Chapter Thirty-Four

elizabeth sat cross-legged on the white sheet covering the

dusty cement floor of the building site, with her eyes closed.

“So this is where you disappear to every day,” the soft voice spoke.

Elizabeth’s eyes remained closed. “How do you do it, Ivan?”

“Do what?”

“Just appear out of nowhere exactly when I’m thinking of you?”

She heard him laugh lightly but he didn’t answer the question. “Why is

this room the only one that hasn’t been finished? Or started, by the looks of it.” He stood behind her.

“Because I need help. I’m stuck.”

“Well, what do you know, Elizabeth Egan is asking for help.” There

was a silence until Ivan started humming a familiar song, the song she

hadn’t been able to get out of her head for the past two months and the song that was almost making her broke, thanks to Poppy and Becca’s pig in the office.

Her eyelids flew open. “What are you humming?”

“The humming song.”

“Did Luke teach you that?”

“No I taught him, thank you very much,” he explained.

“Oh, really,” Elizabeth grumbled, “I thought his invisible friend made it up.” She laughed to herself and then looked up to him. He wasn’t laughing.

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Eventually he spoke. “Why do you sound like you’re speaking with

socks in your mouth?” He looked down at her. “What is that on your face?

A muzzle?” He roared laughing.

Elizabeth’s cheeks flushed. “It’s not a muzzle,” she spat. “You have no idea how much dust and bacteria this building has. Anyway, you should

be wearing a hard hat”—she knocked on her own—“God forbid this place

should come down on us,” she added sarcastically. “Although I forgot you’re invisible. Falling concrete blocks would just fly right through your body.”

“What else are you wearing?” He ignored her moodiness and looked

her up and down. “Gloves?”

“So my hands don’t get dirty.” She pouted like a child.

“Oh, Elizabeth.” Ivan shook his head and strolled comically around

her. “All the things I’ve taught you and you’re still worrying about being clean and tidy.” He picked up a paintbrush that was sitting beside an open pot of paint and dipped it in.

“Ivan,” Elizabeth said, nervously watching him, “what are you going

to do?”

“You said you wanted help.” He grinned at her.

Elizabeth rose slowly to her feet. “Ye-es, help with painting the wall, ”

her voice warned.

“Well, unfortunately you didn’t quite specify that when you asked, so

I’m afraid that doesn’t count.” He dipped the paintbrush into the red paint, held the bristles back in his hand, and released them toward Elizabeth like a catapult. Paint splattered across her face.

“Ooh, too bad you weren’t wearing protective clothing on the rest of

your face,” he teased, watching her eyes widen in anger and shock.

“Ivan,” she said with venom in her voice, “throwing me in the lake is

one thing, but this is ludicrous, ” she squealed. “This is my work. I’m serious, I want absolutely nothing more to do with you Ivan, Ivan . . . I don’t even know your surname,” she spluttered.

“It’s Elbisivni,” he explained calmly.

“What are you, Russian? ” she shouted, almost hyperventilating. “Is Ekam Eveileb Russian too or does it even exist? ” She was screaming now and breathless.

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“I’m very sorry,” Ivan said seriously, his smile disappearing. “I can

sense that you’re upset. I’ll just put this back down.” He slowly lowered the paintbrush back to the pot and left it back at the perfect angle at which it had been placed, matching the others. “That was over the top, I apologize.”

Elizabeth’s anger began to subside.

“The red is perhaps too much of an angry color for you,” he contin-

ued. “I should have been more subtle.” Suddenly another paintbrush ap-

peared before Elizabeth’s face. Her eyes widened.

“White, maybe?” He grinned and once again splashed the paint on

her top.

“Ivan!” Elizabeth half laughed and half shouted. “Fine.” She dove to-

ward the pots of paint. “You wanna play? I can play. Wearing colors is your favorite thing to do now, you say?” She dipped a paintbrush in the pot and chased Ivan around the room. “Blue’s your favorite color, Mr. Elbisivni?”

She painted a strip of blue down his face and hair and began laughing evilly.

“You thought that was funny?”

She nodded, in hysterics.

“Good.” Ivan laughed, grabbing her by the waist and pushing her to

the floor, pinning her down masterfully and painting her face while she squealed and struggled to get free. “If you don’t stop shouting, Elizabeth, you’ll have a green tongue,” Ivan warned.

