‘What does the contract say about the layout?’ I asked.
‘The contract?’ Tim asked, confused. ‘Olivia, have we got a paper copy of the contract or did that bastard take that too?’ Tim turned to Olivia, who looked on the verge of tears, like a child fed up of her two work-dads fighting. She tottered across the room in her six-inch stilettos (I really must upgrade the kitten heels) grabbed the contract from the next room and tottered back towards us, stumbling as she did (maybe I’d stick with the kittens after all). I thanked her and fastened it to my clipboard – wow, these things really did come in handy. I scanned the contract, something I’d got annoyingly used to doing during my time at Art Today. You’d be surprised how many embargoes and libel claims got thrown around the more-money-than-sense art world. Sadly, in my case, the senselessness had come without the cash.
‘And?’ Tim demanded. I looked up from the contract; was he really asking for my opinion? Devon never had.
‘It’s fine,’ I replied as Tim and Olivia looked from me to the mess of paintings around us. I’d admit it didn’t look fine. ‘Look, here.’ I pointed to a clause in the contract and the two of them looked at the clipboard. Neither one of them attempted to read it. I looked up for Tim’s permission to continue; I couldn’t tell if he was confused or simply not listening. ‘It says here that we are contractually obliged to use eighty per cent of Leo’s pieces in the exhibition, so we can leave’ – I looked around the room, quickly counting the paintings – ‘six of the pieces out. And it says here that we have the artistic freedom to arrange the pieces how we wish provided we can explain our rationale and seek approval from Leo’s agent. Who is Leo represented by again?’ I felt like I should know.
‘Lucy James,’ Tim replied, voice still wavering.
‘Great, well it would be good to let her know.’ I nodded, whilst both of them nodded back. Was I in control? ‘And send a courtesy email to the artist. What’s Leo like?’
‘Never met her,’ Tim said. Her. I’d always thought Leo Todd was a he. Clearly, her anonymity was working. ‘Still based in Britain.’ He looked at me, like I already knew; like perhaps we were neighbours on our picturesque isle. ‘Somewhere in the North, I think?’ he continued, as if that was narrowing it down. So Leo wasn’t London born and bred or a man. Leo was a woman, a Northern woman – a little like me. I looked around at her colourful pieces, comparison and jealousy swimming in my chest. I pushed it back into place, breathing deeply, forcing my attention back to the contract. She was nothing like me. ‘Before she moved to Sydney, of course,’ Tim pressed on, as I looked to the sands and skies washing colour around the room.
‘She’s living in Sydney?’ I asked. Okay, so she moved to be in Sydney too. But still, she was nothing like me. I doubt she fibbed her way into CreateSpace too.
‘You do know Lucy James is Australian?’ Tim asked, as if everyone ought to.
‘Of course I know Lucy James is Australian,’ I echoed; just one more fib. ‘In any case,’ I continued, Tim and Olivia still nodding along, even though I knew I may as well have been speaking Japanese. ‘That means that even though Paris and Milan set the pieces chronologically…’ I tried to hide the brief Google-search I had swiped to behind my clipboard barrier. I really needed to get me one of these. ‘We could place them thematically.’ Tim and Olivia continued to look at me blankly. ‘Basically, we can use the pieces in a way that makes sense in our space, local artists included.’ The penny dropped. Tim smiled broadly even though Olivia still appeared light years behind.
‘Jessica, you’re a genius!’ he exclaimed, grabbing the clipboard from my hand and proceeding to look at (and yet still not read) the contract before him. ‘We’ve needed your calibre of expertise for quite some time.’ Olivia became increasingly interested in the shine of her shoes as I was hit with a wave of guilt, desperate to dispel any misplaced pride. ‘Quite some time’ clearly meant since Carlo left a hole that Olivia had failed to fill. ‘Now hold this.’ He thrust the clipboard back into my hand. ‘We’ve got work to do.’
4 September 2016 – London, England
‘You have so much crap.’ I heard his exacerbated tone ring out behind me, as I looked at the same yellow and blue splattered canvas that Sam had first set eyes on in my old uni room.
