Unsticky

by Sarra Manning

  ‘That’s absolute rubbish, Grace,’ Caroline snorted with a half-laugh, half-sob. ‘The divorce was about us, not you. In fact, you were the only good thing that came out of our marriage. I guess you haven’t had this conversation with your dad?’

  That hadn’t even occurred to Grace. ‘No, he’s a wanker. I hate him.’

  ‘And you don’t hate me?’

  ‘It’s more complicated than that. I just shoved everything about you away so I wouldn’t have to think about it. Then you got back in touch, and I had to deal with it all again. Except I didn’t.’ Grace could hear her voice starting to quiver but she was determined to get through this. ‘The day I got your first email about Kirsty, I walked out of my degree. I had two weeks to go and I just bailed on it. Like, it reminded me there was no point. I wasn’t going to be good enough again so I might just as well give up.’

  ‘I felt exactly like that after the divorce,’ Caroline said. ‘I was walking past the travel agent’s and they were advertising cheap flights and I thought, Everything is just too hard and Grace doesn’t want me so I’ll leave.’

  ‘I wish you’d stayed. I feel like life happens to other people, and I drift in and out of their lives without ever making any kind of impact. I want to matter to someone. Like, they’ll put up with all my bad shit because my good stuff makes up for it, you know?’ The tension had shifted, almost evaporated, and for the first time, Grace wished that Caroline was there, that they could go for a drink together or something. ‘Do you love Gary?’

  ‘Yeah, I do,’ Caroline said gently. ‘He bugs me like you wouldn’t believe, but I couldn’t imagine being without him.’

  ‘But how do you know that you love him?’ Grace persisted. ‘ ’Cause people say that they love each other, but what does it mean? That you can’t live without someone? Because you can - you won’t die if they’re not there, even if you feel like you might for a while and—’

  ‘What’s with all the soul-searching, Gracie? Is it that guy you were seeing? Mum didn’t like him at all. Said he was no better than he ought to be, which wasn’t much.’

  ‘He’s not like that at all,’ Grace hissed, instinctively springing to Vaughn’s defence. ‘He was really nice to her but she was determined to think he was being smarmy.’

  ‘So, you’re still together?’ Caroline prompted.

  ‘No, it wasn’t going to work out. We just couldn’t come to an agreement.’ It was so unintentionally funny that Grace started laughing, though it turned into sobs halfway through, and then she was choking it all out. All of it. Not the carefully edited version she’d told her grandmother or the abridged edition she’d given Lily. Caroline got the full Ballad of Grace and Vaughn; she even had to get rid of the washing repairman halfway through.

  ‘God, how did you manage to get yourself into such a mess?’ Caroline asked when Grace had got to the end, which was the part where she’d sold all of Vaughn’s gifts and Barb would only give them back if Grace paid their resale value. ‘Am I meant to give you a stirring pep-talk about seizing the day and being mistress of your own destiny, because I’d be really crap at that.’

  ‘I probably wouldn’t listen. Or I’d agree with you and then do completely the opposite.’ Grace stretched out her right leg, which was getting crampy, and yawned. ‘If he’d really wanted me to stay, he’d have shut up about the contract or found a way that we could have worked round it, but he didn’t.’

  ‘Well, neither did you,’ Caroline pointed out.

  ‘Yeah, but that’s what Vaughn does. He’s Solution Guy. I don’t do that, I can’t do that because—’

  ‘Your job is just to drift? Yeah, you said.’ Caroline’s voice was Sahara dry. ‘But maybe it’s up to you to find a way to make it work. He sounds like he doesn’t know his arse from his elbow.’

  ‘He really doesn’t. God, he just kept going on and on about the bloody contract and locking me in for another year. I just don’t get him. I never did, I suppose.’

  Caroline made an impatient sound. ‘What’s to get? Of course he wants a watertight contract. From what you’ve said, he’s probably worried you’ll wake up one morning, come to your senses and get the hell out of there.’ Grace heard Caroline light a cigarette and exhale deeply. ‘I mean, he’s not exactly a catch, is he?’

