LITMIR.BIZ

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you really want to do the most?”

      Jared shrugged. “Not like that. Working’s a rhythm, don’t have to think about it, I can let my mind float away.”

      She pressed him. “Where does it float to?”

      He gave her a rare smile. “Anywhere, everywhere. Away from here.”

      “That’s what I mean, don’t you want to at least see a little bit of the rest of the world?”

      The answer was resolute. “It’s all the same, it’s ugly, don’t want to touch it.”

      Amelia frowned. “Doesn’t that make your little piece here ugly too?”

      Shrugging briefly, he sipped his coffee. “It does, but I’m used to this bit.”

      Making an effort to pointedly look around, she returned her attention to him. “This doesn’t look too ugly to me, and everyone’s being very pleasant to each other.”

      He regarded her frankly again and lifted his chin slightly. “Look at what Ted’s done. That’s ugly. I don’t care, but it’s wrong. He doesn’t even know it was me. Didn’t bother to find out, and I know that if he did, he’d probably sack me.”

      Nodding, Amelia replied quietly. “True, but we can’t all crawl into a hole and not come out.”

      There was a pause before he replied. “I’m out.”

      Amelia gave a short, but spontaneous laugh. “Yes, you are.”

      That brief but significant gesture at humour seemed to mark a progression. Steadily now their conversation became more flowing, and she was genuinely surprised to see how broad his acquaintance with all manner of topics really was. There was something that troubled her though, and at this stage it was more of instinct than any real suspicion, but something was definitely wrong. For somebody who never moved beyond a few streets there was a definite depth to his understanding, something that could only be gained by first hand experience. As convincing and immersive as literature could be, it could never convey the myriad senses and nuances of actual events, those triggers that make experiences truly memorable. Jared seemed to have that depth and she couldn’t see how he could have achieved it. Childhood trauma and struggle may have unlocked layers of perception, but he seemed to have parts of the composure of a traveller.

      Time slipped away quickly and it was only as the restaurant began to fill that Amelia noticed Jared becoming steadily more agitated. Looking down at her watch she saw that it was half-past seven, and she started slightly. “Goodness, it’s late. Come on, I’ll drop you back.”

      As Amelia stood, Jared shot out of the chair, rocking the table, and several people at other tables looked in his direction. The expression on his face was mortified and he seemed to visibly wilt. Closing the distance towards him, Amelia spoke in a quiet but firm voice. “Once, when I stood up, I not only bumped the table, but spilt drinks over two other people sitting at the table, knocked the candle over and set fire to the table cloth.” She touched his shoulder. “Don’t worry about them, they’ve all done much worse.”

      This time Jared didn’t shrink away. He seemed to settle a little and then followed her calmly as she brushed his arm briefly and then turned to leave the restaurant. They drove in silence back to the little supermarket.

      As she pulled up, Jared quickly unbuckled his seatbelt and opened the door. He met her eyes briefly before getting out, speaking in a soft voice. “Thank you.”

      Amelia leaned over, her expression intent. “Next Tuesday, same time?”

      He pursed his lips, before smiling briefly. “Ok.”

      Amelia watched his form retreat into the darkness and then the fawn smudge of colour bobbed out of view around the corner. She replayed the conversations in her mind and started slightly as she acknowledged there was a subtle but definite change in their dynamic. Originally thinking that this man had a one dimensional talent, and that he’d be overwhelmed by her, Amelia was surprised to discover that there was much more to him, an understated strength and resolve.

      Absently pulling out into traffic, Amelia wondered how that paradox could be possible; how could someone be so intimidated about walking into a café, or lurk in the aisles of a supermarket rather than casually talk to a person, and yet have an extensive undercurrent of mature and resolved opinions? Timidness on this scale usually meant a withdrawal from everything; years of complete retreat from almost any interaction, yet despite his comfort with a few streets, he was very - she smiled - worldly.

      Returning to the office, now deserted, she worked for a little while before deciding she was tired and not doing anything particularly effectively. Abandoning the cold office in a routine daze, she drove home, picking up her favourite Chinese take away on the way.

      Sweeping her jacket out of the way so she could settle on the couch with her dinner and a glass of wine, she noticed the light garment had a unfamiliar weight. It was only then that she remembered the sketch book Jared had given her.

      Pulling it free she saw it was a well worn, linen, hard-covered book with a fastened piece of elastic holding it closed. Turning it over in her hands Amelia looked at the frayed edges of the boards and guessed it had seen many months of hard use.

      Her features screwing up into a perplexed gesture. “Where have you been that this could be so beaten up?” Looking more closely, she could see the smudges and markings were grey earth, not the wild variety of stains expected from a traveller’s note book.

      Amelia slid the elastic free and let the book fall open in her lap. Immediately a festival of images floated free and swept her into their mystique. Natural landscapes, cities, towns, ruins, roads, canyons, forests, rivers, boats, oceans were laid out before her in gorgeous, immersive clarity. All were pencil rendered in the same succinct and expressive style; this could only be the work of one person.

      Amelia held her breath as she reverently turned the pages over, eyes and attention captivated by the sights before her. Shaking her head in wonder, she whispered in awe. “How did you do this.” Surely these were rendered by someone sitting within these scenes; if copied from a photograph, they couldn’t possibly hold so much emotion.

      Food forgotten, Amelia sat completely immobile, still leaning on her right forearm until it became extremely uncomfortable. It was as she sat up and reluctantly took her attention from the pages that she realised something significant; there seemed to be many historical periods depicted. Mostly the scenes were of places, and the figures within them were on the periphery, or in the distance as a mass of people; nobody distinct or identifiable, nobody close. She noticed horses though, with people riding them, and in others old trains and cars, and in still others people walking along roads. That settled it: they must be drawn from photographs.

      Smiling, Amelia took a deep breath and leaned back, sniffing the bouquet of the wine. “To capture the spirit of these places so beautifully from images, that’s truly a gift.”

      She continued to flick through the pages, marvelling at the capturing of places from all over the world. By the time the bottle was almost empty she’d been there for over an hour, staring at tiny details, completely captivated. It was only when her vision began to blur, her eyes grainy, that Amelia reluctantly checked her watch and was startled to note that it was after midnight.

      Uncoiling protesting limbs she stood up and stretched languidly. “I know I said next Tuesday, Jared, but I think I’d like to talk to you tomorrow.”

      All through the following day she tried to find an excuse to leave the office for a few hours, but neither phone nor email would allow her the respite. Though not many people came in to speak with her, the other communication was a relentless barrage.

      At five, Amelia answered deemed her critical decisions done for one day. Slamming down the cover of her laptop she threw it into her satchel and stormed towards the elevator. “Let them figure it out themselves for a few hours.” The

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