Set Me Free

by Jennifer Collin

  Hefting her box back up her hip, Emily said quietly, ‘How does she do that? How can she possibly know you’re hurt? You’re just standing there.' She sighed and moved towards the apartment. ‘I hope that long story is one you can share.’

  Charlotte grimaced and hobbled after her.

  The version of events Charlotte chose to share over lunch was obviously sanitised, but Emily knew better than to press her in front of Diane. She could extricate the details later, once Diane was on her way back to Melbourne. But before then, they had a studio to build and after lunch, the three of them descended upon the gallery. They worked arduously to convert the second room into Emily’s temporary workspace. Although, or perhaps because he’d done reasonably well at the exhibition launch, M Talbot had yet to provide any additional pieces for his show. As such, the second room was underutilised, and it wasn’t hard to condense the exhibit into the main room. It restricted the exhibition space for future exhibits, but as long as it was temporary, Charlotte claimed she didn’t mind.

  Charlotte’s focus was slipping. Her indifference regarding the loss of the space was uncharacteristic, and she hadn’t been giving the gallery the attention it needed. The next exhibition was yet to be arranged, and now half the space was going, it would have to be restricted to something small. Not the best approach before Christmas. It might have been the kind of thing Charlotte panicked over, had she ever been known to allow a situation like it to develop.

  Emily was more suspicious than alarmed by Charlotte’s ambivalence. The development proposal for the gallery site was distracting, but it was the kind of thing Charlotte would usually take in her stride. The kind of challenge she'd relish. The skittishness she’d seen over lunch however, was new, and Emily suspected it had something to do with the dastardly property developer himself, who appeared to be getting under her sister’s skin.

  Charlotte was keeping certain things to herself, but Emily would find out what they were. There was very little they didn’t share. Meanwhile, the mystery would provide a nice distraction as she waited for time to work its slow but sure magic, and heal her wounds. One day at a time.

  She would get over Geoff. Only one week into the shock of the separation, she was sure of that. The speed in which she developed a healthy hatred for him caught her by surprise, but she could surmise it was Cassette’s role in the whole sordid affair that facilitated that. Not to disregard her mother’s efforts at fuelling the fire over the weekend.

  She'd have to speak to him some time. But for now she was determined to keep putting him off, communicating via text messages only. He could wait until she was stronger. Until she had a home and some money of her own. Until she wasn’t afraid of being alone.

  Putting her new studio together, she allowed herself a rare smile. Things were looking up. She had some canvases, paints and brushes, and a place to paint. All she had to do now was make sure the money followed. Otherwise she might end up waiting tables at Bean Drinkin’, and nobody wanted that.

  Looking down she found she was wearing another of Ben’s shirts. At least she already had the uniform. She'd have to be careful not to get any paint on it once she got to work.

  Finally, after weeks of faffing about, putting a splash of paint here, a blob there and not creating anything worthwhile, Emily was overflowing with ideas. Thank you, Geoffrey. Visions filled her dreams, craving release. She couldn’t wait to get into it. The mock-ups she’d played with, suggested she was about to break some new ground. A change was in the wind. Ben’s customers might be safe.

  As soon as the finishing touches fell in to place, Emily bustled her mother and sister out and closed the curtain they’d hung behind them. She squeezed out a dollop of paint on to her palette and breathed it in. Tentatively at first, then boldly, she painted.

  At some point in the afternoon, Charlotte summoned her to say goodbye to Diane. It was the first time Emily had ever declined a trip to the airport, but she couldn’t bear to stem her flow. The parting hug she gave her mother was full of love. This time they’d moved past their usual awkwardness, and Emily felt like they were on the same team. She may have had to give up her marriage to get them there, and ditching her cheating husband might be difficult now, but, as Emily enjoyed the feeling of her mother’s arms holding her tight, she was positive that one day she'd look back and be grateful.

  Charlotte returned in what seemed like no time at all, and settled herself in the front room behind her desk. As evening rolled over them, they stayed on, each working in their own space, on their own projects. It was companionable, despite the silence and the loose-hanging curtain between them.

