‘So how much are we taking off?’ he said, in a question that sends shockwaves through every long-haired woman in the country. We both stared at the dry, brittle ends. ‘Your hair’s got great potential,’ he continued, sounding like a teacher discussing an unruly pupil on parents’ evening. ‘If you took two to three inches off and had a quick blast with one of our protein treatments it really could look lovely.’
He was focused, willing me with his eyes to do it.
‘Sounds great,’ I said, too afraid to decline.
‘It’s going to look fabulous,’ he said before whisking me off to get a shampoo, still unsure of what I’d agreed to.
About forty-five minutes later, I spun round in my chair as Stuart – we were now on first name terms – held a mirror up so that I could see the back. No longer was my hair down to my bra fastening but cut in a harsh, long bob, just touching my shoulders: no layers, no fuss; it was perfect. I thanked Stuart on my way out the door, clutching a bag of hair products that I had bought with best intentions and promised him that things would be different. This time, I would definitely use them.
Like many amateur chefs chasing the dream of a culinary masterpiece, I’d gone with an Italian theme. I had arms full of cherry tomatoes, fresh burrata and a plastic container of tiramisu, which I hadn’t purchased from the market, but rather cheated and bought from the Italian shop around the corner, pre-made in a plastic container. I popped a tomato in my mouth just as I turned a corner, hearing a familiar voice from behind me shouting my name. It was Jack. I had known Jack since law school but hadn’t spoken to him for at least four years. I tried to chew my tomato quickly, the seeds and juices spurting out in a frenzy. But despite my attempts at appearing less like an animal, he had already arrived in front of me, motioning me into some sort of greeting.
‘Hi,’ I said, putting my hand to my mouth as he half kissed the corner of my cheek. ‘How are you? It’s been… forever.’
He smiled, instantly transporting back to the policy and theories class that we’d both shared on a Monday morning.
‘I’d say three to four years…’
‘Marlowe’s wedding!’ we both shouted at the same time, before becoming equally embarrassed.
‘Well, how the hell are you, Jess?’ he said. ‘You look… different.’
‘New haircut,’ I said, my mouth now firmly in control of the tomato. ‘It’s so good to see you.’
For some reason I felt myself blushing for the second time in under a minute.
‘So what’s new with you?’ he said.
‘Nothing much,’ I said, shaking my head but at the same time still smiling like a buffoon.
‘I saw online that you didn’t graduate from law. It was a shame, Jess, it really was. What is it that you do now?’
My mind swayed between ex-waitress, unpaid assistant and hopeful photographer before settling upon the latter.
‘Just trying to get my photography off the ground.’ I took a deep breath, as my mouth lay in recovery from all the fast-paced tomato chewing.
‘Listen, law’s not for everyone: office politics, suits, not to mention the level of debate in the canteen – take someone’s chair and you’ll be sued,’ he said, trying to lighten the mood.
‘You look really well, exactly the same in fact.’ I noticed his hair set in the same groomed style – ‘Slick Rick’ as my friends had once referred to him. Although nothing had officially happened between us, we had always dabbled in the odd flirt now and again.
‘So, enough with the pleasantries, how’s it really going?’ he asked, suddenly staring right into my soul and catching me off-guard.
‘Difficult,’ I said, ‘if I’m honest – hence the new hair.’ I made the best of it. After all, he wasn’t a therapist and we were already taking up too much room in the crowded walkway. ‘Can we talk about you now, please?’ I asked, my smile now straining.
‘Of course! Hate to say it but things are good: great actually.’
‘You don’t have to apologise for your success,’ I said, laughing.
‘I’m hoping to make partner by the end of the year.’
‘Okay, maybe rein it in a little… but no, seriously, I’m really happy for you.’ I genuinely meant it.
Our attention was suddenly drawn to my hand, still resting on his forearm. I withdrew it immediately.
‘You know what, I think you did the right thing, despite my outrage when I heard that you’d left: you actually stayed true to what you wanted to do. That must be quite brave, and it’s inspiring actually.’
