Playing for Keeps

by Rosa Temple

  ‘Mother,’ I sighed into the phone.

  ‘Well, don’t sound too pleased to hear from me. Are you on your own?’

  ‘Why did you ask that?’

  ‘Magenta, is something wrong, darling? What’s all that racket in the background?’

  ‘It’s the television, sorry.’ I muted the volume and flopped onto the sofa.

  ‘Where’s Anthony?’ she asked.

  ‘Why are you asking me that?’ I asked hurriedly. ‘Did you see him? Hear from him?’

  ‘Magenta, have you been smoking those weird cigarettes you and Anya used to smoke? You sound as if you have. Paranoia. That’s what I’m sensing.’

  ‘Mother, Anthony isn’t here and I’m not sure where he is.’

  ‘Ah,’ she said in a long-drawn-out way. ‘That’s the reason for my call.’

  ‘What do you know?’ I asked.

  ‘Nothing. Not a thing since you never call except when you want something. It’s just that your father and I have been worried, you know, since Friday night.’

  ‘You’ve been worrying since Friday night? What about?’

  ‘You, of course. Anthony proposed to you, you refused. I call you on your birthday and you don’t say more than two words. I mean, the last time I saw you, Magenta, you were running around the front garden, drunk. So, naturally, I’ve been worried. Is everything all right between you and Anthony?’

  ‘I’d like to say yes, Mother, but to be honest with you, I really don’t know.’

  ‘What have you done?’

  ‘What have I done? Why does it have to be me who’s done something? Don’t answer that.’

  My mother must have received a million and one notes home from Park View. I had always done something wrong and always tried hard to convince her it wasn’t my fault.

  ‘Magenta, darling. I’m not calling to tell you off. I’m calling because I’m concerned. Anthony loves you very much, anyone can see that. Why won’t you marry the poor boy?’

  ‘It’s… it’s complicated.’ I didn’t elaborate although the whole way I’d handled the Hugo situation was so Magenta Bright, no wonder Anthony was mad at me and had probably left me.

  ‘Does it have to be?’ Mother asked. Her voice sounded distant all of a sudden because just then I heard a key in the front door. Anthony was back, he was home. I had a chance to put things right.

  ‘Mother, I have to go. I’ll call you later.’

  I hung up before she could get a goodbye in, leapt onto my knees, hands in prayer position over the back of the sofa, where I leaned, eager smile on my face, waiting for Anthony to push open the living-room door.

  ‘Hi!’ I beamed. My smile faded instantly when I saw that Anthony was not alone.

  ‘Ah, Magenta, you’re back.’ He ushered a woman with jet-black, short cropped hair into the living room. She wore a tight, silver T-shirt over black skinny jeans and a long faux-fur coat over the top. ‘This is Sophie.’

  ‘Hey!’ Sophie said, putting out a hand to shake mine as I still leaned over the back of the sofa. Sophie’s hands were adorned with silver rings on each finger and thumb and a row of silver loops of various sizes along one earlobe. There was the start of a tattoo peaking out from the top of her T-shirt, which I noticed when she took off her coat, without invitation, and threw it across the armchair she dropped herself into.

  I noticed the familiar way she had with her surroundings, crossing one long leg over the other as she relaxed in the chair. Her black, knee-length boots were well-worn but warned anyone wanting to comment on the scratches in the leather and the fact that the heels had no rubber tips on them to back the hell off. They were worn to the metal and would probably put out an eye if the need arose.

  ‘Sorry, should I have taken my shoes off at the door?’ Sophie asked me.

  ‘No, no,’ Anthony replied. ‘That’s fine.’ He went to drag her coat out from under her bottom. She giggled with a coarse rasp of her voice and shifted so he could pull it out fully. ‘I’ll hang this up for you.’

  Meanwhile, I had followed her progress into the room by getting off my knees, turning and flopping into the sofa to face her. Anthony put his head around the door.

  ‘Was it tea or coffee?’ he asked Sophie.

  ‘Tea if you’ve got something herbal. Don’t care what.’

  ‘Coming up. You?’ he said to me. I turned my head.

  ‘Yes, I don’t care what either.’

  Anthony left the room and I turned back to find Sophie smiling broadly at me.

