Free How You See Me by S.E. Craythorne Page A

standing outside the door to the staircase that leads up to Aubrey’s office. I’m smoking the fifth in a pack of cigarettes I brought especially to smoke here. I don’t really want them, but it’s nice to have an occupation. I’m early. I know you’re still in session. But I want to be prepared. I have ironed this shirt and inspected the rest of my clothes for coffee stains. I am still not sure about this jacket. There is nothing I can do about my hair, except try to avoid myreflection in shop windows as I walked here from the bus stop.
    I’m not prepared. I have no idea what I’m doing. There is no plan.
    Not for the first time, I wonder at Aubrey’s choice of setting for his office, but he has always had a soft spot for the Northern Quarter. I can hear his voice in my head; see him mouth the words ‘soft spot’. We must have had this conversation more than once.
    I smoke my cigarettes, lighting the next off the end of the last. For some reason it is important for you to meet me smoking. The street is busy, a mill of people and traffic. Something is kicking out or changing over. I am unused to it. The container that is myself is not properly sealed. I seep into the crowd, without moving from my place by the door. I allow myself to catch eyes, examine faces, and listen in to snatches of conversation. I allow myself to feel. I should know better. I have been too long confined. I have grown soft at my edges.
    Maybe I am more prepared than I think I am. A girl. A shock of blonde hair. The door at my back. I had forgotten why I was here. ‘I’m sorry.’ Oh, why must my first words to you always be an apology?
    ‘No, it’s my – ’
    ‘No really, it was me.’
    ‘I don’t suppose you could spare one of those?’
    You are standing next to me, smoking one of my cigarettes. You cough. You don’t really smoke. I already know this about you.
    ‘Are you going up?’ you ask, and you look towards the window of Aubrey’s office. I follow your gaze.
    ‘No. I mean, I don’t…’
    ‘Oh, I don’t mean to pry. He’s very good, you know. It’s difficult, isn’t it? I mean, it’s hard work. It is work. But, it’s worth it. He really is very good.
    ‘I’m Alice, by the way.’
    ‘Daniel.’
     
    Weren’t we sweet in those first tentative days? Did you have any clue that I was already in love with you? I had no plan, but already I had decided my future was with you.
    My love to you, my darling, as always,
    Daniel xx
     
    13th December
    The fireside
    Dear Mab –
    Much stronger today. Thank you for your letter; I read some sections of it to Dad tonight in front of the fire. We both sat bundled up in blankets like old folks in their home and chuckled over your words. Well, only I chuckled, but Dad seemed to follow along all right. What are these secret plans you’ve got hidden up your sleeve? Are they anything to do with the portraits? It’s all horribly intriguing.
    Thank you for the cheque, too. I’ve given a little something extra to Maggie. She’s been working day and night here with the pair of us on our backs. I don’t know if she’s found time to sleep, except for catching a few winks in Dad’s chair.
    I convinced her to take me out with her yesterday, when she took Tatty for a walk. We put my coat on over my pyjamas and stuffed my feet into trainers. Maggie tied my laces for me, as if I were a child being dressed for an outing. Then my feet start to work, one foot in front of the other, out of the front door, stepping over the tree roots that vein the pavement running down our street. The cracks and swells in the tarmac on display under the gloss of fresh rain.
    There was rain in the air too; it washed against our faces and left us gasping. My feet were still working. I couldn’t help but marvel at their dogged progress. Maggie talked to Tatty and to me, huddled deep in her raincoat; I could only catch snatches of what she said. I felt like a lunatic, stumbling alongside them with my empty head,