The Mute and the Liar (29 page)

of
my
face.
And
the
plaits
are
beautiful.
They
twist
and
tumble
into
each
other,
sort
of
like
how
people's
lives
do.
She
smiles
her
comforting
smile
at
me, and, without realising,
I
find myself smiling back.

She
passes
me
a
large
denim
jacket
with
the
sleeves
rolled
up
midway.
She
helps
me
put
it
on, and
for
a
moment
we
watch
our reflections
in
the
mirror.

“
You
look
beautiful,
”
she
tells
me
softly,
looking
at
me
through
the
mirror.

I
let
my
lips
form
the words,
but
no
sound comes
out.

Thank
you.

*****

10:34 AM

“
Okay,
so
paint
anything
you
want.
An
image,
a
portrait,
anything.
This
will
be
the
room
I
will
compose
music
and
write
in,
so
I
want
to
look
at
this
wall
and feel inspired.
”

Her
voice
echoes
around
the
empty
room,
chilled
with
the
acoustics
an
empty
room
brings.
The
only
other
object
in
here
is
a
large,
thick
piece
of
nylon covering
the
carpet
around
the
white wall
we
are standing in
front
of.

Nick
dunks
a
paintbrush
into
one
of
the
tins
of
paint
and
flicks
it
hard
so
it
splatters
all
of
us
as
well
as
the
wall.

“
What
are we waiting for?
Let's
begin!!
”

Immediately
everyone
shuffles
in
front
of
a
space
in
front
of
the
wall,
and
paint
flies
everywhere.
A
radio
sits
in
the
far
end
of
the
room,
and
plays
a
series
of
alternative
rock
songs,
which
Jayce
proves
(very
loudly)
that
he
knows
all the
lyrics
to.

Kit
begins
painting
an
abstract
flower
pattern,
connecting
all
the
stems
of
the
flowers
together
all
around
the
wall,
curtaining
it.
Her
expression
is
the
vision
of
concentration.
She
barely
even
blinks.
From
the
detail
in
the
petals,
the
soft
melding
of
gold
and
red
and
the
shading
around
the
centre
of
the
flowers,
it
is
clear
Kit
is
talented.
She
holds
her
thin
paintbrush
gracefully,
barely holding it
at
all, and
waltzes
it
across
the
wall.

Nick
carries
on
splattering
paint
everywhere,
creating
a
rainbow
of
pinpoints.
Curiosity
kills
Exterminator
the
cat,
who
lurks
in
for
a
closer
look,
and ends
up
spending the
next
hour
cleaning
himself
from
Nick's
rampage.

There's
not
much
I
can
do.
I
don't
even
know
where
to
begin.
I
am
a
detective,
not
an artist.
I
see
the logic in the
world,
not
the colours
of
it.

With
a
great
effort
and
a
lot
of
tongue-biting,
I
manage
to
draw
the
face
of
a
cat,
probably
something
a
seven-year-old
could
draw
with
their
eyes
closed.
Still,
I
am
happy
with
it.
And
I
can
pretend
I
was
trying
to
be
really
clever
and trying
to
draw
Exterminator.

I
have
to
say,
Jayce
is
talented.
An
orange
hippopotamus
soon
marches
onto
the
left-hand side
of
the wall,
and he proudly
admires
it.

“
I
really
wanted
a
hippopotamus
for
Christmas
when
I
was
six.
I
couldn't
say
'Hippopotamus'
though,
so
I
called
it
a
'Hippomus
Pottomus.'
But
anyway,
they
thought
it
wouldn't
fit
in
the
house,
so
they
got
me
a
video
about
a
dancing
hippo
instead.
”

From
the
corner
of
my
eyes,
I
see Nick
shake
his
head.

“
You've
never
celebrated
Christmas.
Your
mother
wouldn't
let
you,
”
he
murmurs
quietly, but
Jayce doesn't
hear
him.

Jayce
walks
over
to
me
instead,
pinches
my
arm
and
then
whacks
it.
“
Pinch, punch,
first
day of
the
month!
”

Will
people
stop
hitting
me?
I
get
it
already.
It's
the
first
day
of
the
month.
I
strongly
doubt
God
created
this
day
so
we could
all
give
each
other
bruises.

“
It's
great
that
you're
wearing
one
of
your
eco
t-shirts.
I
thought
you
had
given
up
on
all
that
global
warming
stuff,
”
Nick
teases
him.

“
No
way!
Us
Eco
Warriors
have
to
unite
and
fight
the
evil
forces
of
pollution!
”

He
makes
recycling
sound
like
a
Star
Wars
adventure.
He
didn't
really
strike
me
as
a
person
who
cares
about
global
warming
and
'fighting
the
evil
forces
of
pollution.'
But
when
he
says
that so confidently with that
determined
look,
you'd
think
he
has
been
rigorously
planting
trees
since
he
was
a
foetus.
He grins
at
me and
splashes
his
paintbrush over
my
nose,
creating a smear of orange.