Playing for Keeps

by Rosa Temple

  ‘I’m going to suffocate in all this hair,’ he said, trying to smooth down my curls.

  ‘I’ll go then, shall I?’ I said, pretending to move away.

  ‘Don’t you go anywhere.’

  And I didn’t. In fact I fell asleep right there on the sofa with Hugo. I’m not sure who dropped off first but I was the first to wake. Hugo’s arm was clamped around my waist. I tried to move it but he squeezed me to him and moaned in his sleep. I wondered what he was dreaming about. Could it be me? I realised then that it wasn’t a sense of duty that was keeping me there. Being with Hugo just felt right.

  I eased myself up onto my elbow, looking around the room, trying to figure out what time of night it was. The room was lit by a side lamp and the glare from the television screen. The songs on the radio player all segued into each other so there was no announcer to give a time check. I estimated that it was probably after midnight. I should have been home hours ago. I should also have called Anthony and told him I’d be late but the thought hadn’t occurred to me when I lay next to Hugo and fell asleep. As far as I knew Anthony hadn’t called me. I didn’t think I would have slept through my phone ringing.

  I tugged at Hugo’s arm again, pulling it out from under my waist despite his protests. I rolled onto the floor and walked on my hands and knees to my bag. I searched for my phone and found it, realising it was switched off.

  ‘Shit,’ I whispered to myself.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Oh, Hugo, you’re awake. Look, could you call me a taxi. I should really get going.’

  ‘Stay.’

  ‘You know I can’t.’

  In silence he got up and went to the kitchen to find his phone. He dialled a minicab company from there.

  When I had been spying on Hugo’s house earlier I had turned off my phone so as not to draw attention to myself. After what happened with the leaping dog and the children on their scooters I really shouldn’t have bothered. I had four missed calls from Anthony, one from Anya and it was two-thirty in the morning.

  Chapter 23

  The lights were all out in the house. Next to the lamppost under which the minicab driver dropped me, I exhaled a puff of white. I tried to tiptoe my way to the front door. I’d never known the little mews to be so still and silent. I already had the keys in my hand, a skill I’d acquired from my teenage years in a bid to sneak into my parents’ house at equally dubious times of the night or morning.

  Three-thirty. The lock clicked open and I was in the tiny hall, looking up the staircase as I shut the front door as stealthily as I could. It was as quiet inside the house as it was outside. Anthony had probably painted all day and night and was now fast asleep.

  Just then the sink in the kitchen gurgled and I nearly jumped out of my skin. I slipped out of my shoes and left them by the door along with my bag. Next I unwrapped myself from my coat and began to tiptoe towards the stairs. I hesitated at the bottom, wondering if it might be wiser to just lie on the sofa. I probably reeked of beer and curry and knew I might wake Anthony. Besides, I was no longer tired, just nervous, worried about what I was going to say to Anthony when the sun came up later.

  I decided to head for the living-room sofa after another glance up the darkened stairway. Again I used my teenage stealth moves to push open the living-room door, which had a tendency to creak, a creak you hardly noticed during the day but which would sound like you were opening a mummy’s tomb in the dead of night. I took care not to open it past a certain point.

  Success! I’d made it into the living room and was about to flop on the sofa.

  ‘Magenta?’

  I screamed at the top of my voice, picked up a cushion and threw it across the room.

  Anthony put on the lamp next to him where he’d been sitting in the dark.

  ‘Jesus, Anthony, don’t do that to me!’

  ‘I’m sorry, what is it I’ve done to you exactly?’ He stood, slowly, and I lowered my head like a teenager who’d been caught after curfew.

  ‘I’m so, so sorry,’ I said. But as I’d already let a beat or two go by before answering it didn’t come across as a genuine apology. ‘I know you must have been worried, but I can explain.’

  ‘I’ve been waiting here for the past few hours for you to do just that, but right now, I’m completely past caring.’

  He walked right by me and headed for the door.

  ‘Wait,’ I said. ‘That’s it? You don’t want to know where I’ve been?’

