by Jane Green
In other words, I look a mess.
‘I see what you mean,’ I shout out to Lucy, who still looks as clean and shining as when she arrived. ‘I look like Big Bird gone wrong.’
‘Actually you look rather sweet,’ Lucy says. ‘Why don’t we have a break?’
‘I’ll tell you what.’ I reach for my purse. ‘I’ll go up the road to the takeaway and get a couple of coffees, how does that sound?’
‘You can’t go out like that!’ Cath says. ‘Even if you do look sweet. You stay here and I’ll go.’
‘Fine,’ I say, shrugging, and off she goes.
With nothing else to do, I pick up the paint roller and carry on, and don’t even turn around when I hear the door open five minutes later.
‘Just put mine on the table,’ I shout. ‘I’ll be down in a sec.’
‘No rush,’ says a voice that is definitely not Lucy’s. ‘I can see you’re busy.’
I turn round to see James standing there, although for a second I don’t quite recognize him because in the intervening weeks I’ve grown used to seeing him in the neighbourhood in his navy suit. Not that we’ve had time to chat – we’ve been far too busy for that – but we manage a wave and a grin through a window.
But now, in his weekend gear again, he looks like the boy next door. These clothes suit him far more than the suits. In the suits he somehow appears slightly uncomfortable, almost like a little boy playing at being an adult, although I know I shouldn’t be saying that, given that he’s five years older than me.
‘Is this a bad time?’ He’s already apologizing, backing out, thinking he’s made a mistake, but I clamber down the ladder telling him not to be ridiculous, we’re only painting.
‘I can see,’ he laughs, and I laugh with him, frankly not caring that I look like a dog’s dinner, although obviously, if I were interested, it would be a completely different story.
‘Anyway’ – I point my roller at him sternly – ‘you should be offering to help. You’d probably do a much better job than me.’
‘I doubt that,’ he says, ‘but I’d certainly do a cleaner one.’
‘Yes, well. I’m sure that wouldn’t be difficult.’ I peer at him closely because he seems to be carrying something in his right hand. ‘What are you doing here anyway?’
‘I walked past earlier and saw you both in here, and I remembered that I had something for the shop, so I thought I’d drop it in.’
‘For the shop? What is it?’
James hands over the package just as Lucy walks through the door.
‘James! How lovely to see you!’ She puts down the polystyrene cups of coffee and gives him a hug, which would normally surprise me, given that she hardly knows him, but it’s typical Lucy behaviour and only seems to faze James very slightly.
‘Oh damn!’ She looks at the two cups of coffee. ‘Let me run out and get another one for you.’
‘Don’t be silly,’ James says. ‘I’ll go.’
‘Are you sure?’
James nods.
‘Okay,’ she says. ‘But come straight back and we can all have some strudel together.’
‘Strudel?’ I look at her.
‘My latest try-out.’
I roll my eyes to the ceiling, wondering how on earth I’m going to manage to retain my voluptuous, yet normal size 14, when Lucy’s bringing in these delicious things all the time. And Christ, it’s only going to get worse. How am I going to resist?
Perhaps it will be as my friend Katy said: she used to love chocolate, but then she started to live with a man who was a confirmed chocaholic and kept gallons of the stuff all over the house. She swore blind that after the initial temptation she got so sick of bloody chocolate she never touched it. But then again, Katy is, and always has been, a size 10.
This is the last strudel I will eat, I tell myself, saliva already beginning to build at the very thought of Lucy’s delicate filo pastry and spiced apple filling. From tomorrow morning I’m turning over a new leaf.
‘So why is the handsome young James visiting our humble abode?’ Lucy says slyly, when he’s safely out of view.
I shrug.
‘Might it perhaps be that he has a little bit of a soft spot for the lovely Cath?’
‘You know what?’ I turn round and give Lucy my innocent wide-eyed look. ‘I think you’re absolutely right. Because what man wouldn’t adore me with canary-yellow paint all over my face?’ I give my head an expert Jerry Hall-style toss, thus causing the afro to vibrate very slightly. ‘Not to mention my gorgeous flowing locks.’
