by Julie Caplin
‘So, now. Gabriel Burnett. What’s the story there?’
‘There’s n-no story,’ she stammered, giving herself away.
‘I knew it. What happened? Did he remember you? Please tell me you made a big joke of it.’
‘Yes. He remembered me. And it was fine.’
Avril turned to others. ‘Our little Fiona went and planted one on him when she was a teenager. He was her teacher.’
‘Seriously?’ asked Katie staring at Fiona with astonishment.
‘I was young and foolish. And he did remember and he was nice about it.’ She blushed under their combined interest.
‘How nice?’ asked Avril.
‘We …’
‘He seemed quite agitated earlier,’ said David.
‘Apparently he had a plane to catch; he just popped in.’
‘Mmm, interesting,’ said Avril.
‘No, it’s not.’ She coloured under their combined scrutiny.
‘But you didn’t know he was coming.’ Her smirk was far too knowing.
‘No.’ Please stop asking questions, she prayed. It was as much as she could do to hold it together.
‘So he was here to surprise you.’
Fiona closed her eyes, realising that she’d adopted her awkward stork pose. ‘I really don’t want to talk about it.’
Everyone suddenly shifted on the spot.
‘Okay, sweetie,’ said Avril, the only one who wasn’t the least bit uncomfortable. She tucked her arm through her husband’s. ‘We need to go home. We promised the babysitter we’d be back by eleven. I’ll be in touch tomorrow, Fi.’
Fiona gave her a tight smile, annoyed at giving herself away. Avril would want to know everything now. And telling her would bring all the rawness back up. Katie gave her elbow a discreet squeeze of solidarity.
With a round of kisses, Avril swept her long-suffering husband away leaving the group in amused but awkward, shuffling silence.
‘She doesn’t change, does she?’ said Conrad.
‘She doesn’t,’ agreed Kate with a smile.
‘But heart of gold,’ he added. They all nodded. Thanks to her he had a regular monthly TV slot on furniture and interior design which had significantly raised his profile and led to other work – a lifesaver for a man in his sixties who had been living hand-to-mouth for several years.
Fiona smiled at them all. She didn’t know where she’d be without their friendship but if she told them about Gabe now, she’d start crying and she didn’t know if she’d be able to stop.
‘I ought to be going. I need to find out how Mum is.’ She waved her phone at them. ‘The last message I had from her said she was still waiting to be seen. Hopefully, she hasn’t done any serious damage. I ought to give her a call.’
Chapter 29
‘That’s it,’ said Avril two days later as the camera man began packing his up kit. ‘All done. And stop fretting you, look gorgeous.’ She flicked Fiona’s hair over her shoulder. ‘This is so much better than the Heidi look and I’m glad you’ve ditched that hideous bloody orangutan coat. Please tell me it went into a skip.’
Amusement twitched Fiona’s mouth. ‘It’s been passed on to someone whose mother is probably saying much the same.’
‘Oh, how could you? The fashion police will lock you up.’ She shuddered with typical Avril melodramatics.
Fiona just grinned at her. ‘Thank you for the interview. Let’s hope I won’t put people off their breakfasts.’
‘Darling, if I don’t, you certainly won’t. I’m fed up with telling you, you’re gorgeous. You’re on your own now.’
The roll of her eyes made Fiona smile and say impulsively, ‘I love you Avril.’
‘Well of course you do. Now, I’m afraid I can’t linger any longer. That’ll air tomorrow. And we need to catch up. You still haven’t told me all about the handsome Gabe Burnett. In fact, we’re off to film a quick segment at The Castille Gallery on Dover Street. Apparently he’s got a limited exhibition and my producer knows him from way back when. Want to come?’
‘No. No thanks.’ The thought of going to see pictures of Yumi in all her gorgeousness made her feel positively sick. She’d never forget that final flare of triumph in the other woman’s eyes. I’ve won, you’ve lost.
‘Okay. How’s your mum by the way?’