  ‘Oh, I know where you’ve been. I had a good long chat with Anya about what’s been distracting you lately.’

  I walked towards Anthony and held his arm but his body froze at my touch.

  ‘What did she say exactly?’

  ‘Magenta, don’t do this. It’s late and I’m tired and I don’t want to have a long conversation about ex-boyfriends or ex-anythings. Okay?’ He put both hands up in surrender and implied I should let go of him. I let my hand slip to my side and looked at his feet.

  ‘I can’t blame you for hating me,’ I said in a whimper.

  ‘I don’t hate you, Magenta. I just wish you wouldn’t handle things the way you do sometimes.’ He opened the door and stood with his hand on the framework. ‘You know, I used to love all the drama that surrounded you when we first met. It amused me the way you went about things, diving into danger, going headfirst into challenges and not looking down.’ He turned just his head to face the room but not me specifically. ‘But now I wish you’d just grow up.’

  I’m not sure I could describe how that made me feel. It wasn’t a feeling I’d ever had nor one I’d want to experience again. All of a sudden, emotions such as anger, leading all the way to shame and hurt, began spiralling within me. I felt as if I were choking on all of them. I hobbled to the red sofa in the middle of the room and sat in the corner of it. My hand trembling, I held on to the armrest for much-needed support.

  Anthony was looking down on me and I couldn’t handle that. I snapped my head round to the door, wanting to race out of it and confront him for making me feel this way. But I knew I’d handled the whole situation wrong, the whole business of not telling him about Hugo, and now it had blown up in my face. I curled up on the sofa and just stared ahead. In my line of vision was the underside of the coffee table, the seat of the sofa opposite and the dangling edge of the throw on top of it touching the carpet below.

  I woke to the smell of coffee but I couldn’t hear Anthony in the kitchen. Monday morning and I was in no mood to go to the office. Sadly I didn’t have a choice because I knew I had a meeting booked for eleven-thirty. I hoped I hadn’t overslept. Although I hadn’t thought I’d be able to, I’d fallen asleep for a few hours yet still managed to feel completely drained on waking.

  In the kitchen I poured myself some coffee and took a sip; it was still warm and fresh. I could hear Anthony in his studio so I played with the idea of putting my head round the door but I wasn’t quite sure what to say. He’d categorically told me he didn’t want to talk about exes, or anything come to that. What was I to say? I decided to leave him his space and to let him carry on doing what he loved rather than cause him any more grief.

  I spent ages in the shower as if I were washing away the sins of my past, but after the first five minutes or so I had stopped feeling guilty. Instead I was in planning mode and thinking up ways I could make it up to Anthony. I stepped out of the shower and looked at the crack in the skirting. My engagement ring was still under there somewhere. Maybe I could dig it out, put it on and tell Anthony I’d love to marry him and that everything would be all right. Stupid.

  Before leaving for the office I decided I’d make one last attempt at an apology.

  ‘Hi… Anthony,’ I said as I hovered at the studio door. He wasn’t painting, just sitting on a stool and staring at the canvas in front of him, the back of which was facing me so I couldn’t see how far he’d got with the portrait of Anya and the baby. All I saw were his large brown eyes looking over the top of his easel at me. They b
linked a few times while mine blinked rapidly.

  ‘I’m off to work. I’ve got a meeting otherwise I would have stayed, you know, so we could talk? Can we talk?’

  ‘Yeah, sure. We need to.’

  I went to leave.

  ‘Magenta, I’m going to spend today packing up the studio,’ he said to the back of my head. I spun round.

  ‘What? Why?’

  ‘It’s feeling too cramped. I told you already Sophie and I wanted to share a studio space. She called yesterday, told me she’d found the ideal place. I was trying to let you know but of course you didn’t answer. We went to see it and it looks great so we’re putting down a deposit today and moving straight in.’

  ‘Oh good, that’s good. Good for you and Sophie.’ I turned to the door but swung back. ‘Have I met Sophie?’

  He shook his head.

  ‘So I’ll see you later?’ I asked.

