‘Sounds perfect, I’ll have them,’ I said, as he scribbled my order down and turned to Charlie.
‘I’ll have the same,’ he said.
‘You know, you can’t do everything on your own, Jess,’ Charlie said as he straightened his knife and fork. ‘Like it or not, we’re together now.’
After a three-course dinner, talking about anything but my career, he had left to go to the toilet and in my experience, probably to take care of the bill, which he usually did when he didn’t want me to put up a fake argument. The definition of a fake argument being when you at least offer to pay your share of the bill, knowing only too well your card will more than likely be declined but in some way have saved face by making the initial gesture.
As I waited at the table for him, I glanced over again at the girl working behind the desk. From the way she wore her hair to the work shoes, freshly polished, I knew exactly how she felt to be working on a Saturday night. Another couple approached her and as I watched her smile the same smile that I did it became apparent how much I identified with her. Perhaps she wasn’t as lost in her career as people expected, stuck in a filler job, just biding her time until something better came along. Perhaps she was taking her time to choose the right path. A path that would make her happy.
‘Can I help you?’ she asked, noticing me staring and assuming I wanted to order something more. Her rosy face was even more beautiful under a natural light.
‘No, I’m fine, thank you,’ I said. ‘I was just thinking about what a nice place this must be to work. I work as a waitress too, in London.’ For the first time I said this without having to justify it, or offer an apology or a throwaway comment. I was just a waitress called Jess. That’s who I was.
‘Oh really,’ she replied. ‘You know I have always wanted to live in London. It is actually my dream.’
‘Well, take my number,’ I said, scribbling it down on a napkin. There was something about her that I instantly liked. ‘If you ever do come to London, let me know, it’s nice to have a friendly face there.’ As soon as I said it out loud, I realised how ridiculous I had been in rejecting Charlie’s offer to help me. When you are in a position to help, you offer it, that’s just what you do.
‘You ready to go?’ he asked, arriving back at the table.
‘It was nice to meet you,’ I said, handing the girl my number.
‘I thought you said you didn’t give your number out in bars?’ Charlie said drily. ‘I can see I’m going to have to keep an eye on you…’
As we left the restaurant I looked back and smiled at her standing in the doorway: my kindred spirit in Paris.
We followed the Seine down to the Notre Dame and turned right at a rooftop bar called Paradis. The music was loud and dense. Bodies piled haphazardly together amidst a large spiral staircase littered with half-filled wine glasses, couples, entwined, using the dim lights to their advantage.
‘I got us both a surprise,’ Charlie said, passing back two short drinks from the bar. ‘It’s strong. A mix of brandy, orange and whiskey that I know from previous experience will get you legless, which I can take full advantage of later.’
‘Is that so?’ I said, sipping it through a thin plastic straw. I pulled my hair over my shoulder in a vain attempt to cool myself down.
‘Seriously, you look amazing, Jess,’ Charlie said, sitting on a bar stool as I stood between his legs. ‘I sometimes can’t believe you’re mine…’
‘Charlie…’ I said, trying to speak.
‘Sexy…’
‘Charlie…’ I repeated, wriggling free from his grip.
‘What’s the matter?’ he said, resting his forehead on mine.
‘I love you too. I wanted to tell you because I know I might not show it like other girls do. But I love you – very much.’
It might not have been the first time I’d thought it, but it was definitely the first time I’d said it out loud. Amidst the scene of kissing mouths, low lights and partygoers I’d finally come clean about what was going on, on the inside. I put my arms around him and kissed him. Perhaps just for tonight, we were by ourselves and there was nobody there to answer to: we were in heaven.
It was our last day in Paris. As I stood in the vast open space of the Musée d’Orsay I was instantly transported back to London where I’d spent so many days wandering the large rooms of the National Portrait Gallery. Charlie was occupied with his Blackberry so I walked on ahead, gazing up at the gigantic oil paintings hanging either side of me. It was always the sense of history that stunned me. Hundreds of years documented in time by the swipe of a brushstroke: people, landscapes and objects all created from someone else’s perspective. People we would never meet.