  ‘He is!’ Grace said indignantly. ‘He’s handsome and he’s funny - well, sarcastic funny so sometimes you’re not quite sure if he’s joking - and he’s rich and good in bed and—’

  ‘—Divorced, has issues up the wazoo, addictions, serious commitment phobia,’ Caroline recited. ‘Why can’t you find a nice boy your own age?’

  ‘Have you seen the boys who are my own age? They’re pathetic and they walk around with their jeans slung so low, you can see their pants. Anyway, I don’t want anyone else, I just want Vaughn.’ It was good to finally say it, as if Grace said it out loud then maybe the universe would get the message and send him back to her. ‘I should probably go now. It’s really late.’

  ‘I’m not going to make any big demands, but next time I email you, you could always email me back,’ Caroline suggested. ‘Just to let me know how you are and whether Mum has reached a decision about the sandwiches at her wake re: crusts or no crusts.’

  ‘I might be coming to Australia for Fashion Week,’ Grace revealed casually. It wasn’t a done deal but Kiki seemed keen to pack her off as she said she couldn’t bear to look at Grace’s miserable face much longer. ‘If it happened I’d be working a lot, but y’know, we’d be on the same continent,’ she tailed off.

  ‘Well, let me know either way,’ Caroline said just as casually, but then she sighed. ‘It’s so good to hear from you, Gracie. If you ever need to talk, about Vaughn or anything, well, you know where I am. No pressure or anything. I know I haven’t been the greatest mother in the world, but we could be friends or work towards being friends.’

  Grace put the phone down, her hand shaking slightly. She couldn’t even begin to sort out how she felt about maybe having Caroline back in her life as far as the odd email and phone call went. After finishing the bottle of wine, she concluded that it was a good thing, though she knew that she’d always have a momentary flash of panic when she saw Caroline’s name in her inbox. It was too late to do the mother/daughter bonding thing - Grace never even thought of herself as someone’s daughter - but you could never have too many friends. Or, and it was a big or, Caroline could be an honorary older sister - she seemed really adept at sniffing out Grace’s bullshit. And there was only one other person in the world who was able to do that.

  Grace just wished that Caroline had been a little less effusive about Vaughn’s failings. And that she gave better advice, because how could she go to Vaughn now? She couldn’t. She’d walked out and she couldn’t walk back in. Not without a really big sign that let her know she’d be welcome, because Vaughn’s unpredictability was the most predictable thing about him.

  So, it was stalemate. No way was she signing another one of his contracts. Even if it wasn’t an employment contract, it would be something that Vaughn had got his really expensive team of lawyers to draw up, and he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from including a few sneaky clauses that would bite her on the arse later. He might have said that a contract would protect them from each other, but really it was something Vaughn could hide behind, rather than admit that a relationship was something he couldn’t control. That she was something he couldn’t control because he’d never really believe that Grace would want to be with him if the bottom fell out of the global art market and the only good time he could show her was a once-a-week trip to the cinema. There was no way Grace would be able to persuade him otherwise, and signing a contract would just confirm all of Vaughn’s worst suspicions. She was damned if she did and doubly damned if she didn’t because she still wouldn’t have Vaughn.

  It was time to think about a future that didn’t have Vaughn in it, but a one-bedroom flat in North Finchley with too many cats instead. Because Grace had no tale
nt for coming up with cunning plans and she also had no follow-through and was too keen on big, dramatic gestures . . . and all of a sudden she knew exactly what she was going to spend her money on.

  chapter forty-three

  A couple of weeks later, Grace spent the last of her Barb money at Liberty’s on a little black dress, a pair of bright red tights and shoes that should have had Fuck Me stamped on their soles. With the last ten pounds, she took a cab over to Thirlestone Mews.

  ‘I’m here to see Vaughn,’ she said, when Piers answered the intercom. ‘It’s Grace.’