  ‘I’ll text you and let you know what stage I’m at with the move. I reckon I’ll finish this portrait there, finally.’

  ‘But wouldn’t it make sense to finish it here, first, before you move?’ I dared to ask.

  ‘Probably, but I love the feel of the new place.’

  ‘Oh, I see. So, where is it?’

  ‘Soho.’

  ‘Great. Okay, great. So I’ll see you when I see you.’

  ‘Fine.’ His eyes dropped to his painting.

  ‘And we can talk?’ I said.

  He nodded, slowly.

  ‘Okay, well, I’m off.’

  ‘Have a good day, Magenta.’

  As I left the house I realised Anthony really knew the best way to get to me. By not being allowed my much-needed big, dramatic set-to, I was walking away feeling totally knocked for six. I needed a bust-up, tears and pleas for forgiveness to put the whole situation into perspective. But he’d denied me that. All I had, as I ambled up the street, nodding with a half-smile at Jaime as I passed the shop, was a feeling of complete disgust at myself and a silence in which to reflect on all my shortcomings and mistakes. Boy, he was a master at how to handle me. But I wasn’t going to let it get to me and ruin my day. I had already faced up to what I’d done wrong and would prove to him that there was more to me than just a bluster of drama with a touch of the crazies. I could be as calm as Anthony and I would put right everything that had gone wrong in the last few weeks between us – no more drama.

  Riley, when I got to the office, had other ideas. I was faced with another big cake covered in candles. I’d waved to her on the way in as I passed reception and darted up the stairs to my office. She’d gone all giggly and said she would bring up a coffee for me. In a little while she’d rounded up the sales and finance staff and they’d all sung ‘Happy Birthday’ to me and clapped when I blew out the candles.

  ‘Speech, speech,’ cried Riley.

  ‘Riley, my birthday was two days ago.’

  ‘I know and I know you probably already celebrated it but what’s wrong with having lots of cake?’

  ‘Well, nothing I guess.’ I proceeded to make a half-hearted speech about how kind it was of them to have remembered, that they were a brilliant team of people to work with and I felt honoured they were with me on this journey. All the words were genuine but none of the emotion was there. My emotions had been stretched in other directions, some left at the little house in the mews in South West London and some behind the blinds in a basement flat off the Portobello Road.

  I felt awful, forcing a huge smile as I opened a card everyone had signed. Riley stayed behind once the others had gone back to their offices to hand me a present.

  ‘Riley, you didn’t have to do this,’ I said, feeling sadness edging its way into my voice.

  She had bought me a beautiful pair of earrings, a treasure from one of the secondhand shops she loved to frequent.

  ‘These are so gorgeous, Riley, thank you.’ I stood to hug her. ‘You really know me so well.’

  ‘I’d like to think so.’ She backed out of the office. ‘Oh, by the way, 30th July next year, save the date. Jimmy and I will be doing the deed. We’re getting married, Magenta. We talked about it this weekend.’ She stood at the door with her tiny fists under her chin, biting her bottom lip. I went straight over to give her another hug.

  ‘That’s amazing news, Riley,’ I said, holding her diminutive frame against me. ‘I’m so happy for you both.’

  ‘Thanks, boss.’ She looked up at me before leaving. ‘Just wait, it’ll be you and Anthony next. Bound to be.’ She skipped out of the office, auburn ponytail flapping at her back.

  I turned to face the room, the creamy birthday cake staring back at me from the desk.

  Me and Anthony next? Fat chance.

  Chapter 24

  Coming home that evening, I began reliving the feeling I got as a girl, sitting in my Latin lesson and seeing a member of the administrative staff entering with a note and handing it to my teacher. I’d look at the teacher from under my lashes, she would look over the top of her glasses at me and say, ‘Magenta Bright, you are to report to your form mistress directly after this lesson.’ I would nod and then that feeling would start. That ‘Oh shit, what have I done?’ feeling, wondering if whatever I’d done would result in detention, suspension or a note home to my parents.