‘Thank you, Jack, that means a lot,’ I said.
‘Although I did think you’d make a fine barrister,’ he said, laughing. It was the same laugh I’d rather fancied in my first year.
I began to collect my bags together in preparation for an exit. ‘Well, it was nice bumping into you,’ I said, politely.
‘Look, there’s a partner over at the law firm who does quite a bit of litigation for Condé Nast. Do you want me to see if there’s anything going in publications?’
‘You don’t have to do that, Jack,’ I said, feeling the weight of the bags hanging from the end of my arms.
‘No, I want to,’ he said, insisting. ‘I’m heading back to the office now. Why don’t I drop him an email this afternoon and let you know if anything comes up? You still on the same number?’
‘Same number,’ I said, realizing only then that we were once incredibly close.
‘Listen, I’m on lunch now, don’t suppose you’ve got time for a quick drink? I know a great wine bar on the corner…’
‘I really can’t,’ I said, shrugging my shoulders. ‘Better get this lot home.’
‘Well, Thursday, then?’
I looked away, hesitating. I wasn’t sure if I was ready to hear about his steady rise to partnership.
‘Come on, we haven’t seen each other in years, Jess.’
‘Okay,’ I said, relenting. ‘I’ll see you Thursday!’
‘And I’ll be in touch on the job front. But no promises,’ he said, calling back from his stride.
‘No promises,’ I shouted, watching him leave.
I waited as the spaghetti sank into the boiling water, transforming itself from hard to soft in the bottom of the pan. Dressed in my slippers and an apron, I looked like a sketch from an ideal home magazine, the dutiful housewife preparing an evening meal, but just like the spaghetti that was sitting there limply, I was slightly sinking on the inside. My wrist twisted as I wrestled with a tea towel and bottle opener, trying in vain to open a vintage red wine that I’d bought on my way home from the market. I gave up. As I rinsed the salad leaves in the colander, I reflected on the coincidence of bumping into Jack. Jack, the man I hadn’t stopped thinking about all evening.
‘What’s cookin’, good lookin’?’ Charlie said, taking the bottle of wine from me, before freeing the cork in one seamless pull. ‘Bottle opener’s a bit stiff, that’s all.’
‘Thanks,’ I said, pouring it into the saucepan of tomatoes and chopped onions.
‘Take a look at this, will you…’ he said, throwing a brochure onto the table in front of me. ‘It will amuse you, I’m sure.’
It was a copy of the company’s in-house magazine, which included a feature-length spread on Charlie and the level of growth he had single-handedly brought to the company.
‘They put me in a beige suit. Can you believe it?’ he said, closing the fridge.
‘Oh no, how awful,’ I said, sarcastically. ‘Well, I bet this has got the office girls swooning.’
I continued reading before arriving at a quote about how a stable home life can enable you to prosper. I looked down at my apron adorned with lemons and could feel a pang of nausea within me. With my career on the precipice I had developed an irrational fear of complacency: waking up at fifty, still wearing this apron. I went back to slicing the mushrooms.
‘Did I mention that I bumped into my friend Jack from law school earlier today?’
‘
No,’ he said, opening a can of beer.
‘It was while I was at the market, just before I came to meet you. He said he knew a colleague who worked with Condé Nast.’
‘They run our ads for the company from time to time,’ he said. ‘Amazing coverage. I tend to get an invite to their summer drinks party – a chance for all the top dogs to get together and discuss corporate lending.’
‘Did you just refer to yourself as a top dog?’ I asked, placing a bowl of salad on the table.
He nodded, grinning.
‘Well…’ I continued, ‘they publish Wired, GQ, Vanity Fair and, of course Vogue. So hopefully that will lead to an opportunity.’
‘Yeah,’ he said, dipping a spoon into the saucepan for a quick taste.
‘Anyway, I said I’d go for drinks with him on Thursday.’
‘With who?’
‘Jack,’ I said.
