Being Emily Read online

  So, if some kid in a baseball cap sets a doll’s house on fire, they’re hauled off for community service but if you do, because you’ve been to Art School, it’s art?

  I …

  Fine, Fiona, I’ve got what I need here. Can you stand in front of your thingy so Terry can take a photo.

  Shazia pushed me towards the piece and Terry moved me about till he got what he wanted. All the time the other journalist, the one that looked like she was about tae walk the West Highland Way, was at my elbow.

  Fiona, if you don’t mind, I’d like to ask you about the symbolism of the piece, the relationship between the video and the burning house? I’m a big Brontë fan so I guess it’s meant to be when Branwell set the curtains on fire and Emily put the fire out, yeah?

  That’s right. Shazia thrust a leaflet at her. You’ll see that it’s mentioned here but of course the artist doesn’t want to explain things in too clearcut a fashion, wants to leave room for ambiguity and making connections …

  Thanks, but I’m most interested in why you chose to parallel the two, Fiona. Does the tenement have a personal meaning for you as an artist or is it a political statement about the isolation of our lives? One flat goes on fire and the rest of the building carries on as if nothing had happened. Is this a comment on the isolation of modern life as opposed to the more community-spirited Victorian days?

  I don’t think the Brontës were all that much part of a community – they were very close as a family but they never really went out of their own circle that much.

  Have you always been interested in the Brontës, Fiona?

  Yes.

  That’s great, I’ll leave you to it. Well done, though – you’ve a glittering career in front of you, I’m sure.

  I picked my way through students who were hanging around, examining the piece, working out how the fire had been contained in the one flat. A few folk tried tae speak to me, but I went to where my da was still sitting in exactly the same position. Rona had a protective airm round him, while Mona, and Declan, holding Grace, stood as if to shield him from prying eyes, though in fact no one paid him the slightest bit of attention. I was shocked when I seen the look Janice drew me. She was the one who’d always supported me. But lines had appeared round her nose and lips, and the pupils of her eyes lasered me with their intensity.

  How could you, Fiona?

  Rona said nothing but glared at me and pulled her airm tighter round my da.

  I didnae mean tae …

  Janice got up and moved a few paces, spoke in a low voice so Da couldnae hear her words, but her voice was so incisive there was nae mistaking her tone.

  I don’t know what you meant, but are you so caught up in this art stuff you’ve forgotten what you owe to your family?

  You’ve always tellt me to be true to mysel, Janice – you always went your ain way.

  There’s a difference between going your ain way and stabbing someone in the back.

  I mean you were always open about Angie and everything even when it might of hurt people’s feelings.

  Get a grip, Fiona. You’re comparing me being honest about who I am and how I live my life, with this juvenile showing off you label ‘art’. If you had to do something like this why ask him to come and see it–

  I didnae want him to …

  She kept gaun. Can you imagine how hurt he must be? How embarrassed, how ashamed?

  I looked round. All I could see was the back of a jacket, the top of a heid, hair grey and slightly thinning. Then the heid unwound itsel fae the trap of Rona’s arm, the figure straightened and rose up fae its seat. Da put one haund on Janice’s airm and one on mines. Leave the lassie alane, he said. She’s only telling the truth after all. There was a blank weariness in his face, his eyes softened by tears.

  You done good, hen. He patted my airm and was led away like an invalid, Rona and Mona on either side.

  THE RIVER WAS stagnant in the heat with nae visible movement; green and brown with big round slabbery white bits floating, as if a giant had spat intae it. We stood on the bridge and stared at the dull surface. On a day like this it should be lovely tae stare at the river, flowing and sparkling, frills of leaves reflected in the water, but the Kelvin looked like the congealed surface of a pan of stock that needed skimmed. It never really looks clean except when it tummles and races after heavy rain, but even then you’re mair likely to see a poly bag or an old shoe being swept alang than you are a fish. Even the ducks were stupefied by the heat; two of them squashed thegether side by side on a rock.

