‘But without the cold-blooded executions?’
Amy sat up and fiddled with her bikini top which was threatening to rebel and fall down her body. ‘It’s the belief I love. The strength it gives him and his friends. You must see it in Edu as well. They know who they are and what they want. I want that.’
Meredith tried to understand but couldn’t. Amy had everything, that rationally, you needed for a happy life. She had financial independence, worked with her friends, was not subject to performance appraisals or worrying where the next month’s rent was coming from. She had the freedom to read, relax, and enjoy the world, but she somehow wanted to give this all up, or threaten to give it up, for some parochial ancient argument between strangers about who taxed them. Ultimately, wasn’t that all the difference amounted to, who you paid?
‘I totally get it,’ she said, ‘we all need to be part of something bigger than ourselves. If we don’t have God, we will believe in anything.’
It was clear that Amy didn’t know or understand the pejorative nature of the G. K. Chesterton quote and nodded along enthusiastically. ‘That’s so right, Nancy.’ She reached across and held Meredith’s hand. ‘I’m so glad you are back in our lives.’
Meredith couldn’t see Amy’s eyes behind her sunglasses but she had the feeling that Amy was looking at her figure. Meredith straightened her spine a little and pushed out her chest. ‘But what about Ferran himself, apart from the cause?’
Amy let go of Meredith’s arm. ‘He’s handsome and rich. These aren’t negative qualities, you know.’
They both laughed.
Meredith watched a sweat bead roll down Amy’s chest and slowly ground her hands in the sand. ‘Adam is pressuring me to get you to come back this weekend, if possible. You know there is the sponsored gallery-opening thing.’
Amy rolled back onto her front. ‘He can get stuffed. I’m helping prepare for the march in a few weeks.’
The march on the National Day of Catalonia, the Diada, was something that Meredith had only been distantly aware of in the three years she had been living in the city. She had found it a pain in the past as a million Catalans effectively brought the city to a standstill and things had got much worse since the failed independence referendum.
‘I’ll tell him you said no.’ Meredith was already thinking of what she would wear for the opening that weekend and Amy’s answer was exactly what she had been hoping for.
Meredith tasted salt on her lips and licked them before taking a cold can of Estrella from the cool bag at their feet.
‘Want one?’
‘No, I’m low-carbing this month. I’ve eaten my body weight in patatas bravas these last two weeks. I don’t want Ferran slipping off with one of these Penelope Cruz look-a-likees.’
Meredith opened the can and savoured the sweet bitterness of the beer. She noticed a group of four pale-skinned guiris, English or German boys, staring at them both, so she gave them the finger and they all started roaring with laughter. Christ, she hated the beach. She had only come here because Amy wanted to meet here and spend some time together because, as she put it, ‘We are both dating revolutionaries’.
From what Edu had told her ‘a revolutionary’ was the last thing that Ferran was. He was a rich dilettante surfing on the cause for amusement and attention. He Instagrammed the protests, and now Amy was part of this. She had just swapped timelines and feeds about luxury hotels and holidays for ones about protests and marches.
Of course, she said none of this. She didn’t want Amy returning too soon to The Squad’s fold. Although Olivia had appeared to make peace, Meredith didn’t trust her and she needed more time to make Olivia and Adam see how much they needed her.
‘I saw that you’ve been appearing in some more Squad posts. I loved them. You are a natural, Nancy, and that blue hair is a real USP.’
Meredith studied Amy’s face and decided that she was being genuine. ‘I’ve really enjoyed doing them. I’d love to carry on, but I’m not sure Olivia is a fan.’
Amy stretched out her legs. ‘Be a doll and put some cream on for me, would you. I love this heat but goddamn, it’s boiling!’
Meredith took out the sunscreen from her bag and squirted a large dollop out into her palms. She leant over Amy and began to work the cream into her long slim legs.
Amy purred with pleasure as Meredith massaged the sunscreen into her and she went slower and leant in further, so close she could smell Amy’s skin.