I journeyed on alone into the next room and looked at the huge frames hanging against the whitewashed walls before stopping beneath a painting of a woman sitting on a bench in the park. Most of the subjects in the paintings were women, their clothes identifying the period, their faces expressing their time. Although we lived in such different worlds, I couldn’t help but see the striking similarities between the woman working in the restaurant last night, the girl in the picture, and me. As with all women, together we were watched, observed and commented upon, all with comparable feelings: same sense of happiness, same sense of sadness. It was a collection of not only art, but of souls too.
‘Can we get out of here now?’ Charlie whispered from behind me. ‘If I hear one more comment about the “romance of Monet” I’m going hang myself with the cord from my audio guide.’
I tried to stifle my laugher against the frequent sounds of shushing. As we walked back through the gallery, navigating our way through the overcrowded rooms, we had reached the end of our first break together in Paris. And how ridiculous I had been in my attempt to hide myself, to cover up my flaws and blemishes.
While it is important to retain a sense of mystery, perhaps in a bid to preserve the magic, there is also something to be said for honesty: the unbrushed hair, snorting-when-you-laugh-kind of joy. Feeling lucky that you’re the one person who gets to witness it.
As we approached the exit of the gallery and walked out into the daylight of the city, I was beginning to see that the real magic, the very thing that I was striving for, is seeing someone for who they really are, and loving them regardless; a private showing, just for you.
Chapter Twelve – So Human
A dream
Marlowe stood in the luxury of her walk-in wardrobe wearing a light grey T-shirt and tracksuit bottoms. She sat down on the cream cushioned stool in front of her dressing table and peered into the mirror at her face free from make-up, her hair tied loosely in ponytail around her ears. She looked at the person staring back at her: a perfect version of happiness, content in the knowledge that things for her were always going to be okay. Taken care of. A four-bedroom castle of designer interiors, the subtle hue of scented candles, housing what her life had actually become.
To the outside world, there were many reasons why Marlowe could be seen as the object of jealousy. To others, she had won the invisible race. It seemed that life was judged on the basis of four categories: self, partner, genetics and wealth, and she was striking out for first place on all four playing fields. But something, a feeling buried deep inside, told her that maybe she had become what she had feared most: merely an illusion. She had done what she had sworn she would never do: she had created a distraction from reality and lied to someone she loved – herself. Her days were spent carefully curating social media accounts filled with hot beaches, interior design ideas and carefully angled selfies. It did what it was designed to do: it showcased the ideal, the way that life could be. She had become a gold medal participant in hiding from the truth.
The reality
A sharp, loud buzzing came from the computer resting on the kitchen table, against the backdrop of an otherwise, silent house. The second time felt louder. For the past half an hour Marlowe had ignored it, trying in vain to organise her bank statements, but by now t
he intensity had grown unbearable. She put down her paper and walked over to it. Her intention had been just to silence it or turn it off so she could get back to her work. She stared at a message from a woman called Samantha. She couldn’t quite read the words in front of her:
When can I see you? Stop ignoring my calls… xx
After what felt like a decade suspended in time, staring blankly into the glow of the screen, her suspicions had been confirmed. She placed the computer back down on the table and poured herself a large measure of vodka. For a brief moment she got lost in the dramatics, imagining Elsa, the separation and the heartbreak.
It pinged again: another message. It clearly had only been meant for George’s phone but had been accidently synched up to the family computer. Against her better judgement and surprisingly unafraid of what she might find, she pressed her forefinger gently on the screen and watched calmly as a waterfall of messages began trickling down.
Having laid there for two hours, wide awake next to Charlie’s snores, I decided I’d reached my limit and got out of bed. I was no stranger to occasional bouts of insomnia and knew by now that the best thing to do was trick my mind into believing it should be awake. There was no use fighting it, tossing and turning, praying for the sun not to rise; instead, I walked barefoot across the hard wood floor into Charlie’s office to try and find a DVD from his bookcase.