‘Well, if that’s what you want to call it,’ I snapped as I placed the canvas on top of my bed and began to unwind the bubble wrap protecting it – like it was worth being protected at all.
‘I didn’t mean your paintings are crap.’ I felt his arms wrap around my body from behind.
I guess I knew that, but somehow a day of lugging them from Nottingham to London had made them feel like baggage.
‘Are you okay, J? I know it’s a big move.’ He held me tighter as I softened into his arms. ‘One more year and then I’ll be applying for placements.’ Damn me for dating a doctor. My heart sank at the thought of all the days we’d have to spend apart between now and then. ‘Then I’ll be down to London and moving my boxes into this room quicker than you can say…’ His phone buzzed to life in his pocket; I didn’t need him to tell me it was from the hospital. I looked down at my own to see a missed call from Zoe. I’d call her later; right now I needed to make the most of Sam, before he went back to our old home. Zoe would understand. This was mine and Sam’s first long-distance stint. I knew we’d make it but it didn’t mean I had to like it.
‘Sorry about that, J.’ He stashed the offending phone back in his pocket. ‘Right, what’s next?’ He bent down to open another box as I busied myself doing the same. ‘Jess?’ Sam’s voice called from behind me, my face inches deep in the next box. ‘I know this moving thing is crap, but I find sometimes you just need to…’ I looked up to see Sam now wearing one of my old Nike running shirts, the ‘Just Do It’ slogan stretched across his muscular torso, his belly button and lower abs displayed for the messy room to see. ‘Just do it.’ Sam pointed to the shirt, smile broad, far too proud of himself. Despite my mess of emotions threatening to surface, I couldn’t help but laugh. I clambered over the boxes of marked-up junk I had moved from city to city.
‘Sam, you look ridiculous.’ I placed my cold hands onto his bare stomach, making him flinch, enjoying the feeling of the smooth skin on my hands. He bent down to snuggle his face into my hair.
‘I’m going to miss you, J.’
‘Have you finished yet?’ my dad called from outside the door. Oh God, I hoped he meant unpacking. Sam pulled his arms away from me and tugged at his shirt, unsure what my dad would find worse, him in my T-shirt or him topless in my room. He decided on the former. ‘Jessie J!’ my dad exclaimed on seeing the work left to be done. I loved his name for me, even more so because he thought I was the only Jessie J in the world. He wasn’t to know the name had been usurped by someone more famous; popular culture wasn’t his thing. ‘But looking good, Sam!’ Nor, for that matter, was fashion.
‘I was just helping Jess throw out some stuff, Dave.’ Sam shrugged off the shirt and replaced it with his plain white T, my mum appearing just in time for the show. Throwing our meal deals onto my unmade bed, I tried not to draw comparisons with Sam’s family. One day we’d start our own and our differences wouldn’t mean a thing.
‘I’d like to propose a toast.’ My dad reached into the Tesco bag to pull out a Coke and raised it. ‘To Jess and her new job. Nottingham’s loss is Art Today’s gain – and one day both of you’ – he gestured to Sam, as his permanently tanned cheeks began to blush – ‘are going to own this city.’ I was pretty sure he’d picked up the phrase from Sam and was trying it out for the first time. ‘Sam and Jess take London town.’ He spread his free hand across the air like a headline. ‘London won’t know what’s hit it!’
Chapter 14
3 August 2020 – Sydney, Australia
I breathed in the cool evening air, letting my shoulders soften as I looked across the illuminated square surrounding the gallery. Fairy lights climbed up each of the palm trees, the lunchtime busyness replaced by mean
dering locals and lovers with all the time in the world.
It was nearly seven p.m., I was exhausted and my kitten heels were staring to rub; still I smiled. It had been the first day in Sydney that I had actually almost enjoyed. The gallery life wasn’t for me, I knew that; it would take more than one day to change that, but at least I’d felt useful. The fact that this sensation felt so foreign only further cemented how many years I’d wasted feeling wasted. After my genius revelation (Tim said it, not me), we had spent the afternoon brainstorming and making a case for the many ways we could play with the layout of the exhibition. After swinging between hysteria and sheer delight (again, Tim, not me) we finally settled on strong and evocative tonal groupings. Leo’s work had clear and distinctive palettes, much like Picasso had his Blue and Rose Periods but without all the angst and shit-scary clowns. I had to admit her work was stunning, though I’d still make some alterations myself – a little more tension to her generously applied blocks of colour, some well-placed interruptions, the hint of figures hidden under the abstract sweeps of skies and space. If I was still painting.
