by Emma Davies
Drew’s voice has risen while he’s been speaking and he suddenly vents a breath. ‘Sorry,’ he says again. ‘You deal with this all the time, don’t you?’ His tone is back to its normal timbre. ‘You’ve been dealing with it for years…’
I smile and reach out my hand. ‘Yes, but I’m not going to say welcome to my world, Drew, and you’d best grow a pair. Being self-employed is tough, it takes a lot of getting used to, reminding yourself over and over that rejection is not personal, and really…’ I pause to think for a moment. ‘Really, it doesn’t get much easier. But I’m a good illustrator and you’re a good architect, you’ll get there. You’ll pitch for jobs and you won’t get them. Then you’ll pitch for some more and you might get one… But gradually the yesses outweigh the noes and then… well, then your dreams start to come true.’
I squeeze his hand. It’s a rather cracker-box philosophy but that doesn’t mean it isn’t true. Nor does it mean that I haven’t turned the air blue, screaming obscenities at my laptop when I didn’t win a commission, or, by contrast, danced around the kitchen crying with happiness when I gained the most trivial or boring piece of work. But there’s also a lot of truth in the old adage ‘If you can’t stand the heat get out of the kitchen.’ At its worst, working for yourself can be the loneliest, most soul-destroying, self-doubting existence on the planet, but when it’s good… there is a soaring freedom and armour-plated feeling of invincibility that I wouldn’t swap for anything.
Drew is still looking at me. I mean, really looking at me.
‘I don’t think I ever truly appreciated that,’ he says. ‘All those years when you were first starting out, juggling your work with feeding our babies and keeping our home the place I longed to come back to every night.’ He drops his head a little, ashamed. ‘I’m sorry if I never gave you credit for what you were going through. Or didn’t listen to your doubts, or fears. I don’t think I can recall you ever complaining and yet, here I am, a couple of months into working for myself, and already behaving like a spoilt child.’
You’d think I’d know Drew by now, but he never ceases to amaze me. How he can be so incredibly honest and candid about his shortcomings. It’s something I’m rubbish at. In Drew’s case, though, he invariably has nothing to apologise for.
‘I never felt like that,’ I say softly. ‘But don’t forget we’re our own harshest critics too, we have to be. Besides, you’re a man, you’re bound to behave like a spoilt child.’
There’s a moment when I think he might take me seriously, but then he catches the twinkle in my eye and he pulls me closer. ‘Thank you,’ he says. ‘For being you.’
He drops a kiss on the end of my nose and I glance along the desk to my own workspace. This latest project is so special it makes my heart bleed. I want to start work so badly my fingers are beginning to itch and yet I know that once I start I won’t ever want to finish it either. There simply hasn’t been time today, but tomorrow is another matter; that’s when I can really begin to live my dreams.
For now though, domesticity must take centre stage and I’m already drifting back through to the kitchen lost in thoughts about what to cook for tea, when my phone begins to ring.
‘Is that the countryside?’ asks the voice when I answer.
‘Rachel!’ I exclaim. ‘Hello. It’s so lovely to hear from you.’
‘Are you sick of the smell of cow poo yet?’
I laugh. ‘No, but the sound of pheasants making out at five in the morning takes some getting used to.’
‘I bet… Anyway, how are you all? Wasn’t it the first day back to school for the girls today?’
Bless her, Rachel never forgets anything important.
‘It was… and I don’t want to jinx it, but so far, so good. And we’re all doing great…’ I glance at the calendar on the wall. ‘Is it really two weeks since we last spoke?’ I add. ‘That doesn’t seem right.’
Rachel groans. ‘Tell me about it,’ she replies. ‘Jamie isn’t back until Wednesday and so we’ve been what’s euphemistically called “making the most of the remaining holidays”. I’m shattered.’
There’s a shared empathy that I can feel even through the airwaves. ‘Aw, not long to go now though; you’ll be fine. And by the end of the week, you’ll be kicking around the house wondering where Jamie is and missing him like crazy. How’s Gerry?’
