Naming the Bones Read Free

Jack’s. Why hadn’t it occurred to him that this woman in her spectacular dress might be one of the trio on show?
    Cressida extricated herself from the hug.
    ‘Steven Hastings, this is Murray Watson, Jack Watson’s brother.’
    ‘Jack?’
    Steven rolled the name in his mouth, as if tasting it for the first time and unsure of the flavour. Cressida met his vagueness with a stab of irritation.
    ‘You know Jack. He’s one of my fellow exhibitors, we were at college together.’
    ‘Ah yes, Jack . The flayed corpse.’
    Murray winced at the memory of Jack’s degree show, but he could remember Cressida now. Her hair had been shorter then, her thrift-shop-chic outfit tighter and darker than what she was wearing today. Jack had been impressed and maybe a little jealous. She’d won a prize, a big one, though Murray couldn’t remember what. He steadied his gaze at Steven.
    ‘He’s moved on since then.’
    ‘Glad to hear it.’
    Murray felt an urgent need to knock Steven Hastings’ head from the high collar of his jaunty shirt. But he stifled the impulse and instead gave an awkward stiff bow that he couldn’t remember ever performing before.
    ‘I’m looking forward to seeing your work, Cressida.’
    He turned towards the bar as Steven put an arm around the woman’s shoulders, guiding her towards the exhibition space and commanding, ‘Now, you’re going to explain everything to me in minute detail.’
    Cressida rolled her eyes, but she allowed herself to be led away, giving Murray a last smile. He raised his hand in goodbye, then swapped his empty glass for a fresh red and went to look for his brother.
    The paintings at the front depicted massive, candy-coloured Manga cartoon characters collaged into pornographic poses. Murray sipped his drink, taking in a doe-eyed schoolgirl in congress with an equally wide-eyed black and white spotty dog. The image was imposed onto a background of a devastated landscape, Nagasaki after the H-bomb. Murray checked the artist’s name, relieved to find it wasn’t Cressida or Jack, then headed towards the staircase. It was busy here too, the traffic going in both directions, people clutching their drinks as if they were vital accessories. He didn’t see Lyn until she was in front of him.
    ‘Hey.’ She stopped on the step above his so that their faces were almost level. Murray kissed her, smelling wine, cigarettes and fabric softener.
    ‘How’s the wee man?’
    ‘The wee man.’ She shook her head. ‘The wee man, as you call him, is doing very well, considering he’s been working till three in the morning practically every day for the last month and only finished hanging ten minutes before the doors were due to open.’
    Murray grinned.
    ‘He should have given me a shout. I would have held the ladder for him.’
    ‘Rather you than me.’
    Lyn was smiling, but there was an unaccustomed
flatness in her tone that made Murray wonder if she and Jack had argued.
    He asked, ‘And how are you doing? You’re looking well.’
    His brother’s girlfriend had pale freckly skin that couldn’t endure sunlight. Maybe it was the contrast between her fairness and the unfamiliar red lipstick she was wearing, but Murray thought she looked a shade whiter than usual.
    ‘I’m doing great. Glad this has come round at last.’ She smiled hello to a couple going up the staircase then turned back to Murray. ‘You get yourself up there. Jack’ll want to see you.’
    ‘Jack will have a lot of people to talk to. I just came to show my support, I’ll not stick around getting in the way.’
    Lyn raised her eyebrows comically.
    ‘And you’ve got a lot of work to be getting on with.’
    ‘A fair bit, aye.’
    ‘Well, you’d better go and pay your respects then.’ She slid past him. ‘I was about to get some wine before it’s all sooked up. Do you want a refill?’
    Murray looked at his glass, surprised to see that it was almost empty.
    ‘Why not?’
    ‘Give it here then.’ She hesitated.