Love Offline

by Olivia Spring

  I used to paint all the time when I was a kid. It was a ritual. I’d race to finish all my homework so I’d be allowed to spend the rest of the weekend drawing or painting random things. Whatever had inspired me that day or that week. Cartoon characters, animals, landscapes, people. It was the same at college and uni. It became easier then as I was studying it full-time. In the holidays or whenever I had a day off, I even used to help out a couple, Hans and Carrie, who were mural artists, and I learnt a lot from them. I loved doing that. It was a real skill to learn how to be creative on walls and larger surfaces. We used to paint murals in people’s homes, hotels, schools, businesses or charities. It was fun to take a boring wall and transform it into something exciting that would entertain people, promote a business or just make people smile.

  I painted all through my twenties too. Smaller things, as by then I had to get a steady paying job in London. But when I started going out with Eric, I broke the habit.

  Whenever I woke up early to paint, he’d tell me to come back to bed. Or if it was the afternoon, he’d want to go into Central London to have a drink with his friends and insisted I come along. So I didn’t get time.

  I knew my painting was important to me, so in the early years, I switched up my routine to try and carve out the time. I’d get up when Eric was fast asleep, work late doing day job stuff to give me time to do my own thing the following morning. That tired me out, but I was producing work. What I thought was good work. But Eric would laugh at me.

  I remember painting a field of tulips on an A1 canvas. There was a green windmill in the background, then rows of red, yellow, pink and orange flowers. It looked beautiful. I’d imagined how amazing it would be to paint it directly onto the wall like I used to do when I worked with Hans and Carrie. Either the bedroom or the living room would be perfect. It looked so cheery. It would instantly liven up the space. Just as I was going to show it to Eric, he’d said, ‘What’s that? Way too many colours! Make sure you don’t put that up on any of the walls in here. It’ll give me a headache!’ In the end I’d given it to my parents.

  Eric didn’t understand art. I knew that. He liked everything plain. White walls. White sheets. Everything bland. Zero colour. His prized possession was his Italian cream leather sofa. It was one of the things he took when he left, which gave me an excuse to buy the lovely bright green velvet sofa I have now.

  After listening to Eric’s comments week in, week out, in the end I’d become more and more demoralised. Somehow it didn’t seem to matter that I liked my work, or that Chloe and my parents loved my paintings so much that they displayed them proudly in their homes. All I could ever hear whenever I picked up a paintbrush was Eric’s voice in my head. ‘That’s even louder than the last one! I know you’re trying, Em, but it’s not really good enough to sell. Looks a bit amateur. Best to stick to your basic illustration stuff.’ So I did it less and less and then eventually I just stopped.

  Every now and again I’d tell myself that I should try again and shouldn’t listen to him, but by then, I just couldn’t find the inspiration. I suppose it was worse because I was working from home and didn’t actually go anywhere to get inspired. Eric’s social life dominated our weekends. I never really got the chance to go to galleries or do the stuff I wanted.

  So little by little, my passion was crushed. Looking back, I knew I shouldn’t have put up with it. But I didn’t have the confidence to speak up or walk away. I haven’t done any painting or drawing outside of work for a couple of years now. That’s why tonight was so exciting. I used to do life drawing at college and uni. Hopefully it would all come back to me tonight. I couldn’t wait to get stuck back into art again.

  The class was taking place in a room at the top of a pub just a few miles from home, so it was pretty convenient. I climbed the stairs and entered the room. About a dozen chairs were arranged in a semicircle around a larger armchair. We all filed in and took a seat. There was a cross section of ages. A couple of guys in their twenties, several who looked forty plus and one other woman who was probably around my age.

  I picked up the A3 pad and the charcoal, ready to start. A few minutes later, the model appeared in a black silk dressing gown. She was around five feet four, with short dark hair, bright red lipstick and large gold earrings. She sat on the armchair whilst the tutor briefed us. He explained that we’d start with some quick-fire rounds with the model holding poses for just a few minutes to help us warm up and then she would do longer poses, building up to forty minutes.

