Free GUILT TRIPPER by Geoff Small Page A

that four sides of A4 were filled
before her cigarette was spent. On others, he’d have his baseball capped head
in his hands or be pacing about the room in search of inspiration, looking
haunted. Danny had tried coaxing Ryan to join in with the others, but he said
he’d sooner leave than waste valuable time playing “kiddies’ games”. Out of
everybody, Belinda took particular exception to this isolationism and, whenever
he left the dinner table — having rushed his food to get writing again — she’d
start her daily moan about what she considered rude behaviour.
     “Why did he come
here if he just wants to be on his own? He’s treating the rest of us like
idiots…someone should sort him out!”
     This was said loud
enough for Danny to hear, and was interpreted as a challenge to do something
about the situation; but he left Ryan in creative peace all the same.
     October arrived and
it was time to start lessons, held in two mobile classrooms, situated behind
the cottage, at the foot of the mountain. Each morning, Judith taught art
history, followed by Danny’s painting classes, where he wore the blue, paint
dappled overalls which would become his second skin. Meanwhile, Hamish and
Angie took turns with their eight literature pupils, seven of whom were girls,
including the patron’s dear young friend, Katy, and Ryan’s nemesis, Belinda. Ryan
didn’t attend either class, much to the chagrin of the raven haired beauty. Inevitably,
one night at dinner, things came to a head. Ryan had arrived slightly late, as
usual, and as he squeezed past fellow diners on route to his seat he
inadvertently nudged Belinda’s arm, just as she was about to sip from her wine
glass. The spilt claret soaked into her white tracksuit top like ink on
blotting paper, causing her to leap up from her seat.
     “You stupid friggin’
idiot!” Ryan, oblivious to his crime, looked bewildered as he turned to face
her. “You’ve got no social skills what-so-ever have you! You friggin’ retard!”
     Belinda stormed off,
before the loner even had chance to reply.
     Uncharacteristically,
Ryan ended up being last to leave the table, obviously upset by Belinda’s
remarks. Judith and Hamish were actually clearing plates around him when he got
up, but Danny told him to stay put and laid down an ultimatum: either he
started attending classes with the rest of the group or he’d have to go.
     Ryan wore the
expression of a man who’d been betrayed and reproached his benefactor.
     “I was starting to
think you were alright…that you were a fellow traveller. But you’re just
another out of touch asshole aren’t you?”
     Danny tensed up,
clenching his right fist as if on the verge of striking the irreverent
teenager. Judith, who’d never seen him like that before, intervened before
something happened which everybody would regret.
     “Ryan? If you’re
going to be staying here, then I think Danny should at least be able to monitor
your progress, see where you might need help. You are here to learn after all.”
     “I know how to
analyse literature, alright…you can’t teach people how to write!”
     At this point Hamish,
who was now sat opposite, interjected:
     “Even the best writers
relied on quality editors. You know, the objective, academic eye.”
     “If you want me to
go, then fine. I’ll leave in the morning,” Ryan said stubbornly and got up to
leave, but Judith headed him off at the door.
     “Ryan? Just let
Hamish see your work and then we’ll take things from there.”
     Ryan looked
petrified at the prospect of people seeing his writing, so much that Judith had
to spend half an hour alone with him in the lounge before he agreed to fetch a
sample from the byre. When he returned carrying a thick sheaf of A4, he refused
to share it with anyone but her. Indiscriminately, she selected a page of
spidery handwriting and found herself enjoying his first recollection of
snowfall on the Easterhouse housing scheme, while he