  ‘So…’ I said. ‘You’re Sophie. I hear you two have found a great studio to work in?’

  ‘It’s amazing, Magenta. When are you coming to see it?’

  I shrugged my shoulders. ‘Whenever Anthony invites me, I suppose.’

  ‘I’m inviting you. It’s an open invitation.’ She grinned.

  ‘And you paint, too?’ I asked.

  ‘No, I’m a sculptor.’ I looked at her blankly. ‘I sculpt. Anything. Unusual materials mostly.’ I still drew a blank. ‘Photography,’ she continued. ‘That’s mine and Anthony’s common ground. He has been known to use my darkroom on occasion. It’s cramped where I am, or was. My studio was only ever the corner of my bedroom and the kitchen table. The darkroom was a storage cupboard on the landing which I claimed as mine. I used to call my flatmates the roomies from hell because they weren’t sympathetic to my art. But you couldn’t blame them really. I had all sorts of weirdos, art critics, clients, students through those doors. So Anthony and I thought it might be a good idea to combine forces. He was always complaining about being cramped.’ Was he? ‘So, anyway, there’s a flat above the studio we’re renting, ideal for me to move into. Love it. Also, don’t know if he said, but the studio was once a wine shop and the front is perfect for a gallery. Thought it would be a great place to exhibit…’ Anthony came in with the ‘Don’t care what’ teas. ‘Shit, Anthony, haven’t you told Magenta about the gallery idea?’ She pointed a finger at me. ‘She’s looking at me like I’m mad.’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ Anthony said, sitting on the other end of the sofa from me after handing first Sophie and then me a cup of tea. ‘It’s all happened so fast and Magenta and I have been like ships that pass in the night this past month or so. I can fill her in later.’ He smiled at me and blew into his cup of ‘Don’t care what’ tea.

  ‘Why don’t you tell me all about it, Sophie?’ I said. ‘You can start by telling me how you know each other. That might be good.’

  Sophie put her head back and laughed. Anthony laughed too. Holding her cup with both hands, Sophie slid her body deeper down the chair, opened her legs and continued grinning to herself.

  ‘Kind of embarrassing,’ she said after regaining her composure and exchanging one too many knowing smiles and hoarse giggles with Anthony. She balanced her tea on the armrest. ‘See, I went to one of his exhibitions, you know, back in the day when he was a mere mortal like the rest of us. He wasn’t making headlines yet and he was still into his big colours. Have to say the more subtle tones sit so well with Anthony. They’re signature Anthony Shearman, don’t you think?’ She looked at me but I just shook my head from side to side with my mouth open, realising only then that my teacup was burning my fingers. I put it to rest on the coffee table.

  ‘Mmm, yes, I know what you mean, Sophie,’ I said.

  She continued in that hoarse voice of hers and I noticed, to my annoyance, that the hoarseness was more of a husky whisper that was just so darned sexy it had to be fake.

  ‘Anyways,’ she husked with great arm gestures after following my lead and putting her teacup on the table too. ‘I was with a friend and I was mouthing off about Anthony’s strokes and how uneconomical they were, not knowing he was standing right behind me. So my friend is trying to signal me to shut my gob when all of a sudden I hear this guy start trying to justify the brushstrokes and explaining what the artist was trying to express. So I turn round and say to this know-it-all that had it been me I would have gone less obvious w
ith the primary colours to really make a statement. And what was it you said, Anthony?’

  Together they finished the story by saying in unison ‘If the artist had been you then it wouldn’t be my name in the corner of all the paintings’. They both laughed, Anthony turning a shade of pink I’d never ever seen on him and Sophie wiping away a tear with her forefinger. When I didn’t laugh Sophie’s eyes flitted over towards Anthony. ‘I guess you had to be there.’

  ‘I guess,’ I said.

  ‘Anyway, I was mortified,’ Sophie continued. ‘So I just stuck out my hand and said, Sophie Altringham, sculptor, nice to meet you. He looked at me as if I was mad and asked where I was exhibiting. I asked for his card and said I’d drop him a line when I got my first showing and the rest, as they say, is history.’

  ‘So how long have you known each other?’ I directed this at Anthony though Sophie answered.

  ‘Must be coming up for three years now.’