  Once he’d finished talking, the model got up, dropped her robe then stood proudly, placing her hands behind her head. Wow. She oozed confidence. She had small boobs and a big stomach, thighs and bottom, and she was totally owning it. You could tell just by looking at her that she was completely comfortable in her skin and had no problem getting her kit off. I loved that. Wish I could learn to feel like that about my body. In some ways, our chests and bums were a similar size. Difference was, I’d never be brave enough to do what she was doing. I’d be too worried about exposing all my lumps and bumps.

  I started sketching. It was great to connect with the paper again. I’d become so used to doing everything digitally, drawing with a tablet and pen. This was so much better. I loved the way I could make big bold black lines and gently smudge them with my fingers to create different shades of grey.

  The next couple of hours flew by. It was different to the monotonous work I did for clients. I lost myself in a different world. I forgot about everything. I wasn’t thinking about Eric, Henry, social media or dating apps. All my thoughts just slipped away and I was totally focused. It was so relaxing. I felt so free.

  The more sketches I drew, the more I started to realise how beautiful the model’s body was. Every day on social media, on TV, in magazines or on billboards I was flooded with images of one kind of beauty ideal. Perfect skin and hair, not an ounce of excess fat, zero blemishes. I’d been conditioned to believe that anything outside of those criteria was flawed.

  But here was this woman. She wasn’t a tall, slim supermodel. Her hair hadn’t been professionally styled. Her make-up wasn’t immaculate. There was no flattering lighting. No filters or airbrushing to fix her ‘imperfections’.

  She wasn’t holding in her belly so that she wouldn’t be labelled fat by strangers. She didn’t have big boobs or a pert bum. She had scars on her stomach. Cellulite on her thighs. All things we’re told make women ugly. Yet she was anything but. She was radiant. Real. Authentic. Naturally beautiful. Everything from her generous curves to her petite breasts made her special. Different. In a good way. And her confidence made her glow. I could learn a lot from her.

  ‘Thank you,’ I said, approaching the model as she wrapped the robe around herself. ‘I really enjoyed drawing you this evening. Have you been doing this long?’ I was surprised at how comfortable I’d felt about coming to speak to her. I’d never done that before after a life drawing class. I wasn’t even sure if it was the done thing. Hope she didn’t think I was weird.

  ‘You’re welcome!’ She smiled. ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘Emily.’

  ‘Nice to meet you! I’m Paige. And, no, I’ve only been doing this for a couple of months.’

  ‘I’d have said you’d been doing it a lot longer. Can’t be easy standing for hours in your birthday suit, yet you’re so confident. It’s beautiful to see.’

  ‘Thanks!’ She smiled. ‘I haven’t always been this way, though. I used to be so self-conscious. Constantly dieting. Always comparing myself to others. Wondering about why I wasn’t thinner or prettier.’ I could definitely identify with that. ‘But I got tired of hating myself. Sure. I could have got a loan and spent thousands trying to “fix” the bits I didn’t like, and I’m not knocking anyone who does, but I knew that wasn’t for me. So I made a vow to be proud of the person I was. Start not just accepting my body but loving it.’

  ‘Easier said than done, though, isn’t it?’

  ‘Tell me about it! But ra
ther than focusing on the bits I didn’t like, every morning, I replaced negative thoughts with positive ones. When I looked in the mirror I started focusing on the parts I liked and told myself I was beautiful instead. It felt weird at first, but as the saying goes, sometimes you need to fake it before you make it! Eventually it became second nature and I started feeling better. Then my friend Bernie, the tutor tonight, needed someone to step in when a model dropped out at the last minute, and I thought it could be a great way to help me keep building my confidence, so I decided to give it a go.’

  ‘Must have been nerve-wracking.’