She noticed the boys, pointing and gawping open-mouthed. One of them was holding up his mobile phone.
‘Mmmm, that’s nice, it’s giving me goosebumps. Well, the key to Olivia is that she needs to feel she is in charge. She always was at school and you probably remember from Thailand. She’s absolutely brilliant, of course. What she doesn’t know about marketing isn’t worth knowing but it’s been a challenge for her, acknowledging that she isn’t number one. You are prettier, and she will see you as a threat but remember she’s just protecting The Squad. Give her time, she will come round. You’ll see, she always does. Her heart is in the right place.’
Meredith wasn’t convinced and if Olivia wasn’t happy with Amy being The Squad’s focus then she couldn’t see a situation where she would accept Meredith as a substitute or, when Amy returned, as an addition to the team. Meredith would just have to think of some other way of dealing with Olivia.
She finished Amy’s legs and started applying suncream to her back.
From the group of boys, there was a murmur and then one of them shouted out, ‘Use your tongue!’ which was met with much guffawing.
Meredith tensed up and Amy sensed this. ‘Ignore them. They are just perving.’
She tried to ignore them and went back to applying the sun cream. ‘You know when you come back, I’d love to stick around and help you guys out with your work.’
Amy made a soft moan in the back of her throat as Meredith kneaded her skin. ‘That’s a great idea. We always need to keep things fresh, but I’m not sure I am going to come back.’
Meredith tensed up again and stopped applying the cream. ‘What do you mean?’
A thought occurred to her. What if Amy meant it and never came back. Surely, that would mean that Meredith would be her natural replacement. But Meredith dismissed the thought – there was no way that Amy would give up her life for a cause. It was idle chatter, the kind that made rich people feel good about themselves. The only way that Amy would not return to The Squad would be if she was incapable of returning.
‘Well, seeing what Ferran does, it’s real, you know. It has real meaning, and it makes brand sponsorship seem so shallow and… meaningless. I’ve been thinking I may try to dedicate my life to something a bit worthier, you know. Maybe the Catalan independence thing, but other causes as well, you know, like the environment.’
Meredith wondered if Amy would think the same if she lived in the shitty shared apartment she did, sleeping on a mattress and eking out a living selling dodgy wine. ‘Bit tricky with all those international flights you guys take.’
Amy play-slapped her. ‘Don’t be such a cynic, Nancy!’
The play-slap elicited an excited whooping from the group of boys and Meredith turned in their direction and noticed that one of them was holding up his phone, filming them. ‘Hang on,’ she said.
She pulled out another beer can from the cool bag and shook it violently before standing up and walking towards the boys.
As she approached, they made beckoning gestures, and the one filming her, a short, fat ginger-haired boy, held his phone at arm’s length, making no pretence at disguising what he was doing.
‘Come on, love! We’re only having a larf!’
‘Why don’t you go back to rubbing off your girlfriend.’
‘This is going straight on Pornhub!’
She ignored them and when she got close, she gave the can one last shake and then tugged the ring pull. The beer shot out under pressure and she directed it straight at the iPhone held up by the
fat kid, drenching it completely.
He started to complain but Meredith knocked the phone out of his hand and it fell into the sand.
‘You stupid fucking bitch, you’ve broken my phone!’
Meredith sprayed the other boys with the beer and they acted as though it was acid, jumping around and screaming.
From all around her Meredith could hear people clapping and cheering.
She threw the can at them and walked back over to Amy who was sitting on her haunches watching with wide-eyed admiration. ‘Oh my God, Nancy, you are so hardcore!’
Meredith didn’t look behind but she picked up her bag. ‘Come on, I think we better leave. In my experience boys don’t like being humiliated.’
Amy gathered up her stuff and followed Meredith off the beach.
15
Meredith had found her groove.
Adam had perfected two identities for her.