  ‘Oh, well, you must have really clicked to be going into something as big as sharing a studio and a gallery… well, sounds great. Good luck,’ I said.

  ‘Thanks, Magenta.’ Sophie beamed. ‘We’ve known each other for a while now, haven’t we, Anthony? But we’ve only really just been in contact over the past year… on and off.’ Had she picked up on my animosity? She turned to me. ‘I think you and me were supposed to have met a few times but it didn’t quite come off.’ She looked at Anthony who finally turned to me.

  ‘Yes, a couple of times you were busy or tired and said you couldn’t be bothered with a bunch of arty types,’ he said.

  Sophie burst out laughing with a guttural roar, pointing at Anthony.

  ‘I completely get that, Magenta. Don’t blame you, girl,’ she said.

  I was furious with Anthony because he was the one who called any other artist an arty type and told me on more than one occasion they were the worst people to hang out with. So what made Sophie so special and so… so secret? I reached for my tea and slurped hard.

  ‘Anyway, Soph,’ Anthony said, standing. ‘Let’s go and look at the stuff I thought I could sell. Tell me what you think. If it’s rubbish I’ll just donate it. Not clutter up the new place with it…’ His voice trailed off as he and Sophie grabbed their tea and headed for his so-called cramped studio.

  Well, great if he was moving his studio. We could have our morning room back or I could make it into a cosy snug for curling up with a book in the evenings.

  I sat there on my own watching my tea go cold and the muted television still playing in the corner. I heard Sophie’s raucous laugh drifting through the brickwork and hated myself for liking her so much. She was the sort of person I’d choose as a friend and it annoyed me that Anthony had kept her to himself. I remembered going out with one or two of Anthony’s artist friends, and unless I wasn’t listening when he talked about her, he’d never mentioned Sophie. Or was it that I was so out of touch with Anthony’s life outside these four walls that I’d missed the time he’d mentioned his new friend or when exactly it was they’d made this great plan to share a studio and possibly go into business together.

  And there it was, the thing Anya had stayed up with me all night in this very living room chastising me about: I hadn’t talked seriously about my and Anthony’s future. We had just been drifting along, high on the love we shared for each other, the space we gave each other to pursue our careers. The Saturdays we’d spent thinking we were catching up with each other’s hectic lives had really just been Saturdays filled with the conversations we should have shared in the week, the everyday things that couples share casually. Could it really be that none of our Saturday conversations at Rhythm ‘N’ Brews had ever included the big things?

  Chapter 25

  Sophie called to me from downstairs when she was leaving. I’d made toast and chamomile tea when I realised she and Anthony were so engrossed in art-world and studio talk they’d probably forgotten all about me. Anthony also seemed to have forgotten that we’d promised each other we would talk. But I didn’t get mad. He couldn’t exactly kick Sophie out. They might be business partners one day so they had a lot to discuss.

  So I took myself upstairs, slipped into my pyjamas, twisted my hair into two large knots on top of my head and flicked through an old copy of Vogue. I called goodnight down to her but didn’t dare go down in my pyjamas. Anthony must have called her a cab because a car pulled up a few minutes before Sophie left, I heard a door slam, and then the car took off before our front door was even closed.

  I waited patiently for Anthony to come up to bed. It wasn’t so late that we couldn’t talk and hopefully he wouldn’t be too tired. He popped into the bedroom for all of two seconds, kicking off his trainers, pulling his shirt over his head and unbuckling the belt of his jeans.

  ‘Going to take a shower,’ he said on his way back out.

  A few minutes later he came back with a bath towel around his waist, vigorously rubbing his hair with another towel and flopped down so hard onto the bed that I rolled towards him with the momentum.

  ‘Good shower?’ I said. What kind of question was that?

  ‘Er, yeah. Very good, thanks.’ He scooted onto the bed, sat with his back against the headboard and leaned in to kiss me.

  ‘Sorry about that. Sophie can talk for England.’

  ‘She seems nice.’

  ‘She is nice. I couldn’t put her off coming back after I mentioned the bits and bobs I’d left to sort out. She’s a stickler for getting the job done. She’s completely moved into the Soho place, studio, flat, we managed it all today.’

  ‘So you wouldn’t have worked on Anya’s painting.’

