Page 31 of The Blue Hour

Grace parked next to it and went once more up the hill. The studio door stood open.

‘Vee?’ Grace called out. The studio was empty.

Empty!Vanessa had barely left it for weeks, she had been working obsessively, preparing for the Glasgow show. Grace had not been exaggerating when she told Julian that if she didn’t bringfood, Vanessa simply wouldn’t eat. Sometimes she begged Vanessa to take a break, to walk a little, to swim like she used to;It’s not good for you, she said,cooped up like that all the time, breathing in all the dust and the paint, you need to take breaks.Vanessa bridled, refused, worked even harder.

And now, as soon asheturned up, the wheel stopped spinning and the studio stoodempty?

All the things Vanessa had said about him – that he was unfaithful, profligate, shallow, self-centred, prone to outbursts of temper – had she simply forgotten? Did it all fly out of her mind when he showed up in his flashy car with his tan and his smile? Anger began to build in Grace like a storm front, clouds of rage gathering behind her eyes.

She stomped back down the hill to the house. The front door was closed. She hesitated, listening, she even considered knocking. But this was her house, too, wasn’t it? Hadn’t it become hers, over the weeks and months they had lived together? She pushed the door open, calling Vanessa’s name.

The house was warm and silent. She walked through the living room to Vanessa’s bedroom, its bed unmade, the air thick with the smell of cigarette smoke and sex. The kitchen was a mess, dishes in the sink, coffee grounds spilled on the counter and on the floor. A bottle of cognac stood open on the kitchen table next to an overflowing ashtray. The food Grace had brought the day before, the items she had carefully selected from the supermarket shelves, bearing in mind Vanessa’s needs and wants, sat sweating in shopping bags next to the Aga.

Grace was on the point of leaving when she heard a scream. She rushed to the open window and looked out. Vanessa was on the beach with him; he was chasing her, grabbing at her, she was shrieking. They were playing, like children.

Grace knew she should leave but she could not, justcould notwalk away without looking Vanessa in the eye. She put the kettle on and made a cup of tea; she tried to drink it but her throat felt painfully constricted. She gave up, stood at the window and waited, watching the top of the stairs. Eventually, they appeared, stopping breathless on the top step to kiss, Julian sliding his hand roughly between Vanessa’s legs. Her face burning with shame and anger roiling like acid in her gut, Grace forced herself back to the table. To be caught watching would be unbearable.

‘Gracious!’ Julian laughed when he saw her there. ‘You’re here. And what have you brought us today? Champagne? Oysters?Mince?’ He laughed again. ‘We were thinking of building a fire on the beach, what do you think? Have you brought us anything to barbecue?’

‘It’ll be damp,’ Grace replied sourly. ‘The tide is coming in.’

‘Oh, Grace,ma petite boule, such a killjoy. Isn’t she a killjoy, Nessa?’

Vanessa sat down at the table and reached for Grace’s hand, squeezing the tips of her fingers. Her face was deeply flushed, with excitement or exertion or, who knew, embarrassment?

‘You should go,’ Vanessa said, smiling at Grace without meeting her eye. She squeezed Grace’s hand again. ‘Go on, I’ll come and see you soon.’

Grace left. As she passed beneath the open kitchen window on her way back to the car, she could hear, above the music of Vanessa’s laugh, Julian’s voice. ‘Whyisshe here all the time? What does she want,la petite boule de suif? Is it a piece of you, Ness? Is that what she wants?’

Earlier that year, Grace had been promoted, moving from Carrachan to run the new village surgery in Eris. At lunchtime, in good weather, she could usually be found on one of the benchesalong the harbour wall eating her sandwiches, and it was there that Vanessa found her the next day.

‘You’re upset,’ Vanessa said as she sat down at Grace’s side.

She was; she’d had a wretched morning, half an hour before lunch spent with the mother of a child who’d fallen into the quarry pool a few miles north of the village. The child drowned. The mother was half-mad with grief, sleepless, desperate.Please, Doctor, give me something. But Grace had already prescribed all the pills it was safe to give, so she had to send her away. She wasn’t going to tell Vanessa about that, Vanessa wouldn’t be interested. Vanessa was too selfish to understand.

Doggedly chewing her tuna sweetcorn, Grace didn’t look at her. ‘He spoke to me as though I were the help.’

Vanessa laughed. ‘Julian speaks to everyone like that, I wouldn’t take it personally.’

‘Does he speak to you like that?’

‘Well, no, not me,’ Vanessa said. ‘I’m his wife.’

Grace looked at her then. ‘Are you? Is that how you see yourself? As hiswife?’ She spat the word at Vanessa, who recoiled.

‘Well … I’m not saying it’s avocation,’ Vanessa said, her cheeks reddening. ‘It’s just a fact. We’re not divorced.’ She got to her feet. ‘We’re not divorced yet.’ She looked away from Grace, out across the water. ‘Look, just … don’t come to the house for a day or two. He’ll only annoy you. OK? I’m going to Glasgow on Thursday to see Douglas about the show, I’ll be back Saturday, or Sunday at the latest. He’ll be gone by then.’

Grace raised her hand, shielding her eyes from the glare off the sea. ‘He’ll be out of our lives?’

Vanessa turned to face her, expression quizzical. ‘He’s notinyour life, Grace,’ she said. ‘He’s in mine.’

As she walked away, Grace called after her. ‘I heard you talkingabout me, you and him. I heard what he called me, I looked it up. Ball of fat, it means. He called me a ball of fat, and you laughed.’

Vanessa slowed her pace momentarily, but did not turn around.

The following afternoon, when Grace came home from work, Vanessa was sitting on her front step in the sun, an almost-empty bottle of wine at her side. She swayed as she stood up.

‘Did you drive here?’ Grace demanded, storming up to her. ‘You’re drunk, Vanessa. You drove through the village. Past the school! I ought to …’ She grabbed the collar of Vanessa’s shirt, scrunching it up in her fist. ‘I ought to call the police!’

---