‘Actually, that’s why I’m ringing.’ She probably senses rather than hears my sharp intake of breath. ‘Don’t worry, everything’s okay,’ she adds quickly. ‘It’s just that by some miracle he’s been given this weekend off and I haven’t got a job on either. So I was thinking maybe we could invite ourselves down to yours and—’
‘Yes!’ I interrupt. ‘Oh, please come. That’s such a brilliant idea, Rach.’
‘Well, otherwise I can see it being Christmas before we get to see you and I can’t wait until then to see your new house… old house. Besides, I’m dying to get out of the city. It’s still so boiling hot here.’
‘Well, we haven’t done much, but the studio’s finished and—’
I break off as a loud knock sounds from the hallway. ‘Rach, sorry, can you hang on a sec? Someone’s at the front door.’
I’m still thinking about the possibility of seeing Rachel again at the weekend, so I’m momentarily taken aback to find Jackie and Chloe standing on the doorstep. It’s nowhere near six o’clock. There’s no sign of Jasmin either, but I can hear what I imagine must be Jackie’s car, running in the lane outside.
‘Oh, hi Jackie,’ I begin. ‘Come in.’ I dart a glance at Chloe, who looks, not upset exactly, but confused more than anything. ‘Sorry, I’m just on the phone to a friend. I’ll pop and tell her I’ll ring her back in a minute and then…’
But Jackie has already taken a step backward. ‘No, don’t worry, I don’t need to stop. Something’s come up and I’ve had to bring Chloe home.’ She certainly looks flustered.
‘Oh… is everything okay?’
But Jackie won’t quite meet my eye. ‘Yeah… it’s just, well anyway…’ She takes another step backwards as if making sure I’ve understood she’s handing Chloe over. I don’t want her to feel embarrassed though, these things happen.
‘Is there anything I can do to help?’ I offer, smiling. I don’t know what else to say.
‘No, no… it’s fine… thanks.’ Jackie is already on her way back to the car.
‘Okay, well, thanks so much for having Chlo… and for bringing her home.’ But by now I’m talking to Jackie’s back.
I smile at Chloe. ‘Oh, well, never mind, sweetheart. Is everything okay?’
She nods with a slight smile.
I place a hand on the back of her shoulder. ‘Come into the kitchen and have a drink or something. I’m just on the phone to Rachel.’
Chloe heads straight for the biscuit tin and I haven’t the heart to say anything. I pick up my phone.
‘Hi Rach, sorry about that. Just Chloe being returned home. So where were we?’
‘Coming to see your gorgeous house,’ she replies. ‘But listen, rather than chat now, why don’t I ring at the end of the week and we can talk arrangements then? That way we can save all our news until we see one another.’
‘Sounds good to me,’ I reply. ‘We’re still a bit rough and ready though, Rach. You’ll have to bear with us.’
There’s a loud tut from the end of the line. ‘As if that’s going to put me off,’ she says. ‘Don’t be silly. It will just be wonderful to see you… I’ve missed you,’ she adds, a little tentatively, clearly wondering whether she should have said anything.
‘Aw, Rach, I’ve missed you too…’ Except that I haven’t, not really. I would have, if I’d stopped to think about it, but I’ve been too busy getting things sorted here. And it’s a stark reminder that I’ve been neglecting her. It’s been all well and good for me, excitement by the gallon fuelling my days, but it’s been different for Rachel, her life continuing as if nothing has changed, except it has. How would I feel i
f I were in her shoes, my closest friend suddenly gone from my life? The thought makes me feel suddenly emotional.
‘But I hope you know you can always pick up the phone, Rach. I know we’re all busy, but never too busy for a chat,’ I say. ‘Oh, I can’t wait for the weekend now…’
She sighs. ‘Me neither…’
We ring off after another minute or so and I turn my attention back to Chloe, who is hovering.
‘Well, that was a bit odd, love, wasn’t it? Was everything all right at Jasmin’s?’
She nods. ‘Yeah, it was okay…’
‘And you had a good day at school?’
‘I didn’t know anyone,’ she admits. ‘Not really.’
‘No, I know, but soon you’ll know everyone. Then you won’t feel quite so awkward.’