As I browsed the selection of action films and box sets for anything that didn’t feature a cameo from an American wrestler, I caught sight of a Post-it note that he had stuck to his computer monitor. I had written it when we first met: our initials in a love heart with a kiss. It was designed to be cheesy and silly, a throwaway joke, but he’d kept it. Despite everything that had happened between us, that little piece of paper had somehow stuck.
I sat down in his recliner chair and pulled my feet up underneath me. It seemed that together we had silenced a world of doubts but I was now left to perform the juggling act of splitting myself between two corners of the ring: having dinner with Charlie one night, while seeing my friends for a drink on the side. I decided that perhaps it would be a good time for everyone to sit down for dinner so that maybe, just maybe, they could finally leave their reservations at the door.
I turned off the lamp and walked back into the living room armed with a DVD and a dinner party to arrange. I was asleep before the end of the opening credits.
‘How would you feel about having dinner with my friends one night?’ I said over breakfast the next morning.
‘Your friends who hate me?’ Charlie said, filling his coffee from the machine.
‘They don’t hate you, Charlie, they don’t know you – which is why I thought it might be nice to get together?’
‘Sure.’
‘Was that a yes?’ I said, feigning surprise.
‘Yes. Fine. I’m in your life and they’re in your life, the least we can all do is make the effort to get along.’
I waited for a hint of sarcasm that never came. Instead, he was actually bordering on enthusiastic.
‘Come round here!’ Marlowe shouted down the phone. ‘George is away and I don’t mind cooking.’ She sounded surprisingly excited. Maybe it was the thought of hosting a dinner for adults where the plates weren’t plastic and neither was the food.
‘Are you sure, Mars?’ I said as I crossed the junction at Euston. ‘I just need somewhere…’
‘Neutral,’ she said, finishing my sentence.
‘Exactly. Not that there will be a problem. It’s just well, Amber…’
‘Have you talked to her?’
‘No. Not since before Paris. I’ve been avoiding it, if I’m honest.’
‘Jess,’ she said, her voice loudened against the sound of cartoons in the background and a police siren passing me. ‘We are on your side, you know.’
‘I know,’ I said. ‘Thank you.’
‘Look, I’ve got to go, Elsa’s shouting. I’ll see you tomorrow at eight.’
‘Are you sure this is a good idea?’ Sean said on his way to work that morning.
‘Yeah, I’m sure. I’d just like you all to get to know him a little better. Do you think you can?’
‘But what if we hit it off and become best friends and then you guys break up again. Have you really thought about the consequences for me?’
‘Sean…’
‘I’m kidding,’ he said, straightly. ‘Of course, I’ll come.’
‘And can you sit on the jokes until after we’ve left, at least?’
‘I can’t promise…’
I stayed silent, hesitating. Perhaps this wasn’t such a good idea after all.
‘Don’t worry, sweetie,’ Sean said, ‘nothing’s going to go down on my watch. I’ll see you there.’
‘Hello,’ she said, in a rush, as always.
There was a pause. I pressed the phone to my ear.
‘Look, Amber, I just wanted to say I’m sorry. I’ve been a bit absent these past two weeks and…’
‘I’m sorry too,’ she said. For a moment she sounded deflated but she shrugged the moment off almost as quickly as it arrived. ‘Anyway, what’s the news?’
‘Well, we’re having a dinner over at Marlowe’s tomorrow night and I would love it if you could be there.’
‘I know,’ she said. ‘I already spoke to her. Of course I’ll be there.’
‘Thank you,’ I said, ‘that means a lot.’
‘Let’s see what he’s got to say for himself, shall we?’
‘He’s a good guy, you know. You just need to get know him. That’s all.’
‘And I’ll be happy to, tomorrow tonight,’ she said.
