Tooth for a Tooth by Frank Muir Page A

back to painting some of your own.’
    Jack chinked his glass to Gilchrist’s. ‘Like me to show you?’
    Glass in hand, he followed Jack into a back bedroom that felt arctic-cold. The sharp tang of turps and paint caught the back of his throat. The room was stripped of wallpaper, carpet and furnishings. Their footfalls echoed as they crossed the floor. A bare window stretched almost from floor to ceiling, next to an artist’s easel on which rested an unfinished painting, nothing more than brush strokes of bright colour that converged in the middle and gave the impression of being sucked along some kaleidoscopic corridor.
    ‘What’s it supposed to be?’ he asked.
    ‘Whatever you want it to be.’
    Gilchrist cocked his head. ‘I suppose the colours are bold, refreshing even. But . . .’
    ‘You don’t like it.’
    ‘I wouldn’t go as far as that.’
    ‘Wow. Andy
almost
liking my stuff.’ Jack grinned. ‘Now that’s a first.’
    ‘I didn’t say I liked it,’ objected Gilchrist, then chuckled. Despite recent events, it was nice to see Jack so relaxed. A noise from the hallway, the metallic clink of a key being inserted into a lock, diverted his gaze.
    ‘That’ll be Kara,’ Jack said, and walked from the bedroom.
    In the hallway, Gilchrist met a fresh-faced woman with blue eyes and fine blonde hair hanging straight to the shoulders of a grey business jacket. A black skirt came to just above her knees, revealing slim legs that stopped at a pair of running shoes. Jack closed the door behind her. She put her leather briefcase and canvas bag on the floor, then approached Gilchrist with an extended arm.
    ‘I’m Kara. I’ve heard so much about you.’
    Her grip felt firm. ‘All good, I hope.’
    ‘And I’m sorry to hear about Gail,’ she said. ‘It was a blessing in the end.’
    Gilchrist nodded, tight-lipped. She had not accompanied Jack to the crematorium yesterday, and the first-name familiarity seemed odd to him. Perhaps she had gone along to the clubhouse later.
    As if sensing a need to lift the mood, Kara said, ‘I see Jack’s already got you on his favourite subjects. Drink and art.’ She gave off a laugh that brought colour to her cheeks. ‘Let me get out of this lot, and I’ll join you.’
    ‘Working overtime?’ Gilchrist asked.
    ‘Had to stay late, finish a report for a case that finds in court tomorrow.’
    ‘You’re a solicitor?’
    ‘That’d be the day. I’m a paralegal. I do all the dirty work, while others get to stand up in court and take all the glory.’ She tugged a strand of hair behind her ear. ‘The hours are long and the money’s poor. But it pays the bills.’
    Gilchrist thought he detected a hint of resentment. ‘What would we do all day if we didn’t have to work to pay the bills?’ he tried with a smile.
    ‘Paint?’ she offered.
    Gilchrist felt himself cringe on Jack’s behalf.
    ‘Kara’s a bit like you, Andy. Thinks I should go out and find a proper job.’
    ‘One that gives a bit of financial security,’ she added.
    ‘You’re only as safe as the length of your notice,’ Jack said. ‘And in this climate, who knows whether their job is safe or not. At least I’ll always paint.’
    ‘Yes,’ Kara said, ‘we’ll always have that.’ She glanced at Gilchrist. ‘Excuse me,’ and picked her bags up from the floor and disappeared into the bedroom opposite.
    ‘Don’t worry about Kara,’ Jack said. ‘She takes her work too seriously. And to make matters worse, some plonker in her office treats her like shite.’
    ‘Charming,’ Gilchrist said.
    ‘Needs taken out the back and beaten up,’ Jack snapped, and something in the flare of his eyes, the set of his jaw, had Gilchrist wondering if Jack had changed.
    ‘Seems like she can look after herself,’ Gilchrist offered.
    ‘When push comes to shove, she chickens out.’
    ‘Probably afraid of losing her job.’
    ‘And therein lies the problem,’ Jack growled. ‘See what I mean? Everyone’s got