  I always braved out the glares from the girls in my class. They with their ‘What has Magenta done this time?’ stares and me with my defiant ‘Oh, for goodness’ sake, get a grip girls, it can’t be that bad’ look. All the time knowing my summons could have something to do with a number of misdemeanours. Anything from:

  a) Breaking ranks on the geography field trip, turning my blazer inside out so as to pass unnoticed in the local village and queuing up to get a tattoo only to be turned away by the tattoo shop owner who recognised the school blazer and sent me off with a flea in my ear because I was underage.

  ‘I know a Park View girl when I see one. Go on, get back to school.’

  To:

  b) Sneaking out of my dormitory, putting on the Lycra mini skirt and off-the-shoulder T-shirt I’d secreted in the tree round the back of the lacrosse field and trying to get into the local disco. Someone must have seen me sneaking back after an unsuccessful attempt and grassed on me.

  Now, coming home from work, I knew Anthony would be there ready to chastise me about staying out so late with an ex-boyfriend and not having the decency to ring. How would he react? One thing was for sure, he wouldn’t be sending a letter home to my parents. Anthony would either lose it completely or tell me to sling my hook. I’d done the exact same thing to him when I’d seen him having an innocent lunch with his ex-girlfriend. Whereas Anthony usually let me get away with murder, this time, somehow, I wasn’t so sure.

  I found myself almost walking in the opposite direction to home as I passed Portmanteau and saw Zac inside, ringing up a sale. He blew a kiss at me which threw me completely, and instead of trying to find an escape route, I continued on home to my fate.

  The house, when I let myself in, was very quiet and very still. It didn’t seem like my home at all. Our home. There was an ominous chill in the air. I popped my head around the living-room door, but there was no sign of Anthony there, or in the kitchen. The obvious place would be his studio and then I remembered he was supposed to moving things out of there and taking up residency in his Soho studio with an artist called Sophie whom I’d never met.

  I pushed open the studio, half hoping he’d be there and half hoping he wouldn’t be. All the work he’d put up on the walls was gone and he’d cleared the shelves of paints, blank canvases, paper, bottles… well, everything really save a few bits and bobs which looked as if he might just throw them out anyway. I spotted a set of brushes I’d bought him a while back on the edge of a wooden table in the corner. I went over and picked them up. They had never been used. He’d probably lied to me when I gave them to him, for his birthday, pretending they were just what he’d wanted when in fact they clearly weren’t. I put them back and trailed a finger on the
table, letting my hand run into something oily and dark.

  ‘Damn it,’ I said aloud, looking for a cloth. The only one I could find was an old rag that looked extremely grubby and would probably make things worse. I went up to the bathroom; I needed hot water and soap for this. As I dried my hands, becoming ever more aware of how quiet the house was, I thought to check the bedroom just to assure myself Anthony hadn’t moved out completely. I gave a huge sigh of relief when I spotted his things still visible on the bedside table and the top of the chest of drawers, but I pulled open the drawers just to make sure. They were full and his clothes were all in the wardrobe too.

  One cup of tea later and there was still no sign of Anthony. I was tempted to call him but I knew a serious talk was in order and I didn’t want to start it on the phone. I’d just sit and wait.

  Two cups of tea later and I was watching The One Show. I hated The One Show and it was a particularly awful episode about foxes in London. I hated foxes. I started flicking through the channels, hopping off the sofa to peer out of the window to check if Anthony was walking up the street. Nothing.

  Three hours and an empty teacup later I began to wonder if Anthony had in fact left me and had left all his things, apart from his art supplies, because he wanted to make a new start. After all, a lot of the clothes he wore and the toiletries he used, I’d bought. Was he trying to tell me he didn’t need me? Hadn’t he left the paintbrushes behind? Damn it. Anthony had left me, run away from home. Oh my God.

  My phone rang. I’d been lying on the sofa with the remote control for the television in my hand and inadvertently boosted the volume, thinking I was answering the phone. I shot up, spotted my phone on the armrest at the other end of the sofa, lunged for it, sent it across the floor and dived onto my hands and knees to retrieve it. I was so panicky I grabbed it and immediately let it drop again. I got a grip and answered.