  ‘Not at all. I didn’t plan to until I was settled in. I need to get my head back around it. I have half a mind to start all over again.’

  ‘That’s exactly what I want to do,’ I said.

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘Yes, start again. Go back to the moment I first knew Hugo was in London. I would have told you all about it from the start.’

  ‘So there is something to tell.’ He got up and dried off his lower body. How I was supposed to sound apologetic with a penis on display I don’t know. Anthony soon covered his manhood with a pair of thin tracksuit bottoms he wore to bed and got under the covers. He looked at me to go on.

  ‘There is a lot to say,’ I said. ‘I don’t know what Anya told you already.’

  ‘Well, apart from telling me off about my proposal and that I should have gone in using her words rather than mine, all she said was he was here, he had cancer and he was probably trying to win you back through sympathy.’

  ‘She’s such a stirrer.’ I tutted and rolled my eyes to the ceiling. ‘She’s supposed to be my best friend and have my back.’

  ‘You mean lie for you? I think she was trying to be a friend. She was going on about our uncertain future and how she wanted her best friend to be happy.’

  ‘I think motherhood has turned her doollaly. The Anya I know and love would never have gone behind my back.’ I had been fiddling with the magazine and decided to toss it aside.

  ‘Don’t be angry with her. I’m sure she means well,’ Anthony said.

  ‘She’s bossy and she wants to call the shots all the time.’

  ‘Mmm.’ Anthony rubbed his chin, mocking me. ‘Now who does that sound like?’

  ‘I’m not bossy.’ I flicked my head to face him.

  ‘Not bossy, but you do want to call the shots.’

  ‘Do I?’ I bit my lip.

  ‘Well, you didn’t tell me that three years ago Hugo was still in London trying to get you to leave me when we first got together.’ He raised an eyebrow.

  ‘That bloody Anya.’

  ‘It wasn’t Anya. You gave the game away yourself back then. Something you said about him, and now you’ve just confirmed it.’

  I turned full on to face Anthony.

  ‘I’m sorry, Anthony. We hadn’t even found this place, you were out of the country and I didn’t want to spoil things.’ I tried
to lighten the mood and laughed. ‘I didn’t want you two duelling over me.’ Anthony kept a straight face. ‘What I mean is I didn’t want you to be out of the country and thinking something was going on between us when it wasn’t.’

  ‘And now? You still want to keep the fact that he’s in the country away from me. Calling the shots, Magenta, that’s what you’re doing.’

  My phone rang from the side table. We both looked at it.

  ‘You can get it if you want,’ Anthony said.

  ‘I don’t want. I want us to talk.’

  ‘About your ex’s cancer? About you staying out until all hours and not letting me know you’re okay?’

  ‘You make me sound awful. Am I that awful?’

  He shook his head. ‘Why don’t you tell me about him? Why is he here? What does he want? Is it what Anya said, to tug at your heartstrings and get you back? I mean, it’s pretty sick if he thinks–’

  ‘He’s dying, Anthony.’ My phone stopped ringing at once. The room fell silent. ‘Yes, he has cancer but he isn’t here to make me watch him go through treatment, feel sorry for him, then fall in love with him and leave you. He wanted to say goodbye and he wanted someone he thought could help him through it all.’

  Neither of us spoke for the longest time. Anthony leaned towards me and pulled me alongside him so I could rest my head on his shoulder.

  ‘That’s terrible, Magenta. I’m sorry. You must be… you must feel… Actually, how do you feel? Are you… ? Do you still love him?’

  I eased away from Anthony, looking him in the eye.

  ‘Not in the way you think.’

  ‘Jesus. Magenta. What am I supposed to make of that?’ Anthony knotted his brow.

  ‘I mean, I love him but…’

  ‘You love him but what? How can you love him when you’re supposed to be in love with me? Is that why you wouldn’t marry me? Because you don’t know how you feel about me?’

  ‘For crying out loud, Anthony! Aren’t we supposed to be talking here? With talking comes listening.’

  ‘We are, talking and listening, that’s exactly what we’re doing.’ He sat up straight. ‘Look, I’m sorry for Hugo, I am, but this isn’t how I expected… this isn’t the way this talk of ours was supposed to go.’