by Tara Bond
It was only once the main course was finished, that Toby turned to me. “So, which are you going to be, Charlotte? A doctor or a lawyer?”
I opened my mouth to answer, but my mother got there first. “Neither. Charlotte’s the artistic one in the family.” She flashed what I could only assume was her best impression of a proud smile at me. “She’s going to do a fine arts degree at Central Saint Martins. It’s apparently terribly competitive to get in. Charlotte was very lucky to be accepted.”
She beamed across at me, a big, forced smile, and I cringed. Somehow my mother’s attempts to sound supportive were worse than if she’d said outright that she didn’t approve of the choices I was making.
But Toby appeared not to have noticed my mother’s fake enthusiasm. His eyes were on me as he said, “A fine arts degree, huh? But I thought you’d just finished school. I remember a friend of mine applying, but he had to do a foundation course first. How come you didn’t have to?”
I didn’t answer at first. I was too stunned that someone was showing an interest in me.
“Charlotte?” my mother prompted, with a touch of exasperation. She always found my shyness slightly irritating. “Toby asked you a question.”
I felt a blush stain my cheeks. Why did she have to embarrass me like that?
“Usually you have to complete a foundation course, but in some cases an exception can be made.” All eyes around the table were on me, but I addressed my answer to Toby. He seemed genuinely interested in what I had to say, which was a nice change for one of my sister’s boyfriends. I could tell I hadn’t quite answered his question, but I didn’t want to sound like I was bragging. Luckily my father stepped in.
“If the candidate’s portfolio is considered strong enough, then he or she can be admitted straight onto the course.” My father smiled at me. “Charlotte’s art teacher encouraged her to apply directly, and the staff were so impressed with her work that they gave her a place.”
Toby’s eyes widened in admiration. “Wow! You must be really talented. I know how hard it is to get into Saint Martins.”
My blush deepened. I opened my mouth to say something self-depreciating, but my mother beat me to it.
“Yes, it is wonderful,” she said. “I just hope Charlotte isn’t being too ambitious. But if it turns out to be too much, you can always rethink and go back to do a foundation course, can’t you, darling?”
I dropped my eyes to the table. There it was. Maybe her assurances that it wouldn’t matter if I got in were meant to be reassuring and supportive, but instead they felt like she was already assuming I was going to fail.
“Well, I think it sounds wonderful.” Hearing Toby’s voice, I looked up. He was smiling kindly at me. “Fine art is bound to be a lot more interesting than law or medicine. You’ll have to invite me to one of your shows when you’re a famous artist. Add a little excitement into my conventional life.” He gave me a wink then, and I felt an unexpected fluttering in my stomach.
My mother took charge of the conversation then, changing the subject to current affairs. I picked at my food, pushing it around my plate. For some reason, my appetite had deserted me. Every now and then, I would catch myself sneaking a look at Toby. I couldn’t help hoping that he’d be coming to visit a lot this summer.
* * *
Back in the psychologist’s office, I finished speaking, and looked over at Dr. Milton. “So what else do you want to know?”
She glanced down at her wristwatch. “Actually, that brings us nicely up to time for today.”
I checked the clock across the room, and was surprised to find that she was right—fifty minutes had passed. I couldn’t believe I’d been talking for that long. “Is that it?”
“For today, yes.”
“And what’s your big conclusion?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, aren’t you going to tell me what’s wrong with me?”
She closed her notebook. “It doesn’t work like that, Charlie. I’m not going to be able to help you after just one session. And I’m certainly never going to tell you that anything’s ‘wrong’ with you. That’s not my job.”
“So what is it, then? Your job?” I didn’t mean to sound combative, but something about these past fifty minutes had made me feel uncomfortable. I didn’t want to remember that summer—when I’d been so preoccupied with feeling inadequate. “Because I really don’t understand what we’re doing here.”