  ‘Definitely! The first time, I was shitting myself. I started getting self-conscious again. Less so about my weight and my cellulite, which used to always bug me, but weirdly about even more insignificant things like the fact that because of the short notice, I hadn’t had time to do my bikini line. Crazy. But after the first few poses, I relaxed and I told myself that a full bush was probably more interesting to draw anyway!’ She laughed.

  ‘Well, I think you’re amazing,’ I said.

  ‘Thanks! I’d never been able to do this a year or even six months ago, but now I’m really glad I did. It’s good to push yourself out of your comfort zone.’

  ‘Yeah,’ I said, thinking about the activities I’d been doing these past few weeks. ‘It really is.’

  ‘The thing to remember, Emily, is that no one is perfect and that’s okay. Be proud of your body and who you are. Our differences, our so-called “imperfections”, are what make us special.’

  Paige was an inspiration. Although I’d made some progress with the way I felt about how I looked, I still had some way to go. Like she said, I also needed to find a way to not just accept the things I didn’t like but learn to love them.

  She was also right about stepping outside of my comfort zone. It was a good thing. I was already seeing the benefits of regularly getting out of the house, and meeting the model here tonight had made me more determined to continue this social streak.

  Yep. I might not be stripping in front of a room full of strangers any time soon, but right there and then, whatever she had up her sleeve, I promised myself to embrace the next Chloe-Challenge activity with open arms.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Week six of Chloe’s challenge, and as much as it pained me to admit it, she was right. I was enjoying myself. I had made new friends, was using dating apps and social media much less, and whilst I hadn’t found love, which, let’s face it, was to be expected after such a short period of time, I had got back in the saddle. My confidence was growing.

  During week four I’d chalked up three activities: a night with Henry, coffee with Kat and life drawing. Last week after enjoying it so much, I’d booked myself onto two more classes and also arranged to go on an organised walk around Battersea Park and Kings Road. This week, I was on track to go out multiple times again.

  Chloe’s activity-choosing game was strong. Even though I was well into the second month and was supposed to be arranging all of the activities myself, she had kindly booked me on to a dining meet-up tonight. I loved food, so that was definitely something I could get behind.

  She explained that there was a group of people that met up at different restaurants in central London once a month to chat over a nice meal. This month it was a Thai eatery near Waterloo.

  I’d heard a lot about this restaurant. It had opened a few months ago and was quickly becoming recognised as the place to be. I had always wanted to visit but of course hadn’t managed to drag myself out of my flat, so now that I had, I was really looking forward to it. I’d get to eat lots of great food, have a night out and hopefully make some more new friends in the process. Win-win.

  Speaking of meeting new people, dare I say it, but I was starting to feel more comfortable about walking into a room of strangers. Just to clarify, it wasn’t my favourite thing in the world and I still got nervous, but I no longer needed to hide in the corner or disappear to the loos to kill time. Well, not for the whole night, at least, which was how I’d felt a few weeks ago. Progress.

  On the whole, I’d discovered that whilst some people weren’t very verbose or friendly, the majority were just like me: worried about turning up on their own and having to speak to strangers. Most wanted to have a conversation. I found that having a quick scan of the room and heading over to the person who either looked really nervous or very smiley worked well.

  Keeping in mind Chloe’s advice to wear colour to feel more confident, I slipped on a sea-green fit-and-flare dress, put on some natural make-up and ran my fingers through my curls.

  Earlier this afternoon I’d gone to see Rochelle, the hairdresser one of the mums at school had recommended to Chloe. She was great. Rochelle had a big head full of beautiful curls herself, so I instantly felt at ease. Originally I’d asked her to straighten it, but she asked if I minded if she went ahead and worked with my natural texture instead. I wasn’t sure at first, especially because I was going out tonight and never really wore my curls down, but she’d put me at ease. I also thought about what Paige said about learning to love myself and the things that made me unique, so I agreed.