‘Okay. Great,’ he mumbled, making a groaning noise of pleasure through a mouthful of bolognese.
The constant battle between old and new had dominated the past year, leaving me overwhelmed. As if destiny was a metaphorical race with no real winner. It was beginning to feel like a battle to fight this unseen force, built on the foundation of who was going to reach this invisible finish line first. But despite the pressure, it was up to me to provide the resistance. I had stumbled, almost fallen, into a new year and with it, it seemed, into an impending sense of longing.
In the comfort of a warm bed on that cold January night, I decided that anything I had planned to do the next day could wait just a few more hours. I looked over at Charlie sleeping next to me; the sound of his measured breathing a metronome against my thinking. On the cusp of a new year, I had started a ripple effect – maybe only a teardrop in a wave of change, something bordering on insignificant, or maybe it was a sign that this year was going to flood me.
Chapter Seventeen – Rah, Rah, Relationship
It had culminated in a tear-your-own-hair-out kind of moment, perhaps feeling like I was not quite understood. Relationships: the biggest irony being the ‘relate’ part, which can only ever really be gained by regular contact. Instead we are forced into an overkill of the mundane that will, ironically but inevitably, kill all elements of passion. In exchange for random acts of desire, the excitement of flirting, single identity and the question mark towards an unknown stranger, all still felt but no longer acted upon, we are given the stability that a relationship can bring. And it’s no coincidence that these sacrifices are the very elements that we so desperately struggle to maintain. Despite inviting them into your mind, your heart and even into your bed, the temptation remains to descend the dangerous slope where you catch yourself believing that the grass might be greener, blocking out the possibility of what might still be out there. In a sexually charged game of cat and mouse, it can sometimes be hard to know when to stop running.
Despite the mornings growing somewhat lighter now that we were coming to the end of winter, I was still forced to wrap a fleece scarf around myself, while puffs of steam filled the air as I panted. My face stung as the icy wind hit it, my feet pounding in time with the music. That particular morning I’d woken up alone and wanted to feel the resistance of a hill run through Regent’s Park. Using the strength in my thighs I powered my way across, sprinting to its peak without stopping, an achievement that I hadn’t quite been able to consider at the start of my training but after three runs a week, since the start of the year, I had finally built up the stamina to bear it. What began as an excuse to take my mind off the stresses of daily life – job, lack of job, finances, relationships – had now turned into a physical endurance test, a chance to push myself towards a higher level of fitness, both physically and mentally. And it wasn’t going to be used as a boastful claim on social media. I didn’t want to lose a few centimetres around the waist and thighs either. I just wanted to test my own sense of self: just to see if I could.
The buzzer sounded as I towel-dried my hair. ‘Come in!’ I shouted into the intercom as I pressed the button to unlock the door downstairs.
I had arranged for Sean to sit for a portrait: he needed a professional picture taken for his career and I needed to expand the genres of my portfolio.
‘Well,’ he said, as I opened the door, ‘it’s a good thing I didn’t report you missing. Anne Frank had more of a social life than you.’ He stepped over my running shoes, left out in the hallway. ‘What’s this you’re doing, training for a marathon?’
‘Kind of – besides the running, I’ve been under house arrest here all week. I’ve been trying to get fit by day and building my own website by night – both are taking forever.’ I walked into the kitchen and boiled the kettle.
‘Well, whatever you’re doing it’s working, girl, you look insane.’
‘Really?’ I said, pulling the milk from the fridge. ‘I’m doing it more for stamina but…’
‘Enough, Jess, I’m bored already,’ Sean said, as he hung his shirts on coat hangers.
‘How’s work?’ I asked, putting a freshly brewed cup of tea down on the table.
‘Super busy…’ he said. ‘We’ve got the pre-season collections coming out soon so I’m up to my ears in shit. Great line this year, though.’
‘Can I come to the show?’ I asked, giddily.