  They’re this year’s babies, I said. Look how big they’ve got.

  Aye, Jas pointed. See that greenish patch on its heid catching the light – looks as if it’ll be a male.

  D’you think they’re happy?

  Jas laughed. Mibbe no the day – too hot – but in Glasgow, with all the rain we get, they should be the happiest ducks in the world.

  Nearly every day I pass by here, watch them grow. And it seems as if everything’s the same, one wee stretch of manky river.

  Jas took my airm. You need a change of scene. Now you’ve finished the artwork why don’t you come up tae Aberdeen for a visit?

  I’d like that.

  Cool. Next weekend, after my exams are over. Now, let’s go and get an ice-cream.

  I’d a meeting with my tutor next day and I was dreading it. When I keeked round his door he barely glanced at me, just waved in the direction of a chair and continued with his emails. After what seemed like ages, he clicked the mouse and the screen changed tae a Miro design. He swivelled his chair round to face me. So, Fiona – how d’you feel about yesterday?

  His face was deeply lined; he had a house in Spain and spent the summers there. He’d obviously been quite handsome when he was younger – the photie on the website was carefully posed and he looked about thirty-five – but the sun damage and the reddening of his cheeks caused by fondness for wine and whisky made him look nearer fifty close up. I knew I should tell him what he wanted to hear about the technical success of the piece, the symbolism, the audience reaction and what I might of done differently in hindsight – all the stuff that was supposed to be part of the reflective process they were always telling us was crucial for an artist. I minded the words in his first lecture. We’re not here to teach you to make art – if you want to learn that go to evening classes in watercolour painting or macramé – we’re here to help you become artists.

  I said, I feel like crap, actually.

  He threw his heid back and laughed. Then he lifted a paintbrush on his desk and twirled it round, stroking the bristles. Can we be a little more specific?

  I shrugged. I thought I was here tae find out what you and the external tutor thought of it.

  He leaned back in his seat. Fiona, you know as well as I do that moderation is an integral part of the artistic process, not just something added on at the end. Otherwise, why not have the lecturers standing holding up bits of card with numbers on them, like the judges of ‘Come Dancing’. He put the brush down and looked at me.

  Well, the fire worked, the way I’d hoped …

  Whether it works technically or not isn’t really the point.

  I didnae say anything, watched as he linked his fingers, pressing his palms thegether. He’d podgy smooth skin, gnarled round the joints.

  If the whole building had gone on fire then the observation I presume you intended to make about isolation and communality of urban life would have been a different one. Instead of being isolated in his wretchedness, your little man’s misery would spread to his neighbours, destroying their worlds – you’d make exactly the opposite point you set out to make but that is as valid a position as the other.

  I couldnae take this any longer.

  Dae I get a mark or something for this?

  He took a sheet of typed paper from the printer, folded it in two and stuck it in a brown paper envelope which he held out to me. Fiona, you seem a bit upset today but sometimes it’s like that after a show – w
hy don’t you come and discuss this with me later when you’ve calmed down. Before the end of next week though – I’m off early on sabbatical.

  Jas was waiting for me in Giardini’s.

  What did he say?

  Oh, a lot of pish.

  You need a coffee.

  I placed the envelope on the table in front of me. It was damp and the paper stuck to the formica slightly. When Jas got back fae the counter he lifted the envelope and wiped it wi a paper napkin. You no gonnae open this?

  I don’t care.

  Aye you dae.

  Okay I dae, but …

  Is it your da?

  I’ve never seen him that upset except about Mammy.

  It’s no nice to hurt your family but an artist cannae be constrained by that.

  An artist mibbe. If I’d produced something that was worth hurting him, mibbe. But setting a doll’s house on fire? Mibbe I was just recycling my feelings.

  That’s not all it was and you know it.

  I still don’t think it was worth it. Janice was furious with me. And she’s always supported me being an artist.

  It doesnae mean she’s always right. Look, drink your coffee afore it gets cold.