  Whatever her sister was up to, it was another secret she was keeping close to her chest, and Emily was too preoccupied to pry. Apart from a ‘What the fuck?’ exclaimed not long after she returned from the airport, Charlotte was quiet.

  It was rolling on to 9pm when knocking on the front door brought Emily out, twitching her curtain to see who was calling. She should have known it would be Ben. Charlotte held the door open and he slid past her, still in his work uniform, apron included, carrying a tray full of food. Lifting the tea towel covering it, he revealed the assorted ingredients of sugarcane prawns. The Hoangs were feeding them tonight. Salivating over it, Emily realised how hungry she was.

  ‘Ben, you're a star,’ Charlotte said as she cleared her desk of her laptop, a sketchbook and a small pile of paperwork. She came back from the kitchenette with a tablecloth and threw it over the desk for protection. Ben set the tray down and helped her with a set of fold-out chairs. A jug of iced water and three glasses later, the table was set.

  ‘Dinner is served,’ Ben announced, taking a seat and looking up at Emily, who hadn’t moved.

  Charlotte followed Ben’s gaze. ‘Come and eat, woman. I know you’re on a roll, but you’ll need sustenance if you're going to keep it up.’

  Emily came willingly.

  Pinching a mint leaf off the platter before her, Charlotte added, ‘You’ve got paint on your face.’

  ‘Of course I do. I’m working,’ Emily replied. She quickly checked Ben’s t-shirt and cursed when she spotted a hand-print shaped smudge. She sat down on the other side of the desk from him, hoping he wouldn’t notice.

  ‘Can I see what you’re working on?’ Charlotte teased.

  ‘Absolutely not.’

  They attacked the food with vigour and before long were arguing over the best way to lay out the ingredients on the rice paper, and how to fold it so the roll held. When it was all gone, and every stick of sugarcane chewed, they rubbed their distended stomachs.

  ‘Are you coming to see Reality Cheque with us the week after next?’ Emily asked Ben. She was looking forward to seeing her little brother.

  ‘Can’t,’ replied Ben. ‘I have a date.’

  ‘Ooh,’ chimed in Charlotte. ‘It’s been a while. Why don’t you bring her along?’

  ‘No offense to your brother, but that’s not my kind of thing for a first date. Bit too noisy and sweaty.’

  ‘First date hey? Are you implying there might be more? Have you met someone you would ask out again? Where on earth did you meet her?’

  ‘Enough, Charlotte,’ Ben scolded, holding up his hands to fend her off. ‘She’s a customer.’

  ‘The usual place then,’ Charlotte teased, finding a lonely bean sprout on the platter and popping it into her mouth.

  ‘Shut up,’ he said wearily.

  ‘You can give it, but you can’t take it,’ said Charlotte, ensuring she had the last word.

  Emily stood up to refill the water jug as Ben asked Charlotte if the band would be staying with her.

  ‘Just Andy, I think. There’s not really any room for anyone else.’

  In the kitchen, Emily tuned out. After a week on Ben's couch, she was back with Charlotte, and she was the reason her flat was a little more crowded than usual. Emily had enough misery and self-pity in her life. She didn’t need to add guilt.

  Turning off the tap, she noticed
Charlotte’s laptop and paperwork on the bench beside the sink. Emily hoped Charlotte had been using the evening to get on top of things, although she suspected she might be merely mucking about on the internet, keeping a surreptitious eye on her.

  ‘What have you been doing?’ she asked her when she returned, gesturing over her shoulder with a tip of her head.

  ‘Oh, thanks for the reminder. Ben, you need to see this.' Charlotte jumped up and retrieved the papers, dropping them in front of Ben before clearing the table. ‘It’s the plans for the development,’ she said, restacking the Hoang’s tray with dirty dishes.

  Curious, Emily came around the desk to peer over Ben’s shoulder. He slowly sifted through dozens of pages while Charlotte dropped the tray in the kitchen.

  ‘Are they serious?’ he asked eventually.

  ‘Apparently. That’s what they submitted,’ Charlotte replied as she returned from the kitchen again with the sketchbook under her arm.

  ‘What happened to all that talk about fitting in with the community? This thing is an eyesore.’