“My purpose in these meetings is to guide you to important events in your past, and help you understand how they influence you today. You’ve come to me because you—or people in your life—are concerned about your behaviour. At the moment, I want to understand—and help you understand—why you behave the way you do. After that, if you want, we can look at ways to modify your ingrained behaviour patterns.”
“Well, as long as there’s a plan,” I said, sarcasm dripping from my voice.
Dr. Milton smiled sympathetically at me. “I know you’re a sceptic, but just try to give the process a chance. I think in the long run you’ll be pleased with the results.”
“Whatever you say, Doctor.”
Chapter 14
I stood outside the door to my flat, holding my keys. I’d been there for at least five minutes, trying to work up the courage to go in. I’d come straight home after my appointment with Dr. Milton, and the events of our session were still on my mind. I didn’t like thinking back to that summer, and what had happened with Toby. It felt like a lifetime ago now, when I’d been another person, and there seemed no point in dredging it all up. Plus, I had a more immediate problem right now—and that was going in to my flat and apologising to Lindsay.
I hadn’t seen her properly since she’d given me a piece of her mind that night in the Nick. I’d been working long days at Davenport’s, and her nights were either spent at the bar or staying at Adrian’s, I presumed. But I’d texted her earlier to check that she’d be home tonight, and she’d confirmed—very briefly—that she would be.
Inhaling deeply, I finally opened the door.
I heard the sound of the television as soon as I stepped inside. I slowly removed my jacket and shoes, and headed towards the sitting room. Sure enough, Lindsay was lying on the sofa, watching some animal rescue programme. She looked up as I walked in, her expression guarded. I had a feeling this wasn’t going to be easy.
She sat up, and switched off the TV. “So you said you wanted to talk?”
“I did.” I moved into the centre of the room, feeling suddenly nervous. I perched on one of the chairs opposite her, my eyes fixed on the ground, unable to meet her gaze. “Look, I wanted to say I was sorry.”
“Oh?” Her voice gave nothing away.
I folded my arms across my stomach. “Yeah. I mean, I think maybe I over-reacted to some of the stuff you were saying.” I paused, and again she said nothing. Why was she making this so hard for me? “I guess I can see now that you were trying to look out for me.”
I fell into silence. Maybe it wasn’t the best speech, but it was hard to admit that I’d been wrong. When Lindsay still hadn’t said anything, I raised my eyes to look at her. To my surprise, she was trying hard not to laugh.
“Well, that has to be pretty much the lamest apology I’ve ever heard.”
I pulled a face. “I know. But it’s about the best I can do.”
“Fair enough. I suppose I’ve got no choice but to forgive you, then.”
I sat back in the chair, and pretended to wipe sweat from my brow. “Phew. You really made me work for it, you know?”
We grinned at each other. Other female friends in this position would probably embrace, but as Lindsay knew, I wasn’t a hugger. She often joked that I was more comfortable getting naked with a stranger than putting my arms around my own family.
“So what do you fancy doing tonight?” she asked, letting me know everything was back to normal.
“I thought maybe we could grab some dinner. My treat.”
“That
sounds good. Just let me grab my jacket.”
She got to her feet, and was halfway to her room when I said, “Oh, Lindsay?” she stopped, and turned back. There was one last thing I needed to do to resolve all of this—I just hoped it wasn’t too late. I tried to look nonchalant. “And I wondered if Adrian might like to come out with us, too.”
A slow smile spread across her face. “I reckon he’d love that.”
* * *
Lindsay called Adrian, and we arranged to meet him at a Thai restaurant near us. We called it a restaurant, but it was more like a small, dingy canteen. Fortunately the food was excellent and also cheap, so we were able to ignore the shabby surroundings.
I’d planned to apologise to Adrian, too—I hadn’t exactly been particularly friendly towards him since he’d started seeing my friend. But as soon as he arrived, he greeted me with a big hug, as if to let me know that everything was all right between us. Even though I wasn’t usually the hugging kind, I fought my instinct to push him away—after all, I felt it was the least I could do.