‘Suppose…’
‘And people here seem really friendly.’
‘I like Beth,’ replies Chloe.
I wrack my brains, trying to recall which one she is. But then, I remember – the other girl alongside Jasmin who’d been charged with buddying Chloe today.
‘Oh, but I didn’t see her at the end of school.’
‘No, she left a bit early. She had a dentist appointment.’
‘That’s a shame. Well, perhaps she could come back and play after school one afternoon when she’s free. Or Jasmin could, they both could actually.’
Chloe nibbles at the edge of her biscuit. ‘I’m not sure I’m going to be friends with Jasmin, after all,’ she says.
‘Okay, well… you can’t be friends with everyone, can you? In fact, you wouldn’t really want to be, and it might take a little while to work out who’s going to be your best friends.’
Chloe looks up and nods, but then drops her head again, studying the toe of her shoe.
‘Chlo, did something happen at Jasmin’s this afternoon?’
There’s a tiny pause and then a change in expression on my daughter’s face. If I know her, it’s all just about to come tumbling out.
‘Mum, it was really weird… I like Jaz, I mean, she’s okay… a bit… you know, pushy, but we weren’t doing anything wrong, just playing in her room…’ She bites her lip. ‘We were probably a bit giggly, but we weren’t making tons of noise or anything, and when I got there her mum was fine. We had some squash and biscuits and she said we could play upstairs, but then she just came up and said I had to go. Even Jaz thought it was odd. And her mum nearly bit her head off when she asked why.’ Chloe looks as if she’s about to cry. ‘So, now I don’t think I’m going to be friends with her, after all.’
‘But I don’t see any reason why not… I think Jasmin’s mum just had some bad news or something,’ I say, trying to make Chloe feel better.
‘But it didn’t feel like that, Mum. It felt like it was something I’d done, like it was my fault.’
My heart goes out to her. It’s a horrible thing to have happened, today of all days, even though I’m sure it’s entirely innocent. I hold out my arms and Chloe slides inside, resting her head against my breasts, as she has done countless times in the past.
After a few minutes she straightens up. ‘What’s for tea?’ she asks, and I know we’re almost out of sticky territory.
‘Macaroni cheese.’ It’s her favourite and she flashes me a smile.
‘Thanks, Mum. I’ll go and get changed. Is Tilly still here?’
I nod. ‘They’re in the garden, playing with Scampers, I think.’ She’s about to go when I call back to her. ‘If you see Beth tomorrow, ask her if she’d like to come round,’ I say. ‘Any day is fine.’
She smiles and moments later I hear her music start playing upstairs. She’s okay.
Eight
I can’t believe how much work I’m getting done. Or how wonderful it feels while I’m doing it. There’s a lightness to my touch that seems to spin around me from the moment I sit down in the morning, to the minute I have to stop to pick the girls up from school. And I’m absolutely convinced that the setting has a lot to do with it. Why on earth did my parents ever leave this place?
The weather has been glorious. Perfect autumnal days where the air has been gentle and the colours languid and golden. The garden looks beautiful, still massed with flowers, but I think what I notice most of all is the peace. It worried me slightly at first; that I was spending too much time looking up from my work, lost in thoughts as I soaked up the quiet, still, magic from outside. But then I realised that all I was doing was charging that part of me where my creativity comes from. I was conjuring dancing images in my head of how I wanted my illustrations to look, and the moment I picked up my brush they flowed from its end straight onto the paper.
So now, I just let go. I stop watching the clock and breathe, feeling the joyful ease of what I’m doing wrap itself around me as I paint. And the more I feel it, the more attuned I become to the feeling, until I know the path to it so well that it takes only seconds to return there.
Even Drew has noticed. The days of the week have whizzed by as we’ve established our working routine. The space never feels crowded with us both in here and, although we talk, there’s mostly just a companionable silence as we lose ourselves in our work. Drew says that he’s looked up several times to see me staring out the window with an expression on my face that he can only describe as bliss. I like that.