I meandered away from the harbour and towards the bus stop. I’d forgotten how good it felt to add value. I had only officially been made redundant a few weeks ago, but my role and even our magazine had felt redundant many months before. It was hard to remain motivated while the rest of your team felt like they were on a sinking ship and had clearly chosen you to be the first overboard. Somewhere along the line I’d mentally surrendered to treading water before my boss had finally put me out of my misery. Today reminded me of how good it felt to care about what you did. I passed a couple wrapped around each other on the other side of the road. Brunch with Sam had been nice too.
I wandered the last stretch towards the bus stop, just in time to watch the right bus pull up. With aching legs, I clambered on board. Taking a window seat, I let my body soften and my heartbeat settle for what felt like the first time all week. Gazing outside at the sun-kissed sky spinning by and inside at the group of friends chatting on the bus beside me, I thought of the one person other than Sam I’d want to share this fleeting feeling of success with. I looked down at my phone; Zoe’s messages were still demanding to be read. I flicked them from first to last:
How’s it going?
Hey J, how’s it going?
Jessica, don’t play hard to get
Jess?
I shouldn’t have left it this long. I’d been so busy drawing a caricature of Zoe as too busy at work, too busy with Ben, that I’d convinced myself she was too busy for me. But she was my best friend, of course she’d be worried about me. I calculated the time difference – it was around eight in the morning in the UK. Zoe would be at work by now, but there was still a chance she would answer. At least the whole ‘I was waiting for a good time to call’ line might soften the blow.
‘Zoe speaking. Oh, hello there!’ She sounded overly formal. Before I could answer, I heard her rest a hand lightly on the mouthpiece, turn to a colleague and say, ‘I have to take this outside.’ A pause and then, ‘Jess?’ Her voiced sounded louder, sharper, colder, clearly now out of eavesdropping range. ‘Are you okay?’
‘Of course I’m okay.’ I laughed off her concern. ‘Why wouldn’t I be?’ After my shift and brunch, I’d almost convinced myself I was.
‘Oh, I don’t know,’ Zoe began after a three-second delay; I could still hear her sarcasm loud and clear. ‘Maybe because the last I heard from you was this time last week and you’ve been incommunicado ever since? And you’re staying in a hostel. People die in hostels, Jess.’
‘I’m sorry.’ I cleared my throat and prepared my line. ‘I’ve been waiting for a good time to call.’
Cue another three-second delay; this time it had nothing to do with the distance. I could tell Zoe was biting her tongue, weighing up whether to tell me she’d been worried sick or whether to let it go. I heard her sigh. ‘That’s okay,’ she said. ‘I can grab five minutes; they think I’m speaking to a client.’
‘I know, I heard. Bravo. Oscar-worthy,’ I joked, and as she laughed, I could feel the ice melting between us.
‘So, how’s it going down under? Still loving it?’
Still. I never was. It’s been horrible Zoe. It’s been…
‘Yeah, it’s going great, thanks!’ I replied. Bravo. Oscar-worthy myself. ‘I’ve got a job at CreateSpace.’
‘Where?’ Zoe replied. I had told her about it once, but I guess we hadn’t really talked about my painting or the art world much lately – except maybe to slag off Devon.
‘That cool contemporary place I told you about.’ I tried to jog her memory of a time we used to sit up in bed, late into the evening, drunk and dreaming.
‘Oh wow, not heard you talk about that in years. Jess, that’s amazing!’
Amazingly temporary.
‘And have you found somewhere to live?’ she continued. I wanted to tell her the truth, but I didn’t want her to worry more than she was already. She was on the other side of the world; it wasn’t like she could come to my rescue.