“I’m glad you two made up,” he whispered in my ear as his meaty arms squeezed my middle. “Lindsay was miserable without you.”
For the first time I could appreciate how lucky my friend was to have such a nice boyfriend. I’d heard so many tales of girls seeing possessive guys, who hated them going out with their friends. I was glad Lindsay had found one of the good ones.
We took our place at a round plastic table, and ordered off the scruffy menus. Then we sipped at bottles of beer as we caught up. Lindsay was still trying to get a job, but she was going for a second interview at a talent agency, which represented actors, directors and writers, and she was hopeful that she’d get it.
“And what have you been up to?” Lindsay asked, as our food finally arrived. “Did you manage to sort out your crisis the other week?”
As we ate, I told her what had happened with the PURE campaign. I was surprised at how enthusiastic I sounded as I spoke.
“Richard seemed really pleased with the sketches, and that we won the client,” I concluded twenty minutes later. “It’s really weird seeing him at the office, to be honest. Everyone looks up to him, and he’s totally in charge—”
I suddenly stopped, noticing that Lindsay and Adrian were exchanging amused glances. “What’s up with you two?”
Lindsay held up her hands. “Nothing. Just surprised to hear you saying anything nice about Richard, that’s all.”
“Yeah, well . . .” I felt suddenly embarrassed. I must sound like a total hypocrite, talking about how great Richard was, after I’d bad-mouthed him so much. “I guess maybe I was being a bit hard on him.”
I changed the subject then, wanting to move the spotlight off me, and asked Adrian about his work instead. The rest of the evening flew by, and I couldn’t believe it when I looked at my watch and saw that it was after eleven.
“We should get the bill.” I looked round for a waitress. “I’ve got a meeting at eight tomorrow morning, and I need to get a decent night’s sleep.”
Lindsay happened to be drinking her beer as I spoke. She snorted a laugh, sending liquid flying all over the table as she started to cough. Once she’d finally recovered, she shook her head.
“It’s going to take me a long time to get used to hearing you say stuff like that.”
* * *
Over the next couple of weeks, my life settled into a routine. Since the PURE campaign, I’d started to spend more time at the office. And as I began to take more interest in my work, the work itself became more interesting.
While I still had to do mundane tasks—typing letters, making coffee, photocopying, filing and scheduling meetings—none of it seemed so tedious now that I could see how it contributed to the larger picture. I also began to get assigned more interesting work. When it came down to it, Helena and Rex’s job was about storytelling, which was why I’d always loved art. Now I started sitting in on Rex and Helena’s meetings, listening to their ideas, and then translating them onto paper. This saved Helena time, and I was often able to bring to life concepts in a more polished way than she could. I’d also liaise directly with the art department, to make sure they knew exactly how to execute the concepts. To my surprise, I enjoyed having more responsibility. It was rewarding to see something I’d overseen being brought to life.
I also had a couple of more sessions with Dr. Milton. It was much like the last time I’d been there. She seemed fixated on that summer I’d turned eighteen, just before I went off the rails and became “Charlie” instead of “Charlotte,” so I continued to reminisce for her. I had a feeling she felt this period in my life was important, but I had no idea why. Our meetings weren’t unpleasant, but I wasn’t sure I was getting much out of them. I also wasn’t sure why she seemed to think there’d be some big revelation about why I acted the way I did—surely a lot of youngsters turned eighteen and drew away from their families and changed significantly, started drinking and having sex. I thought that was called growing up.
Between work and seeing Dr. Milton, my social life wasn’t as big as it used to be. I still went out, but I kept it to the weekends. I was at work from half eight in the morning to seven at night most days, and by the time I finished, I was too tired to go out, and I didn’t like the fuzzy way my head felt after an evening of drinking. For the first time in a while, I hadn’t brought any guys home—a fact that didn’t go unnoticed by Lindsay.