‘Just a bad sprain … although Peter next door is insisting on chauffeuring her everywhere. I’ve never known her need to go to Tesco so often. Twice yesterday.’
‘Ooh, do I detect romance?’
‘I’ll keep you posted.’ Fiona had never seen her mother so happy.
‘Right. What are you up to now?’
‘I’m meeting someone here who wants to talk about a photography project.’
‘That’s exciting.’
‘We’ll see. Lots of people have approached me in the last twenty-four hours wanting me to take pictures except they don’t have any money. They want pictures for free.’
‘Don’t do it. Don’t you dare sell yourself short. Talk to me before you agree anything. In fact, why don’t you tell people I’m your manager. Or Christophe could be.’ Her eyes lit up with the idea. ‘Gotta go. The nanny finishes at one. But call me.’ And with that Avril had gone, making Fiona relieved that Avril was on the clock.
***
She was surprised when just half an hour later her phone rang and Avril’s name popped up on the screen.
‘Sorry, I should have switched that off. I do apologise.’ Fiona pressed the red button to ignore the call as her meeting was just wrapping up.
Now she had no excuse – all of a sudden it seemed she was surplus to her mother’s requirements whereas once she would have kept her phone on in case her mother called.
‘No problem,’ said the woman who represented an environmental charity who wanted to stage an exhibition to raise awareness of plastic pollution in British rivers and waterways. The charity, she’d already explained, did have a limited budget but Fiona would have been interested in the project anyway.
Fiona listened as the woman began to talk again, explaining more about the brief.
Almost immediately her phone rang again. She apologised and deleted the call but before she could switch it off, which is what she should have done the first time, it rang for a third time.
‘Sounds like it might be urgent,’ said the woman. ‘We’re about done – I don’t mind if you answer it.’
‘Thank you. I think it must be, although I’ve no idea what she wants. She was here half an hour ago.’
She picked up the call. ‘Hi Avril.’
‘You have to come here. Dover Street. The exhibition. Now. Today.’
‘What?’
‘Gabriel Burnett’s exhibition. You have to see it.’
‘Why?’
‘You’ll know when you get here. Trust me. Wish I could hang around. Call me later.’
Fiona stared at her phone, bemused.
The woman did her best to hide her curiosity but she’d clearly heard both sides of the conversation.
‘I have no idea what that’s about.’
‘No, but she sounds insistent.’
Fiona laughed. ‘She’s that sort of person.’
‘Well, good luck and I’ll send you an email confirming some of the details.’
They wrapped up the meeting, although Fiona’s curiosity was so piqued, she could barely concentrat e.
***
Tapping her foot, she waited at South Ken for a Piccadilly train anxiously anticipating the familiar rattle of the rails. Upon arrival the tube train was packed, although nothing compared to Tokyo standards. Everyone on the platform swarmed in the through the inadequate sized doors, pushing and shoving and she ended up with her nose pressed to a grey wool coat that smelled of takeaways and damp dog. It reminded her of when she’d been squished up against Gabe, so close she could see the individual bristles of stubble. She closed her eyes, fighting against the dull, ever-present pain that she couldn’t quite pinpoint.
When she was disgorged at Green Park, agitation and uncertainty made her fidgety and impatient, especially with the sheep-like horde of tourists that dithered outside the Ritz indecisively. Why did Avril want her to go to the gallery? It didn’t make sense.
‘Move,’ she snarled, which came out far more loudly than she’d meant, but for God’s sake what was wrong with them cluttering up the pavement. Why couldn’t they stand at the side under the pillars like sensible people?
A horn blared and a taxi just missed her as she nipped across the road, ignoring the rapidly diminishing countdown of the crossing sign. There it was. Dover Street.
She tracked the numbers on the building, searching for the gallery sign and nerves slowed her furious pace. What was she going to find? Why had Avril been so insistent? She shouldn’t have come.
Spotting the building, she walked across the road and without breaking her stride, she pushed the door open.
There was a reception desk manned by a young man in a sharp suit with an equally sharp haircut and an impressive hipster beard.