  ‘Hey Grace . . . I’m really sorry, um, but I don’t seem to have you on his schedule.’

  ‘Can you just tell Vaughn that I need to see him, Piers,’ Grace said sharply because she’d replayed this scene in her head again and again, and sitting on the doorstep hadn’t featured too highly.

  ‘He’s busy right now.’

  Busy was better than not being there at all. ‘He said if I needed anything, I was to get in touch - so stop being difficult and let me in!’

  Doubt was setting in fast because maybe that was what Vaughn had said to the others. It could be part of his boilerplate goodbye speech and not mean a thing.

  Just then the door opened and Piers was standing there, all flustered and twitchy. ‘It’s good to see you, but you should have called first.’

  ‘Good to see you too.’

  They eyed each other warily. Grace tried to look stern because she knew Piers would cave under pressure, but he was still barring her way. ‘He’s in a meeting.’

  ‘I’ll wait,’ Grace replied implacably, stepping right up to the threshold and not stopping so Piers had to move aside before Grace mowed him down. She brandished her Marc Jacobs bag, which was a perfect match for her tights. ‘I even brought something to read.’

  Grace managed to get through another five chapters of Kavalier & Clay while she waited. Or she turned the pages and pretended not to notice that each member of the gallery staff found a reason to wander into Reception, stare at her like she was an apparition, then scurry away.

  At six on the dot, Piers came hurrying down the stairs looking even more twitchy and flustered. ‘I’m really sorry, Grace, but he’s already left.’

  Grace eyed Piers, then the stairs, which she hadn’t seen Vaughn tripping down. ‘No, he hasn’t.’

  ‘He went out the back,’ Piers said, his face florid because being the bearer of really bad news probably wasn’t on his job description.

  ‘You haven’t got an out the back,’ Grace reminded him, and then light dawned. ‘He went down the fire escape to avoid me? Well, that’s bloody great, isn’t it?’ She’d never felt more foolish in her life, even though there were plenty of examples to choose from.

  ‘He has got a dinner,’ Piers said helplessly.

  Grace turned on him with unblinking eyes. ‘Where?’

  ‘You know I can’t tell you, Grace,’ Piers said carefully, like he suspected she was a heartbeat away from a truly monumental hissy fit and he didn’t want to trigger the explosion. ‘I could make you an appointment, but I’m afraid he’s really booked up . . .’

  ‘Yeah, and he couldn’t fit me in much before Christmas,’ Grace supplied.

  She could feel all her bravado leaking away. She’d had two weeks to convince herself that she was a genius and everything was going to be all right, and with one quick scuttle down the fire escape, Vaughn had let her know that he never wanted to see her again. ‘It’s OK. I’m going.’

  ‘Did you want to leave a message?’

  For a second, Grace contemplated handing over the envelope, but there was no point. Vaughn had made his feelings perfectly clear. She was never to darken his lobby again.

  ‘No, it’s OK.’ It was hard to make a dignified exit so Grace settled for leaving with a mid-level flounce.

  She looked up and down the road carefully for a telltale sign of a big black car and when there wasn’t one, she turned left and started the long walk home. Walking to the Skirt offices and back to Nadja’s flat was another facet of her new economical lifestyle, but walking long distances wasn’t meant to be done in four-inch heels, especially when it was June and far too warm for opaque tights.

  Grace arrived home a fretful, sweaty mess. As luck would have it, her arch nemeses, the day and night porters, were changing shifts, but Grace hurried past them with her head down, as one harsh word about abusing the rubbish chute or playing her radio too loud after 10.30 p.m. and she’d start crying.

  She waited until she was safely inside her flat, sank to the floor and then she started crying. It was the first time since Paris and it wasn’t good to let it all out. It hurt - a physical, rib-aching, throat-throbbing ache that was no match for the pain in her heart because so much for big, dramatic gestures and newfound maturity and being optimistic for once in her sorry life. Vaughn wouldn’t even see her. They were so finished, that ‘finished’ ceased to have any meaning.