It was good to have my friend back again. Of course we weren’t going out as much as before, because of my job and her hanging out with Adrian. But it suited us both, and I was pleased the tension between us had gone.
* * *
A fortnight after we’d secured the commission for the anti-drugs advert, we received a brief to pitch on a new toothpaste, called Brite, which had been designed by a mid-range cosmetics company. It was unusual, because typically it was consumer goods companies like Unilever that produced toothpaste. But this felt more like a gimmicky product—one that was a mix of a teeth-whitening product and a toothpaste. That was the unique selling point that the client wanted to get across in the advert—the idea that this was the strongest whitening toothpaste on the market, and that it would lighten teeth fifteen shades whiter than any other brand. They liked the idea of going with a glamorous campaign, rather than the functionality usually associated with toothpaste adverts.
After the meeting with the account manager, Helena, Rex and I went back to their office to brainstorm.
“Ugh.” Rex pulled a face, as he dropped into his chair. “How the hell are we meant to make this glamorous? Toothpaste isn’t exactly the sexiest of items, is it?”
Helena pulled out a new pad, and drummed her pen against the paper. She always thought best when she was jotting down words or images. “Let’s think—what are we trying to say here?” This was typical of her thought process—other than my mother, she had one of the most logical brains I’d ever encountered, and always boiled projects down to their simplest concept and then built up from there. “We basically want something that says it’s going to whiten your teeth, but also keep them strong. Now, what has strong teeth? Maybe an animal of some kind . . .”
Her pen was moving across the page already, as she started running through ideas. Then something popped into my head.
“What about a vampire?” I said it without thinking whether they wanted to hear from me. Up until now, I hadn’t put any suggestions of my own forward, but instead had just carried out the ideas that Helena and Rex gave me. They both turned to stare at me, surprise written across their faces. Maybe it wasn’t appropriate, but I ploughed on regardless. “Vampires use their teeth all the time, to bite their victims, which means they have to be strong. And they’re alive for ages, so that gives the suggestion that the toothpaste helps your teeth last. And vampires—well, everyone thinks of them as sexy and glamorous, don’t they?”
Neither of them spoke for a moment. I wondered if they were going to tell me what a ridiculous idea
it was, but then Rex broke into a smile.
“I like the way you think, girl.”
“Not bad.” Helena was nodding thoughtfully. “That’s not bad at all.”
Rex began jotting some words onto a page. “And how does this grab you for a caption: ‘For strong, white teeth, that will last several lifetimes’?”
Helena held up the package of Brite toothpaste. “And instead of ‘Bite Me,’ we could say ‘Brite Me.’ ”
Rex chuckled. “That’s just cheesy enough to work.” He looked over at me. “Congratulations, darling. It looks like you’ve just come up with your first creative concept.”
* * *
The rest of the day was spent refining and honing the idea, and then it was left to me to put together the storyboards. It was a Friday, and Rex and Helena were both leaving early—he was going home to see his family in Cornwall, and she was heading to Paris for a friend’s hen do. Before they went, they both looked over my work, and gave me a couple of small changes to put through.
“There’s no rush on it, though,” Rex said as he was leaving. “You can make the changes on Monday, if you want.”
“I might stay and get it out of the way, rather than have it hanging over the weekend.”
“Whatever works for you.”
It took longer than I’d imagined to make all the amendments. When I was finally happy with what I’d done, I straightened up, stretching my back, suddenly aware of just how stiff I was from hunching over my sketchpad. I looked up at the clock, and saw that it was just after eight. The night cleaners had arrived, and I could hear the distant hum of a vacuum cleaner down the hallway.
Helena had asked me to put the sketches on Richard’s desk when I’d finished them. He liked to cast his eye over all the campaigns before they went out. So I put on my coat, and got my bag together, planning to drop them off on my way out. He wouldn’t be around at this time, but at least the sketches would be there when he came in on Monday morning. Although knowing Richard, he’d be in at some point over the weekend anyway.