  Emily chimed in. ‘I know nothing about architecture but that seems so…so 1980s. Do you think they’ll paint it apricot?' Even to her untrained eye the design was horrendous and completely out of date.

  ‘Without mediocrity, there can be no excellence,’ Charlotte mumbled under her breath.

  ‘Surely this means it will be knocked back,’ Ben suggested, ignoring her mutterings.

  ‘I’m not sure,’ said Charlotte.

  Emily pounced on her. ‘What? What is it? What are you up to?’

  Clutching the sketchbook tightly, Charlotte told them she had an idea.

  ‘I’ve been looking at what else has been approved around this area and beginning to have doubts about how solid our argument is. There have been plenty of older buildings demolished to make way for new developments and most of them have made some attempt to blend in with the surrounding buildings to retain the look of the area. I don’t think that,’ she pointed to the plans, ‘will get approved, but I think something will, eventually.'

  She paused momentarily before changing tack. ‘I think we’re in for a long wait with this uncertainty hanging over our heads. And I've been thinking that perhaps if we speed up the inevitable, we may actually come out on top.’

  She set her sketchbook down on the table and opened it.

  ‘Is that your lost sketchbook?’ asked Emily.

  ‘No, this is new. I picked it up at the airport this afternoon,’ Charlotte said, leaning back so Emily and Ben could see what she’d been working on.

  Leaning over Ben’s shoulder and flicking through the pages, Emily whispered, ‘You’re so talented.' A lump formed in her throat, and she felt the all too familiar pooling of tears.

  Ben flinched as a strand of her hair fell upon his ear. ‘Sorry,’ she said, tucking it behind her own ear and resting her hand on his shoulder.

  Charlotte had been sketching buildings, variations of a theme. ‘This is for here,’ Emily observed, looking closely. The streetscape was distinctly Boundary Street.

  ‘It is,’ Charlotte said.

  Ben looked up at her, scowling slightly, suspicious. ‘Spill,’ he commanded.

  ‘I think if we could get on the front foot we could get something out of it. It may take years for the proposal to be dragged through the approvals process before it gets the go ahead, but now it’s been flagged and looking at what else has happened around here, it will go ahead. I have no doubt.'

  Charlotte continued. ‘Looking at all those places on Monday got me thinking about how I would create a perfect space for us. And the more I thought about it, the more I realised this development might actually be an opportunity. If we could work with them, perhaps we could get them to build us a new space so we could stay. It’s got to be a win-win for them. They get to build, and they get guaranteed tenants.’

  ‘At twice the rent, I imagine,’ grumbled Ben. ‘I don’t know, Charlotte,’ he added. ‘I like our rustic little strip. I’m not sure I could handle something sterile and new.’

  ‘I know what you’re saying,’ she said. ‘But perhaps we could work that out in the design.’

  Emily was flicking through the sketches while they talked. She’d forgotten how brilliant her sister was. The drawings were rough, but even in that state, were far superior to the proposal on the council website. They showcased Charlotte’s unique talent for bringing out the magnificence in the mundane, making something new look old and rustic but glamorous. If Craig Carmichael truly meant what he said at that community meeting about preserving the cultural heritage, he would do well to take a look at these sketches.

  ‘These are amazing, Charlotte,’ she said. ‘You should have never given it up. Here,’ she said to Ben, ‘look at this.' She showed him Charlotte’s options for Bean Drinkin’.

  Ben took the book from Emily and peered at them closely. He was clearly impressed. ‘I see what you mean,’ he said. ‘Why did you give this up?’ he asked Charlotte.

  ‘The gallery of course,’ she responded. ‘I never meant to give it up entirely but our gallery just kind of took over.’

  ‘Our gallery?’ Emily asked, looking up at her sister.

  ‘Well, I know I take care of running it, but I always think of it as ours,’ Charlotte said to Emily. ‘You're the drawcard that gets people in. I just make sure the rent gets paid and there’s a bit of variety every now and then. Without you, there’d be no point to the gallery. Without you, I never would have set it up in the first place.' She turned back to the sketchbook, her attention focused on trying to win Ben over.