  Grace cried as she ran a bath. Cried as she towelled herself off. Cried as she tried to eat toast, then cried her way down a bottle of wine before she cried herself to sleep.

  It was the deep sleep of the hopeless and Grace should have stayed that way until morning, possibly sleeping through her alarm and arriving at work with a tear-induced and alcohol-enabled headache. But she came to with a jolt a few scant hours later as someone buzzed on the door. Grace muttered, rolled over and went back to sleep as the buzzing started again and after a while was replaced by a sharp knock.

  Grace attempted to get up from the airbed, which was always a tricky manoeuvre. In the end, she slid on to the floor and made her way upright from there, stumbling to the door with a tremulous, ‘Who is it?’

  ‘Miss Reeves? You have a visitor.’

  Grace fumbled with the deadbolt and stuck her head out of the door, only to retreat immediately as she saw the night porter and a shadowy figure standing behind him.

  ‘This fellow says he knows you,’ the porter said, and for once he wasn’t sounding angry but concerned, like his duties included protecting his residents from potential rapists.

  Grace pushed her hair out of her eyes and peered out again. Vaughn stepped forward and into the dim glow of the hall’s uplighters. His face looked so grim and unapproachable that Grace wanted to deny all knowledge of him, but she was opening the door a little wider. ‘He did . . . he does.’ She hesitated, long enough that the night porter bristled as if he was getting ready to come to Grace’s aid if Vaughn made any sudden movements.

  ‘I really don’t see why it’s necessary to go through this rigmarole,’ Vaughn drawled, and Grace understood why the porter was so chary. He was drunk. Or he’d had enough to drink that he was slurring his words slightly. ‘We can do this in the hall, Grace, but I think it would be better if you just let me in.’

  ‘Or you could just leave?’ the porter suggested, squaring his shoulders though he was twenty portly years older than Vaughn and Grace didn’t fancy his chances.

  ‘It’s all right, you can come in,’ she said quickly before they could throw down right there and then. She’d be evicted for sure.

  Vaughn stalked through the door as Grace smiled apologetically at the porter, who beckoned her closer. ‘Any sign he’s going to get nasty, just press the star key on the intercom and I’ll be up in a flash,’ he whispered, one eye on Vaughn who was already in the living room.

  ‘Thanks,’ Grace whispered back. ‘It’s not at all what it looks like.’ She wasn’t sure exactly what it did look like - but it was probably nothing good.

  He’d lost weight. That was the first thing Grace noticed when she hurried back into the lounge to see Vaughn eyeing her deckchairs and card-table with a curled lip. He’d gone past the rangy that he used to be and was heading towards gaunt. Gustav probably had him running for two hours every morning and eating nothing but protein bars.

  ‘It’s all right,’ he said, still standing with his back to her. ‘I know why you came to the office today and I’
ll spare you the little speech you’ve rehearsed. Here. I can see you’ve found it hard to manage without it.’ He held out his hand and nestling there was her black Amex card.

  The old Grace would have snatched it from him with some impassioned words about how he owed her. But Grace version 2.0 simply stood there and felt grateful that she was all cried out because otherwise tears would have started cascading down her cheeks at that very moment.

  ‘And what? You couldn’t see me without sneaking down the fire escape so you could have a stiff drink first?’ she hissed. ‘I was waiting for hours!’

  Grace sank down heavily on one of the deckchairs. Vaughn was staring at her, his eyes travelling from head to toe and not missing a thing in between. If only he’d seen her six hours ago, all gussied up. Now her hair was sticking up because she’d gone to bed with it damp, and she was wearing pyjama bottoms adorned with skulls and crossbones and a ratty T-shirt. Still, she wasn’t wearing a bra and Vaughn’s gaze was now fixed on the shape of her breasts underneath the soft, thin cotton. He still wanted her, so that was something. Not much, but it was something.