‘Absolutely no way!’ Charlie said, laughing down the phone. ‘If you think I’m walking into that lion’s den you’re mistaken…’
‘You were fine when it was a restaurant.’
‘Yeah, a restaurant with people: witnesses. Not a house where there’s nowhere to escape to.’
‘Escape to?’
‘What if I want to order a scotch?’
‘Are you serious, Charlie?’ I said. ‘Don’t be such a child.’
I could hear him in the background loosening his tie.
‘Can I at least bring someone to fight my corner?’ he said, reluctantly.
‘What, like a date?’
‘No, just someone who can be on my side once the accusations set in.’
‘Charlie, I don’t understand…’
‘James. Can I at least bring James?’
‘Yes, you can bring James. Actually that’s a great idea. Maybe he can hold your hand over dessert?’
‘I’m putting the phone down,’ he said. ‘This conversation’s gone on long enough…’
‘Promise you’ll come?’ I said.
‘Yes. I’ll meet you there, tomorrow night, seven thirty.’
‘Well, I did say eight but if you want to get there early then by all means…’
‘I’m doing this for you, you know!’ he said, this time being serious.
‘I know and I love you for it. I’ll text you the address!’
‘Yeah, yeah…’
And with that he hung up the phone.
I arrived at Marlowe’s house at quarter past eight and immediately saw Charlie’s car parked on the driveway. I could only guess what they were talking about inside. I walked across the pebbledashed driveway and reached out to ring the bell, but Sean answered the door before I had chance to.
‘Get in here,’ he said abruptly, ‘it’s like being shut in the locker room at Canary Wharf.’
In all honesty, I was a little apprehensive about seeing Amber again. I didn’t want to go through the small talk and pleasantries, not with her. But as she walked over to me in the hallway and gave me a kiss on the cheek, it was hard to remember why we were fighting. In fact, I don’t remember when she last kissed me on the cheek but suffice to say it hadn’t been a regular occurrence.
I walked into the living room and was greeted by Marlowe who handed me a glass of wine.
I placed it down on the coffee table fearing that at this point, alcohol might only add fuel to the fire. I was here as the referee. I needed to keep my wits about me. I made a deliberate decision to sit next to Amber on the sofa and once everyone had started talking, felt this would be my perfect chance to offer an apology.
‘I’m sorry I haven’t been a very attentive friend,’ I said, quietly to her. ‘So much has happened with me and work and… everything else.’
‘I’ve been a bit preoccupied with things too at the moment. Plus I know you’ve got Charlie to, you know, spend your time with.’
‘Yeah but he’s not you, Amber.’
‘It’s not what you think between us, Jess, with my boss. You probably think you know what’s going on but it’s not like that. I’d never deliberately hurt anybody.’
‘I know you wouldn’t. You don’t need to explain anything to me. I shouldn’t have been so judgmental. All I care about is that you’re happy.’
‘I am happy. See?’ she said, showing me her teeth sarcastically.
‘How did you like Paris, Charlie?’ Marlowe said, finally joining us for a drink.
‘It was great,’ he said, clutching his beer. ‘I’ve actually been before, for work, but obviously this time it was a lot more fun.’
‘Well, it sounded fantastic and the food! I know when I went the food was just fantastic. I just said fantastic twice there, didn’t I?’
‘Three times…’ Amber said, drily.
It was true that Marlowe didn’t sound at all like herself, but at this point, in a room where we could otherwise hear a pin drop, I was just happy for somebody to be speaking.
‘How’s work?’ I said to James.
‘Pretty good. I don’t know if Charlie’s told you but we’re working with Dianne Cagney at the moment.’
‘Dianne Cagney?’ Marlowe said. ‘I’ve got two prints of hers in our bathroom.’
‘Well, she’s designing a set of billboards for us,’ James replied. ‘I think she’s pretty great too…’
‘I did my dissertation on that period,’ Marlowe said, smiling.
Love, and Other Things to Live For Page 13