‘Sure,’ he said. ‘But leave the stud at home, will you? I’ve got enough to contend with surrounded by male models. Christ, it’s hard to be monogamous…’
‘Monogamous?’ I said, almost scalding myself with my tea. It was as if I were a parent hearing a child use a curse word.
‘Yes, Jess. If you actually gave a fuck about my life you would know that I’m now in one of those serious relationships you lot are always talking about.’
I smiled. ‘Sorry, it’s just hard being…’
‘Unemployed,’ Sean said, finishing my sentence.
‘Yeah. How did you know?’
‘Because, and I mean this as one of your closest friends, Jess, so that gives me a free pass to bash you from time to time. But first it was hard because you were single, then it was because you actually found someone to be with and now it’s because you’re frustrated with your career.’
‘What’s your point?’ I was confused.
‘There’s always going to be something,’ he said, bluntly. ‘You don’t always have to be striving for something all the time. Just take a minute to enjoy what today brings.’
‘I know. I do! Well, I try to anyway,’ I said, defensively. ‘So how is Henry?’
‘He’s great. You’d really like him, Jess… I do.’ Despite us being alone in my kitchen, Sean lowered his voice to a whisper. ‘I’m actually thinking of asking him to move in…’
‘Really?’ I was genuinely surprised.
‘Well, he’s over most nights anyway so I thought why the hell not?’
He echoed the exact same words that Charlie said to me, the first time we had moved in together. But I wasn’t going to bring that up now. I was going to let him enjoy his moment. Besides, he may have been passing his excitement off as nonchalance but I could see that it meant a whole lot more to him.
‘Well, let me know a good night to come round. I really want to meet him.’
‘I will,’ Sean said, firmly. ‘But hey, speaking of elusive boyfriends, how’s Charlie?’
‘Not so elusive. Why do you ask?’
‘Because you only invite me round when things aren’t going well.’
‘That’s not true and besides, everything’s fine.’
‘Fine?’
‘Yeah, it’s fine.’
‘Look,’ he said, sipping from his cup of tea, ‘I know I give you stick from time to time but that doesn’t mean you can’t be honest with me.’
‘I’m just finding it a little difficult to make time for everything at the moment – there’s the website, the job applications… plus he’s doing really well at work. It’s just a bit…’ I searched for the word I was looking for, ‘. . . insensitive, the way
he flaunts it in front of my face sometimes. To be honest, it’s really starting to piss me off.’
‘To give him credit, it’s not his fault that you’re struggling, Jess, so don’t take it all out on him, okay?’
‘I bumped into this guy, Jack, who I went to law school with and haven’t seen in a gazillion years. He has some link to Condé Nast. Anyway, I’m going for a drink with him tonight, so hopefully there will be something there…’
Sean looked over at me.
‘Jobwise, I mean.’
‘Is he attractive?’
‘Some would think so, yes. Why?’
‘Just asking.’ He shrugged his shoulders but I could see he was fishing.
‘It’s a drink, Sean.’
‘Just be careful, Jess. Remember how much you fought to get here.’
I watched as he took off his casual T-shirt and replaced it with a smart, freshly pressed work shirt. I began to set up my camera and tripod in the corner of the room as he sat down on the metal stool in front of the white backdrop. It was the thing I loved about photography so intensely. It was a form of honesty, where the participant had nowhere to hide. As I slowly cleaned the end of the lens with a dust cloth, I looked through and could see Sean’s eyes looking directly back at me. I wasn’t able to hide either. What I had thought to be just a harmless drink left me thinking it might be something more. Perhaps I had begun to doubt my own motives.
In a pang of guilt following my conversation with Sean, I had changed the meeting time with Jack from 8 to 9 p.m., leaving a small window of time within which to have a drink with Charlie. Despite the feeling of excitement with Jack, I knew that it was initial and fleeting. I was in love, and no amount of flirtation would change that. It had taken me a long time to get here and our relationship was one of my more solid investments. I wasn’t about to throw it away now.
Love, and Other Things to Live For Page 18