  She took me step by step through how to manage my hair myself at home and recommended some products for me to use, which I’d snapped up straight away. My hair had never looked so good when it was curly. Ever. Even so, I still kept looking at myself in the mirror, wondering if I’d be okay going out tonight with such big, bold hair. Eric would have hated it. But the more I looked at it, the more I liked it. I felt kind of … I don’t know. More myself? Maybe even a little bit sexy? So I decided to go for it and wear it just as it was. I was definitely relieved that I wouldn’t have to spend ages dragging the straighteners through it too.

  After a final check in the mirror, I made my way to the station. It didn’t take long to get there. I jumped off the tube and went up the escalators, and just before I headed out of the exit, I took off my Converse, changed into my heels and strutted outside into the cool air.

  I was feeling good. Confident. And hungry. I’d checked out the menu before leaving and it looked amazing. For lunch I had eaten a sandwich and some of Chloe’s coffee cake, and I’d been tempted to have another slice before getting ready but decided to save myself for tonight’s meal.

  Not far to go now. I’d passed the restaurant before, so I knew exactly where to find it. I spotted the street. I just needed to make a right at the traffic lights.

  But then as I turned to walk down the cobbled slip road, I froze.

  No.

  It couldn’t be.

  Surely not.

  I looked again. Then once more to be sure.

  It was.

  Standing outside the restaurant it was him. With her.

  Eric and Nicole.

  His hands and lips were all over her. He was stroking her bum, kissing her neck…

  OMG. Now she looks like she’s about to put her hand between his legs.

  Oh God, oh God, oh God.

  I can’t let them see me.

  Shit.

  I ducked behind the parked car in front of me.

  My stomach felt more tangled than my headphone wires. I was finally starting to get over him. Trying to move on. Going out. Had hooked up with someone new and now this? Of all the restaurants in London, why did they have to choose this one? Why tonight? Why not after I’d left or before I’d arrived? Why was I being punished like this?

  I peered around the side of the car to see if they were still there. Maybe they were waiting for a cab and it had whisked them away? No cars had passed in either direction since I’d been cowering behind this BMW, so probably not. Or perhaps they’d walked towards the other end of the road and gone home? No. The most logical way to walk would be from where I came.

  They were still there. Now he was gazing into her eyes and stroking her face. I felt like I was going to be sick.

  I vomited at the side of the road. Gross. This was too much. I couldn’t do it. I thought I’d grown
stronger, but seeing him had brought all those emotions flooding back again.

  I knew I should just say I didn’t care if they were at the restaurant or not, strut past them and go and have a good time, but I couldn’t face it. Although tonight would have been an ideal time to bump into them as I was looking good, I couldn’t be sure that I wouldn’t lose the plot and start screaming or crying.

  Tears started streaming down my face.

  Oh God. Well, if I had any intention of walking past them, that had gone out of the window now. Cheeks covered in mascara tears was not the best look for showing your ex what he was missing.

  I poked my head around the bumper again. His tongue was now firmly cemented down her throat. Why did I look?

  I jumped up and hobbled towards the station in my heels. I couldn’t have stayed. They didn’t look like they were leaving anytime soon, and the way their hands were all over each other, if I’d waited a few seconds longer, I wouldn’t be surprised if they started having sex on the pavement. God. He was really into her.

  Thank goodness it was only one tube stop back to Kennington. Hopefully I’d be able to hold it together until I got home.

  As I came out of the station and headed towards my road, my mind was still racing. To-ing and fro-ing. Wondering if I’d done the right thing by running away. But there was no point denying it. Even if I went inside the restaurant, tried my best to ignore them and pretended to have a good time, all I would have been thinking of would be the happy couple. His hands all over her. Her touching him. The man who used to be mine. Until she’d taken him away from me.

  Who was I kidding? As much as I despised Nicole, if Eric had really loved me, he wouldn’t have allowed anything to happen. Even if she’d stood in front of him naked and begged him for sex, if he’d loved me, he would have said no. But he didn’t. So he was the real villain. He was the one who betrayed me.