The Shadows Between Us

When I arrived Marta was in her studio, applying passionate brush strokes to her latest work. ‘How on earth can an artist be expected to create – to thrive - when there are such awful things happening in the world ?’ she said.

I shook out my mac, placed my umbrella in the corner. The studio’s dark wooden floor was spattered with paint. Canvasses – large and small – leaned against the walls. A long rectangular window looked out onto rain drenched woodland. The single bar of an electric fire glowed orange in the fading afternoon light.

‘Maybe you should stop watching the news’ I said ‘and watch cartoons instead.’

She laughed and took a step back from her easel. The naked form of a middle-aged man dominated the canvas.

‘Still painting Anthony ?’ 

Marta set her palette on a cluttered table. She loosened her long, bronze hair, wiped her palms on her work apron. ‘It’s good for me to paint him’ she said. ‘It helps with the grieving process.’

I nodded and stared at the portrait. I wanted to make a comment about how well she’d caught Anthony’s essence – his spirit – but thought it might sound glib.

‘He spoke about you so much during his last days...about what a dear friend you were to him.’

‘Really ?’ I turned away.

‘It’s a cliché’ Marta said ‘but I miss him so much. Life seems so...empty.’

We embraced. Her scent and touch overwhelmed me. I began to shake.

‘Poor thing’ she whispered. ‘Are you cold ?’

I didn’t answer.

We held one another as the darkness engulfed the trees. I looked over her shoulder into Anthony’s eyes – sharp, accusing, pitiful. The electric fire’s harsh glow merged with shadow, as if imitating my so-called friendship, revealing my guilt, and the truth of my secret desire.