Lucy starts to laugh, stopping only when she notices the package on the table.
‘What’s this?’ she asks, picking it up to examine it more closely.
‘James brought it. It’s for the shop.’
‘For the shop? But this looks like a present. What on earth can it be?’ As she shakes the parcel James walks back in and Lucy drops it guiltily.
‘Caught me red-handed,’ she blushes. ‘I’m so sorry, James.’
‘Don’t be,’ he smiles. ‘It’s for you.’ He looks at Lucy and then at me as he says this and Lucy gives me a surreptitious wink. ‘Actually,’ James continues, ‘it’s really for the shop. But if you don’t like it then you must tell me.’
‘Go on, Cath,’ Lucy says, suddenly making herself very busy with a tin of paint. ‘You open it.’
I wipe the residue of wet paint from my hands on to my overalls and gently open the package to reveal a tiny painting in a simple wooden frame. It’s an incredibly delicate abstract watercolour, deep royal blues fading into turquoise, strips of colour criss-crossing one another, the layers built up until they shimmer richly from the paper.
‘This is beautiful,’ I say, because it truly is.
‘Are you sure?’ James cannot hide the look of relief on his face. ‘I just wanted to bring you something for the shop, a sort of good luck token if you like, and I thought the colours were very sunny, it reminds me of summer, so I thought you might like to put it up somewhere.’
Lucy puts down the paint pot and comes over, gasping when she sees the picture.
‘Goodness, how extraordinarily beautiful. What a stunning painting. But James, where on earth did you get it? You didn’t… It’s not yours…?’
But of course it is. And I have to say, I’m shocked. Shocked because I didn’t expect he’d be quite this talented? Well, yes, possibly. And shocked because this is such an incredibly kind thing to do. To bring a painting to people he hardly knows. To treat us as something other than just another business deal.
‘You really like it?’ James is now beaming.
‘We love it,’ Lucy says, and gives him a kiss, which means that I have to give him a kiss too, which is fine, except I’m not all that big on touching people I barely know. I’m not all that big on touching people I know very well, except for Si, Josh and Lucy, and that’s only because they’re so tactile themselves you can’t help it.
But I cast my inhibitions aside and give James a kiss on his left cheek, pulling away sharply afterwards because I do find these situations so awkward, but then Lucy thankfully breaks the ice by loudly ripping open the cover on the strudel and cutting each of us a huge slab.
‘It looks fantastic in here,’ James says, admiring our counter, our shelves, our etched glass windows. ‘Seriously. Even old Harry Roberts would be impressed.’
‘Now that is a compliment,’ Lucy laughs. ‘So James, given that you’re not just any old artist, but in fact a deeply talented and wonderful one, how would you feel if we had some paintings for the shop? We could give you a sort of mini-exhibition. What do you think?’
James looks thrilled as Lucy continues. ‘Look. We can’t promise anything, because it may not even be a viable idea, we really have to look at it from every angle, but even if we don’t display them in the shop I’d love to buy some for home.’
‘I’m astounded,’ James says. ‘And embarrassed. You must think I came here to try and wangle an exhibition, or somehow
to make you feel obliged to buy my work I…’
Lucy cuts him off mid-sentence. ‘James,’ she says gently. ‘I am not a people pleaser. I am not a person who says things because she thinks it will make the other person happy, nor am I a person who offers things she cannot deliver because I want the other person to like me.’
James nods. ‘Okay.’
‘What I think is this,’ she says, while I’m slightly dumbfounded, because isn’t this the sort of decision that should be taken with a partner? Even though James’s work is, admittedly, beautiful, shouldn’t Lucy have waited until she and I had discussed it in private?
And what on earth is she thinking of when she says, ‘I think that Cath and I should come over this evening when we’ve finished and have a look at your work. How does that sound?’
James gulps. ‘This evening? Okay. Why not? Fine.’