  I took a sip; it was creamy, slightly sticky on my tongue.

  Look at Shelley.

  What about him?

  He never bothered about what his family thought, he done what he thought was right.

  And look at the trail of devastation he left behind him.

  But look at the poetry. And Emily Brontë – did she sit about worrying whether her da liked ‘Wuthering Heights’?

  I’m nae Shelley. Or Emily Brontë.

  How d’you know? You’ve no even opened the envelope to see what they say about it.

  I looked at it, lying beside the plate, damp around the edges and with a trail of crumbs across it.

  Jas, you wouldnae even study literature or art because your family wanted you tae be a pharmacist.

  He put his haund on mines. Fiona, I’m perfectly happy studying pharmacy.

  You could of went tae Art School.

  Aye great and then there’d be two of us sitting here, angst ridden. Gies a break. He grinned. And for God’s sake are you gonnae open this envelope or do I have to do it myself?

  The comments, from baith my own tutor and an external moderator, were embarrassingly good. They praised it up to the skies and read intae it things I’d never even thought of. The only bit they were less enthusiastic about was the references to Branwell and Emily which they described as ‘over-icing the cake’. But they’d gied me an A and said it was being considered for a prize and a travel bursary.

  I’d be lying if I said it didnae make me feel a bit better but there was still a lump in my throat. And I knew it wouldnae go away till I talked to my da.

  Mona was in the kitchen making toasted cheese while Grace slept in her buggy.

  I’m surprised at you comin here after yesterday.

  Gie it a rest, Mona.

  He’s been like that ever since we got back. She nodded through tae the living room where my da sat, as usual, on the settee.

  He’s been like that for the last three year, Mona.

  Don’t try tae justify what you done.

  I’m no. Just let me deal with it.

  Declan too, all that work on the house and you set it on fire.

  Mona …

  She snorted.

  Mona! I gestured at the grill where smoke was beginning to emerge.

  Oh Christ!

  Just as she pulled it out the smoke alarm let out a high-pitched wailing. Grace woke and started to cry. Mona turned tae me, Noo look what you’ve done!

  I switched the alarm aff and went through tae the living room.

  What’s up?

  Smoke alarm. It’s okay. Mona burned the toast.

  I was just having a wee nap.

  Aye, so was Grace.

  I sat doon beside him. Da.

  Aye hen.

  Da, about yesterday.

  Ach, ah’m sorry.

  You’re sorry?

  Ah didnae mean tae greet. Couldnae help it.

  It’s me who’s sorry. I didnae mean tae hurt your feelings.

  You never.

  Aye I did.

  Ah was just proud of you, that’s all.

  Janice thought …

  Ach, Janice is great. But she’s like your mammy, always trying tae protect folk. Look, hen, ah know hee-haw about art, and even less about modern art. But sittin there wi all they folk round about, watching somethin you made …

  I was beginning tae get well confused. Had he no realised what the installation was about, how it had been inspired?

  But the fire …

  Fiona. Ah’m mair ashamed than ah can say about what ah done. There’s no a day goes by when ah don’t look round this hoose and think about it. There’s no a night goes by when ah don’t talk to your mammy about it. Ah know that sounds daft.

  It’s no.

  It is, but ah don’t even care. He turned round, took my haund in his rough sandpapery one. Ah used tae think I was an okay guy. Ah wasnae the greatest but ah worked and supported yous, left the day-tae-day stuff to your mammy. Then all of a sudden she’s gone and it’s doon tae me. And ah made a mess of it, a big mess. Ah might of made an even bigger mess if it hadnae been for Janice and Mrs Kaur. She’s a great wee wumman, Jas’s ma.

  Janice tried tae talk to me about it yesterday, tried tae gie me all the art no being just a copy of life stuff. Ah’m no daft, Fiona. Ah know the wee guy wi the fag was me – you even gied him a jumper like mines. But it was the truth. And nae matter how much we don’t like the truth, we have to face it.

