mean to embarrass you.”

“Meg,” he said. He paused, forming the words in his head before saying them. “There is something I must tell to you.”

She glanced at him again. “Zarek, don’t worry, I—”

“I am homosexual,” he said, loudly enough to make sure she heard over her own words, and the voice of the singer.

A beat passed.

“Oh,” Meg said. “Oh, I see. Well, that’s…”

She shifted gears as a roundabout came into view. She negotiated the roundabout.

“I am next left road,” Zarek said. “Maybe you remember?”

“Yes, sure.” She turned left.

“Just here is okay,” he said.

Meg pulled into the curb.

“Thank you,” he said, “for the drive.”

“You’re welcome.” She gave him a quick smile.

“See you on Tuesday,” he said, getting out. “Thank you,” he repeated, closing the door.

He stood on the path until her car had disappeared, feeling a wonderful release.

“Well,” Jackie said brightly, “here we are.”

He’d been quiet on the way to the party, but she hadn’t minded. She’d prattled enough for both of them, knowing that she looked good, feeling happy to be in his presence. The party itself had been okay, although Audrey’s musical collection left a bit to be desired. And there’d been no dancing, much to her disappointment. She loved to dance.

But she’d done her best, she’d chatted with everyone. Even Irene, who’d been fairly knocking back the wine, and who as far as Jackie could see hadn’t eaten a single thing. Throughout the evening Jackie had been conscious all the time of James and where he was in the room, and had looked forward to being alone with him again at the end of the evening.

She’d been dismayed when she’d heard him offering Irene a lift home. Dismayed but not surprised, since Audrey, attempting to organize everyone’s journey, had made it practically impossible for him not to—“Oh, the three of you are going the same way; isn’t
that
convenient.”

And to make matters worse, Irene had gotten straight into the passenger seat. As if she had every right to sit there, as if Jackie were the child being driven home by her parents. How annoying. Jackie had sulked silently while Irene had flirted brazenly with James, commenting on his accent, asking him what he thought of the social scene in Carrickbawn, telling him he had to try her favorite Thai restaurant. Pathetic.

Thankfully, Irene had been dropped off first, at a grand-​looking redbrick house. Jackie had slipped into the front seat as soon as it had been vacated, resisting the impulse to wave Irene’s sickly perfume away.

For all the good sitting beside him had done her.

He’d responded to her questions and comments cordially enough, but there was a distance between them that Jackie hadn’t been expecting, and couldn’t bridge. He didn’t meet her eye, he made no attempt to move the conversation beyond her prattling small talk. He gave no indication that they were anything more than cordial acquaintances.

Before they reached her road, Jackie realized that she’d been foolish to suppose there was anything between them. Wishful thinking, that was all it had been, a product of her fertile imagination. And now they were here, and all she wanted to do was get out of his car.

“I’ll pick Charlie up at ten,” he was saying. “That’s not too early, is it?”

The engine still running, his fingers all but drumming on the steering wheel. Looking out the front windscreen, not even glancing her way. Another car whooshed by, some awful music booming out.

“Ten is fine.” Jackie felt for the door handle. “Well,” she said, “good night then. Thanks for the lift.”

“Good night,” he replied, turning to look at her finally, smiling now that she was getting out. Now that he was getting rid of her.

“See you in the morning,” he said.

“Sure.”

She took her key from her bag and let herself into the house as he drove off. She closed the door gently and leaned against it and listened. The television was still on in the sitting room, so at least one of her parents was still up. She took a deep breath and crossed the hall, and put her head in.

Her father half rose when the door opened, but she whispered, “No, stay there, I’m going straight up. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Without waiting for his response she closed the door and hurried up the stairs. Ten minutes later she was in bed, her makeup only half removed, her teeth carelessly brushed. She closed her eyes and waited for sleep, and refused to dwell on the fact that he wasn’t interested in her.