‘Can I help …?’ his voice trailed off and he stared at her, his mouth actually dropping open.
‘I’m looking for—’
‘The Gabe Burnett exhibition,’ he interjected recovering quickly, ‘of course you are. Through the gallery to your left.’
‘Thank you.’
His sombre face suddenly broke into a broad smile. ‘My pleasure.’
What? Was she covered in fairy dust or something? The world had gone mad today. Puzzled, she cast a backward glance to find him staring after her, still smiling.
Following his directions, she walked along the highly polished wooden floor, her feet echoing within the high-ceilinged space of the old Regency building which had been sympathetically modernised with discreet contemporary fixtures. There was a quiet, hushed library-air to the space and she was aware of a couple of people examining some pictures at the opposite end of the gallery. She turned left and her feet skittered to a halt as she stopped dead.
Shock and surprise flashed over her like an April shower.
It felt as if she’d run into a wall. Her runaway, racing heart came to a thudding halt.
She stared. And stared. And stared. Then her pulse burst back into action, thundering through her veins so hard she thought she might faint.
Opposite her, hanging on a partition wall, her own face stared back at her. Lips slightly parted, her hair loose, rippling and shimmering with gold in the slanting sunlight and her eyes glowing with a secretive smile.
Her mouth moved with unintelligible words. How? What? Why? Again she took in all the details, her hand clasped over her mouth as it dawned on her. Oh my God.
The subtext was unmistakable, blown up for the whole world to see. A woman in love. And if that wasn’t bad enough, there was a small title card beneath the picture saying exactly that.
She blinked as if that might change things. There was no mistaking what this woman was thinking or feeling and Fiona had to swallow back the sudden tears.
It was the picture Gabe had taken in the Kyoto suite, the moment she realised she’d fallen in love with him again.
Stunned, she began to move forward, transfixed by the image. As she neared it, she realised there was a small square room beyond with a simple wooden bench situated right in the middle. On the walls were six more pictures. Her heart pitched again as she sucked in a gasp.
They were all of her.
Hardly daring to breathe, she moved to the first one. Her face was blown up to poster size.
Lying on the sofa with her hair spilling over the arm like a molten golden waterfall dappled by the sunshine, her face was serene and happy, her mouth curved in a satisfied smile.
Then, still dumbstruck, she moved to the next.
Her, under the cherry blossom at Churito Pagoda, laughing up at the photographer, warmth and tenderness in her eyes.
One by one, she took each one in.
Wet and triumphant at the Meji Shrine, chin lifted.
Leggy and impossibly glamorous, caught mid-stride at the Shibuya crossing, her skirt whipping up around her thighs.
Wide-eyed with enthusiasm and passion on the train, the moving background a blur.
Perched on the top of the vendor’s cart at Shibuya, excited and animated. He’d called that one ‘Surprise at Shibuya’.
Overwhelmed, she sank onto the bench opposite the final image and her heart almost burst.
Gabe had taken it at Tenjozan Park, the morning after they’d first slept together, when he’d asked her not to care too much. She was looking down at him, sadness in her eyes but her chin lifted and a determined set to her mouth.
Her heart contracted; it was picture of such piercing tenderness it made her cry.
With blurred vision she stared at the picture, amazed and touched by how much he’d seen. By his sheer talent and the depth of emotion he’d revealed in each and every one photo. He’d seen into her soul.
And played it back to her.
Love Letters. The name of the exhibition, it clicked. Each one was a love letter. To her.
Silent tears ran down her face, her heart filling with so much joy she would surely burst with it.
She was aware of someone sitting down beside her, sliding closer, thigh to thigh, taking her hand and lacing his fingers through hers.
‘They’re beautiful,’ she whispered.
He squeezed her hand.
‘They’re not supposed to make you cry.’ His voice was gruff.
And then she did, small hiccupping sobs and he put his arm around her, pulling her into his chest, holding her so tightly with both arms as if he couldn’t bear to let her go.
