Page 48 of Savage Justice

“Very nearly,” I tell him. “I’m just tinkering a bit more with the light and shade, capturing the autumnal feel to it.”

“It’s just… wow. How do you learn to do that?”

His question catches me on the back foot. I don’t have a ready answer, despite having taught so many art students over the years. “I’ve always been able to draw,” I begin.

“Anyone can draw,” he insists. “This is… this is different. I like the sea, and the sky. How do you get the colours just right?”

“Those are always the trickiest bits. Patience, trial and error, and a good eye.”

“I could never do anything like that.”

“You have other talents, I gather.”

“Hacking and code,” he agrees, though with a disparaging note to his voice. “It’s not like this. Not… creative.”

“Creativity comes in many forms, Frankie. You’re the best at what you do.”

“No, I’m not. Mr Savage says I’ve got to go back to school.”

I turn to regard him. “He said what?”

“That. He wants me to go to university in Glasgow. That’s what these forms are about. I keep looking at them and I don’t know where to start.”

“Whoa. Rewind. Ethan wants you to go to university. To study IT, I suppose?”

“He says it’ll be good for me. Make me a better hacker.”

“What do you think?”

He shrugs. “I’ve learned all I know from just getting my hands on shit. Reading sometimes. I do okay.”

I lower myself onto a chair and gesture to him to do the same. “I was bit like you, I suppose. I did lots of painting when I was a kid, turned out Christ only knows how many canvases. I sold a few, as well. I was so chuffed to be able to earn a few quid doing what I loved, and I saw no need to waste time studying when I could be making big money.”

“Exactly.” He beams at me. “I can make plenty of cash as I am. I don’t need some old professor telling me how it’s done.”

“You’ve got raw talent, that’s true. Like I did. But talent isn’t always enough. I studied fine art at university, the theory of the craft as well as the application. I learned all about other artists, their techniques, their use of colour, of light, of form. Each one of those was an extra tool in my toolbox, something to use if I wanted to, but not if I didn’t. If I see something that’s good, I know why it’s good. I can apply what I’ve learned to my own work and see how it can be better.

“University didn’t make me an artist. I was already that. But it taught me to appraise, to evaluate, to know bullshit when I see it and to be solid in my own work. I have nothing to prove.”

“Right, but—”

“I think, probably, that’s what Ethan wants for you. He wants you to be able to stand alongside anyone in your world as an equal. Head up. Proud and confident. Not finding your way through instinct, through sniffing the air. At uni you’ll meet others as talented as you. Some might even be better and you’ll learn from them. Maybe you’ll teach them some stuff as well.”

“Do you think so?” He appears doubtful but excited, too.

“I know so. You’ll get to spend three years tinkering with your code and programming and suchlike, talking to others who are just as clued-up as you are. You’ll learn how it all slots together. And you’ll have fun.”

He’s still not convinced. “I won’t know anyone. I hate getting to know new people.”

“Everyone else will start out the same. You’ll soon get to know people. And Glasgow university is just down the road. You could even live here, I expect, and travel in each day.”

“Are you sure?”

I’m not, but I reckon if that’s what it takes to get him to embrace the notion, Ethan wouldn’t object. “Do you want a hand with the forms?”

“Yeah!” He accepts my offer with genuine enthusiasm, then glares at the bundle of papers. “I got as far as writing my name.”

“I used to teach kids your age and I’ve filled in plenty of these. The hardest bit is the personal statement, so we’ll start with that, shall we?”

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