The first was ‘the old friend from Thailand who is helping The Squad find Amy’. This, admittedly, was wearing a little thin, given Amy had been popping up on Ferran’s timeline on various protests and demos, but they were still going with it as it allowed moody images of Meredith walking down the narrow Gothic alleys of the old town.
The second was ‘old friends become new friends’. It consisted of shots of Meredith and Olivia laughing while drinking cocktails on a glamorous roof terrace or dancing at a beach bar.
Olivia was still maintaining the apparent rapprochement and Meredith even enjoyed her company, albeit she didn’t trust her at all.
The ‘new friends’ hashtag had proved popular, particularly with the demographic of lonely teenage girls in the age group of twelve to fifteen. This meant they had to wear some fast fashion by Desigual who were targeting this market. Olivia didn’t like the clothes and expressed her opinion loudly and often to Adam but he seemed used to it and just shrugged. Meredith found the experience thrilling, however, and tried not to show how excited she was to be given free clothes for just going to a party and having her photograph taken.
There were only two issues that were bothering her. The first was her fear that Amy may become bored of Ferran and return to The Squad, rendering her position questionable.
The second was the matter of money. It was fantastic being dressed and receiving complimentary food and drink but she was not being paid and Adam had not made any attempt to discuss this with her. She had skirted around the topic with Richard, telling him that she had given up her job to join The Squad. He had reassured her that she would earn far more money with them but he hadn’t said when or how.
The first fear she couldn’t do anything about. The second she decided to speak to Adam about at the first opportunity.
That opportunity would have to come later as this evening was the opening of a new contemporary art exhibition at MACBA, Barcelona’s modern art gallery in the heart of the Raval. Meredith loved this building, a white pearl of modernist concrete and glass that sat incongruously in Plaça dels Àngels amongst the old Gothic streets. She had dressed in a new outfit supplied by Desigual. She couldn’t help but feel pleased that the last time she had worn a dress it had been the dress that Inga had stolen for her.
The MACBA building was four storeys high with gallery spaces on each floor that were accessed by a narrow, open staircase that zigzagged through the large open space like that of an Escher painting. The whole west side of the building was glazed so the white cavernous interior space glowed with golden light from the setting sun. Meredith saw that Olivia was holding onto the balustrade and assumed she must be feeling slightly vertiginous as they climbed up the exposed staircase. From outside came the constant thrum of skateboards from the dozens of kids who used the MACBA courtyard as a skatepark.
At the top, they were met by waitresses with glasses of cava and Meredith noticed Olivia grabbed one and downed it straight away.
Adam led them into the fourth-floor gallery space where he introduced them to various local branding, content and marketing managers who all looked alike to Meredith, with their designer glasses, manicured beards and expensive suits. Then he went to mingle and ‘see what else we can squeeze from these fuckers,’ in his own words.
He left her with Olivia, Richard and Dylan, standing by a table sipping their drinks. Nobody said anything for an awkward moment and then Olivia picked up her glass. ‘Right, I’m off to circulate, too. Let’s remember this is work. And you two’ – she looked at Dylan and Richard – ‘don’t get wasted.’
As she walked off Richard whispered under his breath, ‘Controlling bitch.’
Once she had disappeared into the crowd Dylan raised his eyebrows to Richard who nodded. ‘Hey Nancy, we are just going to the bathroom for, you know…’
‘Whatever guys.’ She waved them off.
Meredith sipped her cava and looked out across the room where Barcelona’s hippest and richest gathered. She should join them and try and network. She knew that this was part of the deal, how things worked, but this was something she did not want to do. It offended her sensibilities and temperament in a way that made her feel inauthentic. She could lie to others: she had to do so to survive on occasion, but she found it hard to lie to herself. Even to pretend was almost impossible and making small talk with people she didn’t know was high on her list of inauthenticity. What she did like was art, though, and she picked up her glass and, avoiding the crowd by keeping to the side of the room, she began to look at the pictures.