Finally, she dared lift her face up to his. She blinked as his familiar, handsome face came into focus and lifted a hand to his cheek. Those blue eyes softened as he searched her face. ‘I missed you.’
She managed a small smile. ‘Me too.’
And then he kissed her.
A tender kiss full of pent-up longing, as his hands roved over her face as if trying to reacquaint himself with every dip and plane. The tenderness of it brought more tears spilling out and he kissed each one.
‘Please don’t cry. I’m sorry I didn’t come before.’
‘Why didn’t you?’ She thought of the bleak emptiness of the last two weeks.
‘Oh God, I’m sorry.’ His smile was gentle but worried as his eyes searched hers. ‘I wanted to. I … I went to the airport but you’d already gone through.’
‘You were there? I didn’t know.’ But if she had, would it have stopped her getting on the plane? Probably not.
‘I nearly caught the first plane after yours back to London. But …’
She took pity on him. He deserved her honesty. ‘I might not have listened … or believed.’
With a half laugh, he took her hand in his again, lacing his fingers through hers. ‘Good old Haruka. She tried to tell me as much. Interfering old bat.’ His dark eyes twinkled as he said it, reminding her of the conversation they’d had when he’d taken this very picture. That gorgeous day in the shadow of Fuji on the edge of the lake.
‘I did wonder why she was suddenly so keen for me to leave.’
‘Testing me. And punishing me, a little. For being such an idiot for such a long time.’
Fiona lifted her chin with a touch of impish mischief. ‘You don’t expect me to defend you, do you? I’m with Haruka on that one. you were. What changed?’
He winced. ‘You, making me see what had been there all the time.’
She saw the chagrin in his rueful slow blink and didn’t need to know the details. She shook her head but squeezed his hand in understanding. ‘You were the only person that couldn’t see it.’
‘I’m sorry. I realised that night that I didn’t love her. I’m not sure if I ever really did. Not real love. Not like …’ He cupped her chin and placed a kiss on her mouth. ‘I came to find you in the morning but you’d gone. And that’s wh
en I realised I needed to show you. To show you the you that I see. The you that I fell in love with before I even knew it.’
He nodded towards the picture. ‘I was worried words weren’t enough.’
‘A picture is worth a thousand words,’ she said, gazing up at the picture, still not quite believing what he’d done. Each of the images were stunning. ‘You are brilliant.’
‘Thanks to you.’
‘I don’t think so. You have an extraordinary talent. I’m glad you’re using it again.’
‘So am I.’
For a moment they both stared at the picture, each lost in their own thoughts.
‘When did you know?’ she asked softly.
‘When did I know what?’
‘That I was in love with you. Before or after you saw the pictures.’
‘Then,’ he pointed to the final picture, the one from Tenjozan. ‘When I asked you not to care too much and you lifted your chin as if you’d go into battle for me. And I fell a little bit in love right back because you cared even though I told you not to.’
They lapsed into silence.
‘Can I ask a question?’ she suddenly said.
‘Mmm.’
‘Why did you call the train picture “Tupperware”?’
Now his eyes danced with amusement. ‘Do you know something about Tupperware?’
She frowned, completely lost. ‘The proper stuff doesn’t leak and it lasts for ever.’ Perplexed, she raised her palms. ‘What does that have to do with—’
‘My parents’ marriage is the kind I’d like one day; their relationship is durable and reliable … like Tupperware. Everything that my relationships have not been. During the tea ceremony I was thinking about my values and where I’d gone wrong.’
She glanced back at the picture and he squeezed her hand. ‘Not very romantic I’m afraid but in that moment, you reminded me of what I’d lost along the way. That I’d been chasing the wrong things and how different I’d been when I first came to Japan. And the enthusiasm and wonder in your eyes made me start to see things differently.’ He grinned. ‘Tupperware somehow seemed appropriate.’
She rolled her eyes.
‘I know it’s not very romantic but there’s a Japanese word, shinbui, the aesthetic of simple, subtle, beauty. You could say Tupperware is like that; there’s a simple, subtle beauty in its durability and reliability.’