I smile across at him now as his brow furrows, leaning forward to concentrate on a detail he’s adding to the plan in front of him. It’s a bread-and-butter job, as he calls them – drawings for an extension to a small cottage in the next village, which came about courtesy of Derek – but Drew doesn’t seem to mind. He can do this kind of stuff almost in his sleep, but the fact that it’s personal, the fact that he’s going to see the results of his labours every time he drives past that cottage, makes up for the fact that it’s not what he ultimately wants to be doing. His hair has grown slightly longer over the summer, but I like it; the length encouraging it to curl over the nape of his neck, which is smooth and tanned. I look away. Sometimes too much looking at Drew really isn’t good for my work ethic.
I’ve almost finished this illustration, the first of about thirty which will be needed for Kathryn Talbot’s new book. It’s a full page and exquisitely detailed. The stories feature two mice, a dormouse and three rabbits who, of course, are all the best of friends, alongside a villain who is a rather naughty weasel. But each has its own individual characteristics and every child who reads these books will end up having a favourite, just as I did when I was a child. Of course it wasn’t Kathryn who wrote the stories back then, but her mother, yet Kathryn has carried on the family legacy with a sure and certain voice that still captures their very essence. That I should be illustrating them here, in the house where I first read them, is the proof of how right this all is.
I lean back slightly to get a better overall impression, tutting as the phone rings. The one in the hall, not my mobile, which will doubtless mean that it’s someone trying to sell us something. I look across at Drew but he just grins, even though he doesn’t even look up from his laptop.
‘Nah-uh,’ he says. ‘It’s your turn…’
He’s right, it probably is. I slide off my stool and hurry through the living room to catch it before it stops.
‘Mrs Gordon? It’s Eloise Faulkner here…’
I frown. I should know the name, but it seems out of place somehow.
‘From Wood View Primary?’
The girls’ head teacher. The breath catches in my throat. ‘Is everything all right?’
‘The girls are fine,’ she replies, each word clipped neatly from the next. ‘That is to say there’s no emergency. But I wonder if you could come into school, please. I’m sorry to have to tell you that Lauren has been in a fight and we don’t allow fighting at Wood View, Mrs Gordon…’
‘No, well… I should hope not,’ I manage faintly, my head spinning in confusion. How on earth could Lauren have possibly been involved in a fight? They must have the wrong child. ‘But, yes… y
es, of course I can come in. When would you like? At the end of the day?’
‘I can see you now,’ she replies, leaving no room for negotiation.
I check my watch. ‘Yes, well, I can be there in about ten minutes or so and—’
‘That will be fine, thank you.’ She hangs up before I’ve even had the chance to finish what I was going to say. I haven’t met Mrs Faulkner yet, but word on the playground is that she’s firm, but fair. From what I’ve just heard I’d say she’s well suited to her job. She has a knack of making even grown adults feel like a naughty six-year-old.
I realise I’m still staring at the phone and return it gently to the receiver on the hall table. My first emotion is disbelief, followed quickly by anger that Lauren should behave in such a way. But then, almost immediately, the doubt reappears. Lauren has never put so much as a foot wrong at school. In fact, neither has Chloe, whose only misdemeanours have been for incessant talking. But Lauren has never even had that accusation levelled at her. It just doesn’t make any sense and I can feel my hackles beginning to rise. I know my daughter and there’s more to this than first appears, I’m sure of it.
I drift back through to the studio in a daze. I’ve never experienced anything like this before, and I’m not sure how to deal with it. Drew doesn’t even look up as I reappear, probably convinced, as I was, that the call was from a salesperson. It’s only when he realises I’m still standing in the doorway that he looks up.
I stare at him, open-mouthed. ‘That was the school,’ I say. ‘Lauren’s been in a fight…’
His face registers his shock.
‘They want me to go in,’ I add.
‘I’ll come with you,’ he says, immediately. ‘Is she okay?’
‘Oh… I don’t know,’ I say, ashamed. ‘I didn’t even ask…’
We look at one another. ‘It won’t be Lauren’s fault,’ I say. ‘It can’t be.’
Drew nods. ‘I know… but let’s wait and see, shall we? I’m sure it’s something or nothing, but the sooner it’s nipped in the bud, the better.’