  ‘Really? You only opened this place because of me?’ Emily asked.

  Charlotte didn’t respond.

  The revelation floored Emily, making her feel like a self-absorbed brat. How had she not known that was how Charlotte saw things? When Charlotte had decided to follow her and Geoff to Queensland and open a gallery, Emily had been slightly surprised, but it wasn’t entirely removed from the world of design she was entrenched in at university. Art and architecture often went hand-in-hand. Her decision had made some semblance of sense at the time. Dropping out of a degree she loved at the end of her third year had seemed rash, but Emily had put it down to Charlotte changing her mind about what she really wanted to be when she grew up. And at the time, Charlotte had confirmed as much under questioning.

  Somehow in amongst all of it, Emily never picked up on the fact that Charlotte was actually opening the gallery for her. The guilt she'd been working hard to suppress was pushing through, so she shoved it back down with anger. Apparently Charlotte didn’t think she could succeed on her own merits.

  She was mothering her, just as she’d always done, filling in the gap left by Diane.

  ‘And you still think of it as ours?’ Emily asked, her tone sharp enough to capture Charlotte’s attention.

  She looked up. ‘Of course I see it that way,’ she answered. ‘Don’t you? Where would you exhibit if it wasn’t here?’

  She knew it was unintentional, but Charlotte’s suggestion she couldn’t get a gig anywhere else smarted.

  Ben was no longer looking at the sketches. Instead, he was watching her through veiled eyes; clearly reading more into this exchange than her sister. Charlotte was wholly focused on the argument she was putting forward about the development, determined to secure his agreement. She had no idea she'd just pissed Emily off.

  Irate and feeling exposed beneath Ben’s scrutiny, Emily decided to retreat.

  ‘I should get back to it,’ she said, attempting to be casual. ‘I’ll leave you two to sort out the future of Boundary Street.’

  ‘They’re going to organise another community forum soon,’ Charlotte said to Ben. ‘I’m thinking of trying to get them to change their design before then. What do you think?’

  As Emily pulled the curtain closed behind her, sealing herself in the privacy of her new studio, she tried very hard not to begrudge the woman who’d given it to her.

  C
hapter eleven

  ‘Please come this way, Ms Evans.’

  Charlotte followed the hostile receptionist into a large conference room on the sixteenth floor of the building that accommodated Morgan Carmichael’s CBD offices. The room had a spectacular view over the river and out to the bay. A curtain of summer smog hung over the suburbs, but it did nothing to diminish the magnificence of the vista. Charlotte turned her back on it. There was no way she would get through this meeting gazing out the window. She had to stay focused, and a view like that was there for daydreaming.

  She was left alone to wait and ward off a nervous breakdown. Where the hell did she find the courage to do this? Putting herself out there wasn’t necessarily out of character, but there was a lot at stake here today.

  Her meeting was with Keith Morgan, but given he was the project director, she expected she'd also see Craig. It did nothing for her nerves. Almost a fortnight had passed since she’d last seen him, but the memory of that encounter replayed in her dreams every night, haunting and taunting her. Try as she might, she couldn’t get him out of her head.

  She took a seat and began fidgeting with her papers, rearranging them again and again to keep herself occupied. It was important to look like she knew what she was doing. She didn’t, but she did know what she was talking about. She’d even gone to the effort of buying a suit for the occasion. A very conservative, grey and starchy online bargain, which wasn’t helping her relax.

  Five clammy minutes later, Craig Carmichael followed Keith Morgan into the room. Her attention bypassed the older man and was instantly arrested by Craig. Her chest tightened at the sight of him. Unlike hers, his suit was expensive, probably tailor made, judging by the way he wore it. A suit reminiscent of the one she’d wrestled him out of several weeks ago.

  The surly one thrust his hand at Charlotte. ‘Keith Morgan,’ he barked.

  ‘Charlotte Evans.' She eased herself smoothly and gracefully out of her chair and accepted his hand across the table. From experience, she knew that charming men of his vintage could be readily achieved by overt displays of femininity. It always worked when trying to get middle-aged, middle-class husbands to invest in art at their wife’s suggestion.