  He put his haund on mines, nodded towards the kitchen. Away and see if Mona’s rescued thon toasted cheese, hen.

  THAT NIGHT JAS and me wandered in the Botanic Gardens. It was still hot, too hot – felt as though the sky would explode if it didnae rain soon and bring relief. The park was mobbed; folk laid out on the big grassy slopes, making the maist of the unusual Glasgow heatwave – even wee toddlers out way past their bedtimes. We heided alang the path that led tae the Arboretum where there was mair of a breeze. We lay on the grass, watching leaves ripple across the clear sky.

  I arranged for us to meet up with Amrik and Patric later tonight. Amrik’s playing in the café. Jas leaned on one elbow and looked doon at me. If it’s all right with you.

  I looked intae his eyes, so clear and clean, minding the first time I’d done so.

  Is it cool with you, Jas?

  Course. There’s nae point in pretending. Stuff has happened and we’ve all been hurt. But now, this is how it is.

  My da was talking about that the day. How we need tae face the truth.

  Jas nodded.

  I sat up. Jas, how can you be so … good?

  Jas threw back his heid and laughed. He giggled so much he put his haund on his side. Oh God, that is sore, don’t make me laugh.

  It’s no funny.

  It is funny. Saint Jaswinder. Mibbe the Pope’ll canonise me – I could be the first Sikh Catholic saint.

  I don’t get it.

  Fiona, don’t you think I wanted to strangle Amrik when you two went off thegether? Don’t you think I wanted to strangle you too? It’s only natural. But things worked themselves out and now Amrik has found Patric and you and me are back thegether. It’s good.

  But …

  Amrik is my brother, Fiona. I love him. Patric is your brother. And you can forgive your brother anything.

  Truth. Facing the truth.

  They were all happily facing the truth. Except they didnae know what it was. If I went alang with this, I’d be hiding the truth for the rest of my life. And if I pulled the truth out intae the light? Jas said he could forgive Amrik anything. But could he forgive me?

  I had to speak tae Amrik alone and my chance came that night. When we met in the lounge of Patric’s hotel for a drink afore the gig, Patric and Jas went up to the bar thegethe
r. It was very busy, crowded with businessmen on a convention. While they waited to be served, I sat with Amrik.

  I have to ask you something, Amrik. It’s important.

  Shoot.

  Do Jas or Patric know about the baby?

  The baby?

  Our baby.

  Amrik took a deep breath. He reached across, brushed my haund lightly with his then withdrew it. Fiona, there was no baby.

  I had a miscarriage.

  You had a very heavy period which contained the remains of an unviable … foetus.

  His eyes were so dark I could read nothing in them but his voice, though firm, was not unkind, merely factual.

  I was pregnant.

  He shrugged.

  I was.

  Fiona, I know it was a very upsetting time. I’m sorry. But it’s not the worst thing that has happened to you. You’re a strong woman. You have to move on.

  That’s not the point.

  I lowered my voice as Jas crossed to us.

  Becks okay, Amrik?

  Cool.

  Sorry this is taking so long.

  When he left, Amrik moved to the seat next to mine. What is the point, Fiona?

  The point is – dae Jas and Patric know?

  I’ve never talked to either of them about it. Have you?

  No.

  So they don’t know.

  But they should know.

  Why? Everyone seems quite happy the way things are.

  But it’s all based on a lie.

  That’s a bit melodramatic.

  Patric thinks you and me had a casual relationship.

  Amrik shrugged. There can be different perceptions of a relationship.

  And Jas doesnae know about it either.

  Fiona, if you want to tell them of course I can’t stop you but I think it’ll just make things more complicated than they need to be.

  They should know the truth.

  What is the truth Fiona?

  Patric and Jas appeared carrying drinks. That was a nightmare, said Patric.

  Standing, watching Amrik through the haze of spotlights. Familiar, subtle phrasing, notes that bent and quivered then came back to the truth of a pure sound. Amrik, calm and impassive as usual, within his music. I guessed that was Amrik’s only truth.