The Bright Side (51 page)

Stephanie didn’t look up as her front door tinkled open. When she did, she gave me a smile that was the polar opposite of the one she’d used on her customer. We’d always rubbed along well together, possibly because she greatly enjoyed telling tales behind Gerry’s back and I greatly enjoyed hearing them
.

“Well, stranger,” she said. “Haven’t see you in a while. Where have you been hiding?
”

“Around and about,” I said. Ordinarily I would have stopped for a chat, or at least enquired after her mother (who had been dying any day now for the past two years). But not this time. “He’s in there, is he?
”

“Yeah, he is. But he’s got someone with him, family portrait. Should be done any minute. Take a seat and I’ll make us a cup of tea.
”

“No thanks. I’ll just go on back and hurry him up.
”

Stephanie was clearly surprised by this. I’d never before entered the studio while Gerry was working, never. “He won’t be long, honestly,” she said. “I thought they’d be done by now, actually.
”

“Don’t
worry
about
it,”
I
said
and
marched
on
through
the
Staff
Only
door.
I
found
Gerry
smiling
and
shaking
hands with
a
woman
of
about
my
age.
In
the
background,
the woman’s
husband
was
scolding
their
two
small
boys
for
what I
could
only
presume
had
been
poor
modelling.
All
four
were in
their
best
gear;
the
boys
looked
deeply
uncomfortable
and faintly
ridiculous
in
their
little
suits
and
ties.
They
reminded me
of
ventriloquist’s
dummies.
Gerry
turned
in
my
direction when
I
closed
the
door
behind
me.
He
stared
at
me
for
a second
and
then
returned
his
attention
to
his
client.
I
could tell
that
he
had
lost
the
thread
of
what
he
was
saying
.

“This is my wife, Jackie,” he said uncertainly as I stepped into the studio
.

The
couple
nodded
hello.
I’d
seen
them
around
town
but
didn’t
know
their
names.
Gerry
was
too
flustered
to
complete
the
introductions.
I
nodded
back
at
them
and walked
across
to
the
desk
in
the
far
corner.
While
they finished
their
goodbyes
and
thank-yous
I
kept
my
back
to them
all,
pretending
I
was
looking
for
something
in
a
ledger. “Okay
then,”
Gerry
said
after
a
few
seconds.
He
was speaking
unnecessarily
loudly
now
–
for
my
benefit,
I supposed,
to
signal
that
he
was
almost
done.
“Stephanie
will
sort
you
out,
if
you
…
uh
…
”

I
heard
footsteps
then,
followed
by
more
goodbyes
and
thank-yous.
The
door
opened
and
closed.
I
turned
and
saw
that
we
were
alone.
Gerry
put
his
hands
on
his
hips,
then
wrung
them
together
in
front
of
him,
then
returned
them
to
his
hips.
“Jackie,”
he
said
and
moved
towards
me.
I
started
walking
too.
We
met
right
in the
middle
of
the
floor,
beside his
tripod.
“It’s
great
to
see
you,”
he
said,
and
then
he
wrinkled
his
nose.
“Have
you
been
smoking
?
”

I drew my right hand back and to the side, then smacked him as hard as I could across the face. It was like hitting a lump of solid wood. My palm tingled with pain. I rubbed it against my thigh, not caring how that looked
.

Gerry barely reacted to the blow itself. But a second later, he staggered back and raised his hand to his cheek. I guessed that this was the result of shock, rather than injury
.

“Jackie –” he began
.

“Don’t you fucking ‘Jackie’ me!” I snarled. “You stupid shit. You’ve ruined our family. Ruined it! For some slut who doesn’t care whether you live or die. I hope you’re fucking happy!
”

“What brought this on?” he said
.

Now
it
was
my
turn
to
stagger
back.
“What
brought
…
What
?”

“I mean, you seemed fairly … I thought you were … y’know … Why are you freaking out now all of a sudden?
”

I tried not to let it show that this was a good question. “
I can
freak
out
whenever
I
fucking
want
to!
” I roared.

“Shhh!” he said. “Stephanie will hear you.” “I don’t care who fucking hears me!
”

“Come on,” he said. “At least let’s sit down and talk about this in –
”

I pointed my finger in his face. “Shut up, Gerry. Just shut up. I don’t
want
to talk to you.
”

He spread his arms wide, angry now himself. “Then what are you doing here? Why did you come at all?
”

I
didn’t
really
have
an
answer
to
that
one,
so
I
said
the
first thing
that
came
into
my
head.
“In
the
front
room
!
Behind
a
big
fucking
window!
What
were
you
thinking
?
Did
you
want to
get
caught,
was
that
it?
”

“I thought you didn’t want to talk.
”

“Just answer the bloody question, Gerry!
”

He dropped his head and looked at his feet. “Of course I didn’t want to get caught.
”

“Explain it then.” “What, here?
”

“Yes. Here.
”

“Wouldn’t you rather –
”

“Start talking, Gerry, or I swear to God . . .
”

“All right, all right. Look … she took me by surprise. It all happened very quickly. She was at her front door when I arrived home and we got chatting, just … chatting.” He paused and took a deep breath. “We really should go somewhere else for this con–
”

“
Keep
going
,” I said.

Another deep breath. “She started telling me about her boyfriend. Michael. She said she wouldn’t be around for much longer because she was moving in with him.
”

“Oh, I get it. So if you wanted to have sex with her, you’d have to do it sooner rather than later.
”

He winced, then carried on as if I hadn’t spoken. “She invited herself in for coffee. I swear to God, Jackie. She invited
herself
in.
”

“Why wasn’t she at work? What does she do anyway?” These were deeply unimportant questions, but I really wanted to hear the answers. I braced myself for “She’s a model”
.

“She’s a medical sales rep. She had come home for her laptop charger.
”

I heard the beginnings of a stinging comeback in my head, something to do with lap-dancing. Nothing came of it, so I nodded for him to continue
.

“Jackie, are you sure you want to hear this? I don’t feel comfortable talking ab–
”

“I
don’t
care
about
your
comfort
,
Gerry.
Get
on
with
it.” “We
went
into
the
kitchen,”
he
said
softly,
“and
I
made
the
coffee.
She
asked
a
lot
of
questions
about
my
job
and then
she
said
she’d
like
to
see
some
of
my
pictures.
”

“And
you
showed
her
the
Cross-eyed
Busker,
I
suppose.” This
was
the
name
we’d
given
to
a
shot
Gerry
had
taken on
weekend
away
in
Donegal.
The
subject
was
a
fiddle player
we’d
spotted
on
a
street
corner.
When
he
noticed
that someone
was
pointing
a
camera
at
him,
he’d
struck
a
pose,
a sort
of
parody,
in
a
way,
all
eyebrows
and
elbows.
It
would have
been
a
decent
photograph
in
any
event
–
“an
accident of
the
light”,
Gerry
called
it
–
but
what
made
it
really
special was
the
expression
on
the
busker’s
face.
He’d
smiled
with the
sort
of
pure
and
true
delight
that
you
normally
only
see in
small
children.
The
dramatic
turn
in
his
left
eye
made
the smile
seem
even
sweeter,
somehow.
Gerry
blew
the
picture up
when
we
got
home
and
gave
it
pride
of
place
on
the living-room
wall.
It
was
far
and
away
his
favourite
of
his
own
photos.
And
it
had
been
mine
too,
up
until
this
moment. “Yeah,”
he
said.
“I
showed
her
the
Cross-eyed
Busker.” “Did
she
like
it?
”