The Art Guy (18+) COMPLETE, FREE to READ

Your Perfect Understatement

London, July 1993

"Katrina?"

It took her a second or so to identify the voice. At first, she thought it was Dee—posh, English, loud—before she heard the name the girl repeated several times insistently. It's Lillian, Lillian, Lillian...

"I'm sorry to call you so early on a Saturday, but I thought you should know..."

When the voice trailed off, Katrina's hackles rose. People phoning you early on a Saturday, and individuals who didn't usually call you either, well, that was rarely because they were the bearer of good news.

"It's Alan," Lillian said, and again Katrina's brain worked criminally slowly. Who's Alan? Oh, you mean my cousin.

"He's in hospital. I don't know exactly what happened, but he was beaten up really badly. Fuck, Katrina—I'm not from Glasgow. I don't know about this kind of thing where people are..."

"Why?" It seemed like the most logical thing to ask. What had motivated those fuckers who had assaulted her cousin, the guy who was more like her brother seeing as she was an only child. Why was a better question to ask than, 'just how badly is he injured?'

"Oh. Er... well, he was sort of seeing this guy, not from Glasgow, and he was selling drugs in Glasgow, not Kippy—the guy he was seeing. I don't think you're supposed to mess with Glasgow hard men."

Your perfect understatement.

Tony had come into the hallway where the main Walker phone was located, neatly placed next to the Yellow Pages on a small table. There was a pad and pen next to it where you noted the caller's name and address when you answered, and the intended recipient wasn't in. Glancing down at it, Katrina realised she'd doodled on it—arrows and exploding stars.

Analyse that one.

"Everything okay?" Tony mouthed at her. He must have seen something in her face and in the way that she leant against the wall, its solidity only just propping her up.

She nodded, and then shook her head lightly. He gave her a brief nod, and then left returning a minute later with one of his crystal glasses bobbing with ice and liquid, which he pressed into her free hand. Off he went again.

Lillian had explained further. Kippy had been staying with this guy—a rare thing, apparently, their relationship wasn't usually about overnighters—and three of Glasgow's drug-dealing hard men had decided to pay a visit. They were narked. They'd been informed Jordan (said man) was selling cocaine in Glasgow on behalf of a powerful Newcastle drugs gang/family. It looked as if Kippy had ended up as collateral damage.

Lillian sniffed. Her voice sounded hoarse. Maybe she'd been crying for a long time.

"I don't want to tell his mum, Katrina," she said. "I don't know where to start. She doesn't know he's gay. How do I tell her not only about that, but that he's been hanging around with toe-rags like Jordan?"

Katrina found herself asking after Jordan. Again, it wasn't the most logical question choice, but her brain could only process so much of this stuff at any one time. Who cared what happened to Jordan? He could be dead for all she was bothered, but asking after him again delayed the question exactly what state is my cousin in? Do I need to go back to being a Jehovah's Witness and try bargaining with God on his behalf?

Last time she'd checked, Jehovahs hadn't been big on deviation from the heterosexual model, so she wouldn't get far there.

Jordan hadn't been injured as badly. For some reason, the three men had beaten him up so his looks were forever ruined, but his limbs and internal organs were just beaten and bruised, not damaged.

Katrina took a huge gulp of whatever Tony had poured her. It proved to be whisky—one of his single malts. A wasted gesture, she thought, but it did the job, propelling her to asking the next question.

"What are his injuries?"

"Well," she heard Lillian take a deep breath. "He's in the Victoria. He's on a drip and they've put him into an induced coma. He's got several broken ribs, a lot of bruising and a perforated liver."

Katrina sucked on her teeth. The liver—so-named because of the key role it played in the body. Had he been stabbed?

Lillian must have heard the unasked question. "Blunt force can perforate a liver, apparently. They used baseball bats. They could have... killed him. It just needs time, apparently, but I've been so worried."

Her voice petered out, and Katrina found herself hugging the handset to her chest. Lillian's repeated calls of her name prompted her to speak once more. She promised she'd tell her aunt, Kippy's mum, and his dad, and get up to Glasgow if she could get the time off work.

She returned the handset slowly, reluctant to enter the Walkers' kitchen and say the news out loud. Part of it was not wanting them to think badly of her cousin and that he had been in the company of someone dealing drugs on a large scale. Heaven forbid they thought him part of that. And then there was saying the bit about him staying the night with another man. Again, Debbie knew about Kippy as her daughter had confided in her when she found out her so-called boyfriend had no interest in her, but it did seem sleazy—a world away from Tony and Debbie's middle-class suburban life.

On the other hand, Tony was a convicted fraudster and he'd spent time in prison. The sleazier side of life wouldn't be too unfamiliar to him.

As soon as they heard, their eyes widening in horrified astonishment as she told them, the Walkers reaction was as she should have guessed. Debbie came up with words and advice about what she should say to her aunt, and Daisy burst into tears. The last vestiges of first love were still there, after all.

Tony stood up and took the whisky glass off her, saying she'd better not drink any more on an empty stomach.

"Well, that does it. I'll run you up to Glasgow tomorrow. We'll leave first thing."