‘Oh bugger!’ Lucy says immediately. ‘I can’t make it this evening. I have to go for dinner with some boring colleague of Josh’s. Oh damn. I completely forgot. Oh well, never mind, Cath, you don’t mind going by yourself do you?’
‘Mind? Why should I mind?’ I say. ‘I’ll just cancel the dinner party I was having.’
James looks completely stricken while Lucy lets out a snort. ‘She’s joking,’ she says. ‘She’ll see you at… seven?’
James nods, and I try to catch Lucy’s eye to let her know she’s about to get a severe bollocking, but she refuses to look at me, just chats animatedly to James about the plans for the shop until he gets up to leave.
‘What on earth were you doing?’ I’m completely bemused, and more than a little furious, because this is supposed to be a joint business venture, and what the hell is Lucy thinking of, offering him a show without discussing it with me first? Not to mention press-ganging me into going over there later, which I’m not happy about in the slightest.
‘What do you mean?’ she feigns innocence.
‘I mean, Lucy, and put that bloody roller down and look at me, I mean first of all you made a work decision without discussing it with me first, which I find hugely insulting, given that we’re supposed to be partners, and secondly,’ I stop to breathe, ‘secondly you then dumped me in it by saying that I could go and check out his work when I don’t want that responsibility all by myself, plus I felt that you were arranging my evening for me like I’m your errant daughter. You had absolutely no right to do that, plus, how do you know I don’t have plans?’
‘Do you?’
‘No, but that’s hardly the point.’
‘Darling Cath.’ Lucy comes over to me looking sad. ‘I’m sorry that I upset you, and I’m sorry that I didn’t discuss it with you but it was all spur of the moment.
‘I did tell the lovely James that it wasn’t written in stone, and that we may not go through with it, so I have provided a get-out clause, but I’m so sorry that I hurt you. It really wasn’t my intention to do so.’ She pauses and looks at the floor, scuffing the boards with her trainers like a naughty little girl. ‘But I can’t apologize for making you go there this evening,’ she says slowly, still looking at the floor.
I’m speechless. ‘What?’
‘Face it, Cath.’ She looks at me again and this time she’s grinning. ‘Not only is he gorgeous, but I’m sure he’s got a wee crush on you. I know you’d never give him the slightest hint of encouragement, and this was the only way I could think of to get the two of you together this evening. And I’ve heard he’s definitely not with anyone at the moment – apparently he was in a nine-year relationship that ended about a year ago.’
‘He doesn’t fancy me, and anyway,’ I mutter, although my anger suddenly seems to be disappearing, ‘you really didn’t need to go to all the trouble of plotting to get us together. He already invited me over for supper, and he meant it in a purely platonic way.’
‘I know he already invited you for supper, but that was weeks ago, and neither of you has done anything about it. I apologize for my intervention, but sometimes that’s the only way.’
‘God, you’re a nightmare,’ I say, shaking my head slowly. ‘What makes you suddenly think I need a man so badly? I’ve managed pretty well without one up until now.’ I sigh and look at her. ‘I must have been mad taking you on as a friend.’
‘What are you talking about?’ she grins. ‘You didn’t take me on. I chose you.’
Chapter ten
‘It’s not bloody funny,’ I hiss down the phone at Si, who’s laughing hysterically at Lucy’s conniving. ‘And I can’t get this bloody paint out of my hair.’
‘I thought you just said you didn’t care what you looked like?’
‘I don’t, but I’d quite like to give the Big Bird impression a rest for a while.’
Si snorts again. ‘God, I never would have guessed it of Lucy. Amazing what she hides behind that innocent face of hers. So, what are you going to wear?’
‘The usual,’ I say, smiling, waiting for Si’s predictable reaction.
‘Oh Christ. Not bloody black again. At least try. Please? For me?’
‘All right, then,’ I mutter. ‘Brown. But for God’s sake, Si, I don’t know why you’re getting so worked up. I told you before, this isn’t a date.’
‘Not yet,’ he says, ‘but give it time.’
‘You and Lucy,’ I sigh. ‘You’re both as bad as each other.’