The first was an Antoni Tàpies. It was a piece of sackcloth with a large wooden beam nailed to it. There was a daub of red paint in one corner. Meredith liked it. It seemed rooted to the earth and pain and this she could understand. She was aware that this might not be what the artist intended but it didn’t matter to her what the artist thought, it was what it provoked in her that mattered.
Then she came to a canvas that reduced her to a statue, struck so still was she by its beauty and its depth. She recognised it immediately. It was a modern homage to a Cezanne work, The Grounds of the Château Noir. She knew the painting well: a reproduction had hung in their family living room at home when she was growing up, a memento from her stepmum’s college years. This was the same scene, dark trees blocking the whole picture save for a small clearing in the canopy in the top left corner where the light came in.
But the artist here hadn’t used oil paints for this work. It was composed of iron, old nails and brick, but she recognised it, nevertheless.
‘You like it?’ The voice belonged to a slightly built dark-haired woman in her late thirties. She was wearing a black silk jumpsuit and had her dark hair in a coquettish French bob.
‘It’s the Château Noir,’ said Meredith.
The woman looked at Meredith with interest. ‘It’s the view from my home in Tangiers.’
Meredith was crestfallen. She was sure it had been the garden at Château Noir. Both pictures had cast the same spell over her. It was a spell that made her feel that even though she wasn’t able to participate in most of the world, there was a part, a speck of light, that could be hers, a place she could go. ‘Oh, it reminded me of something else.’
The woman stuck out her hand. ‘But I love Cezanne and the sentiment is the same, I think? Hi, I’m Annik.’
‘Hi, I’m–’ She nearly said ‘Meredith’ but stopped herself just in time. ‘Nancy.’ She shook the proffered hand.
Annik spoke English with a Scandinavian accent and the handshake instead of the cheek kiss was strangely formal but Meredith appreciated its lack of presumption.
Annik looked at Meredith in a way that made her feel at once uncomfortable and privileged, as though Annik was examining her essence before painting her.
Meredith broke the spell and turned back towards the painting. ‘I like it very much. You have a lot of talent but I guess you know that already. All these people wouldn’t be here if not.’
Annik looked amused, as though she knew that this was small talk and she was deciding whether to play along. ‘Th
ese people are here because there is money disguised as culture and that allows them to wallow in the money side without feeling too dirty. Very few of them will look at the work, truly look at it, unless it is to be used as talking points for a conversation that will somehow lead to more money. And you, Nancy, why are you here?’
Meredith wanted to be part of the life that Amy had, so why did she suddenly feel ashamed of telling this woman she had never met before that she was an ‘influencer’? Wasn’t this as noble and true a profession as some middle-class Nordic who was paid obscene amounts just because she had been trained to paint?
As she mentally floundered for a reply a man in a dinner jacket approached and gently took Annik’s elbow in his hand and then whispered in her ear.
Annik nodded. ‘I’m sorry, Nancy, it seems I have to give my little speech now. But I would very much like to continue our conversation later if this is possible?’
Meredith pulled herself together again and gave her biggest and brightest smile, the one closest to the truth, to Annik.
Annik didn’t seem to melt in front of her the way others did when she deployed this smile. Meredith had that unsettling feeling again that Annik had seen inside her.
She watched Annik move into the crowd and head towards the podium but rather than listen to her speech Meredith decided to go for a cigarette.
Smoking was not allowed in the museum, but this was Barcelona, after dark in a private function, so she followed the smell of tobacco smoke down one level to an empty gallery space. As she entered the room two men were leaving and they grinned and pointed her in the direction of a table in the middle of the space with an ashtray sat on top. It was so incongruous that for a second Meredith wondered if she might be about to use an expensive modern artwork as an ashtray but she rolled a cigarette and lit up anyway.
She could still hear a muted hum of noise from the party in the gallery above but she couldn’t make out Annik’s speech and she wondered why she hadn’t stayed to hear it. The truth was she hadn’t liked the way Annik had seemed to see her, really see her, and this had left her feeling anxious.
How to Kill Your Friends Page 11