After they had both been covered head-to-toe in paint and Elizabeth

was laughing so much she could no longer put up a fight, Ivan turned his attention to the wall. “What this wall needs now is some paint.”

Elizabeth removed her mouth cover and tried to regain her breathing,

revealing the only normal skin color on her face.

“Well, at least that came in handy,” Ivan noted, and turned back to face the wall. “A little birdie told me that you went on a date with Benjamin West,” he said, dipping a fresh brush into the red paint pot.

“Dinner, yes. A date, no. And may I add that I went out with him the

night you stood me up.”

He didn’t reply. “You like him?” he asked.

“He’s a nice man.” She still didn’t turn around.

“You want to spend more time with him?” he asked.

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Elizabeth began to roll up the paint-splattered sheet from the floor. “I’d like to spend more time with you.”

“What if you couldn’t?”

Elizabeth froze. “Then I’d ask you why.”

He avoided the question. “What if I didn’t exist and you’d never met

me, would you want to spend more time with Benjamin then?”

Elizabeth swallowed hard, put her paper and pens into her bag, and

zipped it shut. She was tired of playing games with him and his talk was making her nervous. They needed to discuss this properly. She stood up

and faced him. On the wall, Ivan had written, “Elizabeth LOVES Ben-

jamin” in big red letters.

“Ivan!” Elizabeth giggled nervously. “Don’t be such a child, what if

someone was to see that!” She went to grab the brush from him.

He wouldn’t let go and their eyes locked together. “I can’t give you

what you want, Elizabeth,” he said softly.

A coughing from the doorway caused them both to jump.

“Hi, Elizabeth.” Benjamin looked at her with curious amusement. He

glanced at the wall behind her and grinned. “That’s an interesting theme.”

There was a pregnant pause. Elizabeth looked to her right. “It was

Ivan.” Her voice came out childlike.

Benjamin laughed slightly. “Him again.”

She nodded and he looked to the paintbrush in her hand, dripping red

paint onto her splattered jeans. A red-, blue-, purple-, green-, and white-splashed face now turned crimson.

“Looks like it’s you who’s been caught painting the roses red,” Benjamin said softly, and went to take a step into the room.

“Benjamin!” Vincent’s voice shouted at him.

He paused midstep, with a pained expression at the sound of Vincent’s

demanding voice. “I better go.” He smiled. “I’ll talk to you later.” He laughed and headed off in the direction of Vincent’s shouts. “Oh, by the way,” he called out, “thanks for the party invitation.”

Elizabeth ignored Ivan, who was doubled over laughing and snorting.

She dipped her brush in the white pot and erased Ivan’s words, trying to erase this embarrassing moment from her memory.

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. . .

“Good afternoon, Mr. O’Callaghan; hello, Maureen; hello, Fidelma; hi,

Connor; Father Murphy,” she greeted her fellow villagers as she walked

through the town to get to her office. Red paint dribbled down her arms, blue paint clung in strands around her hair, and her jeans looked like

Monet’s palette. Silent, stunned stares followed her as her clothes continued to drip with paint, leaving a multicolored trail behind her.

“Why do you always do that?” Ivan asked, running alongside her to

keep up as she marched through the town.

“Do what? Good afternoon, Sheila.”

“You always cross the road before you get to Flanagan’s Pub, walk on

the opposite path, and then cross again once you get to Joe’s.”

“No I don’t.” She smiled at another gawker.

“Talk about painting the town red, Elizabeth,” Joe called out to her,

laughing as she left red footprints behind her as she ran across the road.

“Look, you just did it!” Ivan laughed.

Elizabeth stopped in her tracks and looked back on her trail, visible by her footprints. True enough, she had crossed the road at Flanagan’s,

walked on the opposite path, and crossed over once again to get to her office, instead of staying on the same path. She hadn’t noticed that before.

She looked back at Flanagan’s Pub. Mr. Flanagan stood at the door having a cigarette; he nodded at her strangely, appearing surprised that she held his stare. She frowned and swallowed the lump that had formed in her throat as she stared at the building.

“Everything OK, Elizabeth?” Ivan asked, cutting into her thoughts.

“Yes.” Her voice came out as a whisper. She cleared her throat and

looked at Ivan in confusion and unconvincingly repeated, “Yes, I’m fine.”

Date: 2015-04-20; view: 466