I’ve never heard of his road before, which is odd because I thought I knew West Hampstead pretty well by now.
‘It’s off Sherriff Road,’ he said earlier, writing down the address while Lucy practically exploded with pent-up excitement. ‘It looks a bit dodgy from the front, but the house is back to front, so follow the path round to the back and you’ll see the front door.’
I’ve come empty-handed, unsure about whether to bring wine, which of course is what I would always bring when visiting someone’s home in the evening, but perhaps wine would give a mistaken impression, would make him think that I might have had an ulterior motive, and I have no wish to embarrass myself.
I realize while trudging up the path that I haven’t eaten anything since the slab of strudel earlier, and although I very much doubt that food will play even the tiniest of roles this evening, I am praying that James will not keep me long, so I can grab something on the way back home.
He did once upon a time mention he would make me supper, but this is so impromptu that there’s no way he will be thinking of food. This is a business arrangement, pure and simple.
The back of the house is almost pitch black, but I can just about make out that almost the entire back wall is a huge arched window, and next to that is a front door. I stumble over a stone and feel around the door frame for a doorbell, but before I can find one the door opens and James is standing there grinning.
‘You found it.’
‘I found it.’ I find myself grinning back at him, noting that he is holding a corkscrew in one hand and immediately wishing that I had, in fact, brought a bottle of wine because suddenly it feels like the right thing to have done.
‘Come in, come in.’ James gestures inside, and I shuffle in, apologizing for coming empty-handed, explaining that I had meant to bring wine but…
‘Don’t be silly,’ he says. ‘I’ve got plenty of wine. What would you like? Red or white?’
I’m about to answer him, but, as I walk inside, I just stand there, open-mouthed, too dumbstruck to say anything, because out of all the scenarios I had imagined, this was definitely not one of them. This house was not what I would have imagined at all.
The room is enormous. Vast. At least double height, the entire ceiling is glass, and, although all you can see now is velvety blackness, it must be like the playground of the sun during the day.
It seems to be divided into three sections. The section closest to the door is obviously James’s studio. The white varnished floors are splattered with paint, and everywhere there are canvases propped up against the wall, some finished, some blank, waiting to be started. Pots of paint are do
tted around, brushes, rags, the smell of turpentine.
‘Have a wander,’ James says gently, enjoying my amazement. ‘I don’t mind. Oh, and take your shoes off, it’s probably safer.’ I kick them off, noticing that James is wearing thick red socks.
I pick my way through the pots of paint, purposefully not looking at James’s paintings, wanting to save the best until last. I walk through the large opening into the second section, the open-plan kitchen, and through again to what is evidently the living room.
Sea-grass rugs cover the scrubbed floorboards, while huge white squashy sofas dominate the room. An old wooden chair sits at an angle by an enormous stone fireplace. It is, in short, spectacular. It looks like something out of a magazine, and I tell him this.
James manages to look embarrassed. ‘It has featured in a couple, actually,’ he admits. ‘But I wouldn’t do it again. I had to spend about a week tidying up before they’d come near it. Never again. Much too stressful.’
I laugh, as it dawns on me why this looks like a home. Why, despite the designer-type furnishings, it is a house in which I feel immediately comfortable. The mess. Piles of papers dotted around, just out of sight, but nevertheless there.
In the kitchen sink there is a pile of washing-up, waiting to be tackled, and on the kitchen table there are distinct rings left by coffee cups.
James notices me noticing. ‘God, I’m sorry,’ he sighs. ‘I’m just so bloody messy. I keep meaning to get my act together, but I’m just not naturally a tidy person. You’re horrified, aren’t you?’
I laugh. ‘You’ll be happy to hear you’re not half as disgusting as I am.’
‘Really?’ His face shows the beginnings of relief.
‘Really.’
James breaks into a grin. ‘Red okay?’ I nod, and he pours me a glass of wine as I wander back into his studio.
‘This place truly is incredible.’ I turn to him. ‘It’s the sort of home we all dream of living in but none of us could ever afford.’