‘Look, Mrs Shaw, I ended it and he took it bad, okay? Like, he wouldn’t give up. Ultimately, I had to block him.’ She rolled her eyes, sighing. ‘So, I’m sorry, but I really can’t help you. We had our time. Then it stopped. I mean, all is fair in love and war, right?’

‘Yes, I suppose it is,’ Esther murmured, her thoughts flying to Dylan, going through a heartbreak none of them had known about. It struck her too that this girl, though fabulous in her way, would also have been a mighty tornado arriving in the life of a softie sixteen-or-seventeen-year-old boy, still in the thick of the aftermath of his parents’ divorce. Dylan would have fallen hard. A first love. It would have made him believe nothing else in the world mattered. That was what love did. Until it fell off a cliff or was snatched away. Her poor, poor boy. ‘Thank you, Mei Lin, for telling me, for being so straight.’

The girl had relaxed, rubbing her arms and contorting her pretty features into a proper show of sympathy. ‘I hope he is okay.’

‘So he used to come round a lot, did he?’ Esther ventured.

‘Yeah, we used to hang out here. He was cool. He hated that college.’

‘Yes, I sort of knew that, but maybe not the extent of it,’ Esther admitted. ‘Just like I didn’t know the extent of… you and him…’

‘He didn’t want you to know.’

‘No, I see. Okay.’ Except, she didn’t see, and it wasn’t okay, Esther realised grimly, because the not-knowing had meant no safety net was held out, no understanding to cushion his fall. She had been too wrapped in herself to notice anything that mattered. ‘If he ever does get in touch with you again, would you let me know, do you think?’

‘Sure, no problem.’

Esther wasn’t sure whether to believe her, but knew it was time to go.

Back in the cavernous hall, she noticed the executive case and jacket had gone. ‘Please say thank you to your father.’

‘Sure.’ She opened the door and then punched some numbers into a small panel on the wall, bringing the gates to life. ‘I really do hope he is all right. He wanted us to stay friends but then just couldn’t handle it. I’ve been channelling some of my own feelings into my work. Like, where would artists be without break-ups, right?’

‘Right,’ Esther muttered, hurrying down the steps, afraid that the formidable, swinging iron jaws would start to close before she got through them.

ART & CRAFT

36

‘Can you trust a self-portrait, that’s the big question?’