laughed again.
‘You’re a terrible liar. Jack’s up the stairs, his pictures are amazing. Have you seen them yet?’
‘No.’ He recalled something Lyn had said and repeated it. ‘I find openings aren’t the best time to see the exhibition. I just pay my respects then come back when it’s quieter and I can explore what’s on show properly.’
To his own ears the spiel sounded as stilted as one of his students tripping out a half-understood argument they’d read in a book, but Cressida nodded.
‘I see your point. But all the same, you must be keen to get a glimpse of them, especially with the subject matter and all.’ She’d gone serious, but now she rewarded him with another smile. ‘You know what might help?’
‘What?’
‘Do you mind?’ She reached up and took his specs from his nose, placing him back in a landscape of lights and smearing colour. He heard the quick exhalation as she misted his lenses with her breath then caught the orange flare of her dress as she rubbed them against its hem. ‘Now you can really see what’s going on.’
She returned them and the world slid back into focus just as a man in artfully distressed jeans and a blue and white striped shirt that for all its lack of red put Murray in mind of the Union Jack emerged from the press of people and wrapped an arm around Cressida.
‘Steven.’ She lifted her face to him and he kissed her on each cheek, his lips making contact with her skin, his arms pressing her into a clinch that made one of her feet leave the ground.
‘You clever girl. It’s amazing, by far the best thing you’ve done.’
Murray took the bundle of leaflets from his pocket, cursing his own ignorance and giving the couple the chance to escape. The exhibition guide was sandwiched between an advert for Richard the Turd, an adaptation of Shakespeare’s classic set in a toilet, and a flyer for the Ladyboys of Bangkok, the name Cressida Reeves printed just above Jack’s. Why hadn’t it occurred to him that this woman in her spectacular dress might be one of the trio on show?
Cressida extricated herself from the hug.
‘Steven Hastings, this is Murray Watson, Jack Watson’s brother.’
‘Jack?’
Steven rolled the name in his mouth, as if tasting it for the first time and unsure of the flavour. Cressida met his vagueness with a stab of irritation.
‘You know Jack. He’s one of my fellow exhibitors, we were at college together.’
‘Ah yes, Jack. The flayed corpse.’
Murray winced at the memory of Jack’s degree show, but he could remember Cressida now. Her hair had been shorter then, her thrift-shop-chic outfit tighter and darker than what she was wearing today. Jack had been impressed and maybe a little jealous. She’d won a prize, a big one, though Murray couldn’t remember what. He steadied his gaze at Steven.
‘He’s moved on since then.’
‘Glad to hear it.’
Murray felt an urgent need to knock Steven Hastings’ head from the high collar of his jaunty shirt. But he stifled the impulse and instead gave an awkward stiff bow that he couldn’t remember ever performing before.
‘I’m looking forward to seeing your work, Cressida.’
He turned towards the bar as Steven put an arm around the woman’s shoulders, guiding her towards the exhibition space and commanding, ‘Now, you’re going to explain everything to me in minute detail.’
Cressida rolled her eyes, but she allowed herself to be led away, giving Murray a last smile. He raised his hand in goodbye, then swapped his empty glass for a fresh red and went to look for his brother.
The paintings at the front depicted massive, candy-coloured Manga cartoon characters collaged into pornographic poses. Murray sipped his drink, taking in a doe-eyed schoolgirl in congress with an equally wide-eyed black and white spotty dog. The image was imposed onto a background of a devastated landscape, Nagasaki after the H-bomb. Murray checked the artist’s name, relieved to find it wasn’t Cressida or Jack, then headed towards the staircase. It was busy here too, the traffic going in both directions, people clutching their drinks as if they were vital accessories. He didn’t see Lyn until she was in front of him.
‘Hey.’ She stopped on the step above his so that their faces were almost level. Murray kissed her, smelling wine, cigarettes and fabric softener.
‘How’s the wee man?’
‘The wee man.’ She shook her head. ‘The wee man, as you call him, is doing very well, considering he’s been working till three in the morning practically every day for the last month and only finished hanging ten minutes before the doors were due to open.’
Murray grinned.
‘He should have given me a shout. I would have held the ladder for him.’
‘Rather you than me.’
Lyn was smiling, but there was an unaccustomed flatness in her tone that made Murray wonder if she and Jack had argued.
He asked, ‘And how are you doing? You’re looking well.’
His brother’s girlfriend had pale freckly skin that couldn’t endure sunlight. Maybe it was the contrast between her fairness and the unfamiliar red lipstick she was wearing, but Murray thought she looked a shade whiter than usual.
‘I’m doing great. Glad this has come round at last.’ She smiled hello to a couple going up the staircase then turned back to Murray. ‘You get yourself up there. Jack’ll want to see you.’
‘Jack will have a lot of people to talk to. I just came to show my support, I’ll not stick around getting in the way.’
Lyn raised her eyebrows comically.
‘And you’ve got a lot of work to be getting on with.’
‘A fair bit, aye.’
‘Well, you’d better go and pay your respects then.’ She slid past him. ‘I was about to get some wine before it’s all sooked up. Do you want a refill?’
Murray looked at his glass, surprised to see that it was almost empty.
‘Why not?’
‘Give it here then.’ She hesitated. ‘Murray, Jack talked to you about the show, didn’t he?’
He knocked back the last dreg of wine and handed his empty glass to her.
‘I think so, maybe a while ago.’
Lyn pushed a stray curl away from her eyes.
‘You’ve no idea, have you?’
He grinned, embarrassed at being caught out.
‘Maybe not.’
‘You might
