Teach Me Dirty(101)

“I like the tradition of waking up with you on Christmas morning, Mr Roberts. This one is a keeper.”

“No objections here, Helen. It’s a great future tradition.”

I reached under the bed, and sought out my little surprise. It was nothing really, a small gesture, but his eyes sparkled as he took it from my hands.

“For me?”

I nodded. “Happy Christmas, Mark.”

He tore the wrapping with a smile, and then he didn’t say a word. My heart stuttered.

“I can do you another one… if you don’t like it…”

Suddenly the image of my hand in his looked warped and crappy, as though the watercolours had cheated me and bled into chaos overnight. It looked messy, and clunky, and amateur, and…

“I love it,” he said. “It’s absolutely perfect.” He wrapped his arms around me and breathed into my hair and I knew that he meant it. I could feel it in everything. He pressed his fingers to my cheeks. “Thank you, Helen.”

“Thank you,” I said. “For everything. For the magic in everything.”

He took my hand and pulled me out of bed, and wrapped me in a big towelling dressing gown. “Now for yours,” he said, and we were off, downstairs, through to his studio, where my heart thumped with excitement.

The room looked different. Canvases rearranged and shunted and put into order.

He gestured to the far corner, and there was a draped white sheet.

I pulled it off with a squeal that choked itself into oblivion, then stared at him with wide eyes.

“This is for me?! It’s really for me?”

“For you.”

I ran my hands over the smooth oak frame, the fine craftsmanship of the easel. It was heavy and strong, a sturdy H-frame with a quad base. It was stunning.

“For here?” I could barely believe my eyes.

He shrugged. “I was hoping so, but it’s yours, Helen, you can have it wherever you like. I thought you may want to take it to university, but this spot is yours as long as you want it.” He sighed. “I’d love you to keep it here, Helen. I love painting with you.”

My heart exploded into stars. “I’d love to keep it here.”

His smile was addictive. “I almost broke and gave it to you early, several times, in fact. I had to lock it up in the outhouse.”

“I had no idea.”

He reached behind him, fumbled amongst some cans of pastel spray until he presented me with a ceramic figurine. But it wasn’t one, it was two. Two people entwined as one. Their arms holding each other tight, legs one singular trunk before turning to roots and trailing away. It was detailed, and washed with a perfect shade of ochre. It was us.

“You made this?”

He nodded like it was nothing. “It’s only a token.”

But he was underplaying it massively. It was hours of skill and care, hours of preparation and sculpting.

“I love you more than I know how to say, Mark.”

“And I love you, Helen.” He wrapped me in his arms and lifted me, walking me back through to the dining room. “But so do your parents, and your little sister. And they’ll be waiting for you.”

“What will you do?” I asked.

He placed me at the bottom of the stairs and smoothed the hair from my forehead.

“I’m going to say goodbye to some old traditions,” he said. “It’s time I made space for the new ones.”

***

Mark



The crunch of frosty grass under my feet sounded so loud in the stillness. I rubbed the ice from Anna’s name, tracing the letters with my cold fingertips.

I placed the roses in the vase.

“Wishing a beautiful Christmas to my beautiful wife, wherever you may be, Anna.”

I lit up a cigarette and looked to the sky as the orange glow of day broke the horizon.

“I’ve been meaning to come awhile. I just…” I sighed to myself, to her, to whatever. “I’ve got so many things to say to you, and I wish I could say them and know that you’ll hear them. I miss your love every single day, but as time goes on I think it’s your friendship that I miss the most, Anna. I’d love to hear your voice again. I’d love to know your thoughts. Even if they were bad. Especially if they were bad.”

I took a long drag.

“I’ve met someone…”

And another drag.

“…And I didn’t think I would. I didn’t think it was possible. I didn’t think the pain of losing you would ever ease up enough to find love again. Real love I mean. I wasn’t looking for it, and I certainly wasn’t looking for it where I found it.”

The lump in my throat made it hard to swallow and I wiped away a tear.

“But I did find it. I found it, and it’s beautiful.” My fingers traced the holly leaves on her Christmas wreath. “It’s not like we were, Anna. It’s not a replacement, insomuch as a whole new love, all of its own design. It’s not like us, but it’s strong, and pure, and deep, just like we were. It’s the kind of love that makes me smile again, that makes me want to know life again, makes me want to hold someone close to my heart and never let them go again. And it’s scary, and it’s reckless, and it’s crazy, but my God, Anna, I do love her.”