‘Yeah, I found an apartment.’ The words caught in my throat. I could just leave it at that; she didn’t need to know the details.
‘Awesome. Give me the deets.’ Shit. ‘I want to send you something.’
The bus lurched around a corner as my heart raced. A wedding invitation. Surely not. Surely not yet. I couldn’t handle any more milestones whilst I felt like I was struggling to even get my foundations in place. First Sam, now Zoe. ‘Just a little house-warming gift,’ Zoe continued. I really needed to sort this housing thing out. ‘What’s the address? I’ve got a pen and paper now.’
‘It’s not actually ready yet, I’ll get it to you next week or something,’ I replied, glad she couldn’t see the shame written on my face. I could almost feel the confusion etched on hers.
‘Ready? So where are you staying now?’
Oh crap.
‘I’ve been…’ I searched for the words. ‘Staying at a… friend’s.’ I settled on elusive.
‘But we don’t have any friends in Sydney,’ she said as I cursed the fact we knew all the same people. Well, she knew all of my people.
‘Not a friend exactly,’ I began. God, I wanted to tell her. Just tell one person. About the improbability of it all, about the fact he was engaged, about the fact I was pretty sure part of him didn’t want to be, the part of him that was really glad I was here. ‘I’m staying with Sam,’ I finally admitted and our three-second delay stretched into ten.
‘Sam-Sam?’ Zoe finally interjected. ‘As in ex-boyfriend, love of your life, took you ages to get over Sam? That Sam?’
‘That’s the one,’ I said, bracing for the onslaught.
‘What the…’ Her words trailed off into the ether. My heart hammered in my chest. I’d always wondered whether she’d kept our pact, whether she’d severed her ties with him as she’d forced me to block him on every one of my social media accounts. But she’d never have suggested coming to Sydney if she’d thought for one second that he’d be here.
‘Sam is in Sydney? Why?’ Zoe asked, proving my point. Before I could even begin to answer, Zoe added, ‘What the hell? And you’re staying with him?’ I could almost see her pressing her hand to her forehead. ‘Jess, this is a bad idea. It’s taken you long enough to get to…’ My heart hammered harder. Why did I think Zoe would find this anything other than frustrating? She’d never understood that our story had never ended.
‘Zoe?’ I heard someone’s voice echo in the stairwell where I knew Zoe would be sitting on the top step, phone pressed to her ear, knees pulled to her chest. She’d taken many calls there on my behalf. ‘Zoe, Ben’s on the line. Something about a fridge-freezer delivery.’
‘Oh right, I…’ I could almost hear her mind whirling, trying to weigh up the urgency of our calls. ‘One minute,’ she said.
‘That’s okay, I can wait,’ I replied, both scared and eager to hear what Zoe would say next. I imagined a lot. Frustrated she may
be, but the Sam story had her hooked.
‘No, Jess, I’m sorry, I have to take this. Look, I’ll try and call you back soon, okay? I want to hear everything.’
Just not right now.
‘In the meantime, just be careful, Jess.’ Her voice was full of concern. ‘I’d get out of there and into your apartment as soon as you can,’ she urged, as if I was in danger.
That’s the plan.
‘Speak soon, I promise,’ she said, her steps echoing as she went back towards the office, towards her call from Ben. ‘I miss you.’
‘I miss you more,’ I whispered into the dead line.
Like, really miss you. And who we used to be.
23 May 2013 – Nottingham, England
Morning light sparkled across my bedspread, undulating over his breathing body. I could have watched him sleep forever, his new shifts contantly shifting the sleeping patterns between us. He looked like a painting, peaceful but with hidden depths never fully discovered. I’d happily spend a lifetime trying to figure them out. Three sharp knocks broke the silence but before either of us could scramble for pyjamas, the door was flung open and Zoe drifted in, not the hurricane she so often was, but lighter, less present. Something was wrong. Sam grasped the bed sheets as Zoe sat at the foot of the bed.
‘That’s fine, Zoe, come right in.’ Sam pushed himself up to sitting, his words heavy with sarcasm. ‘Not like we were sleeping or anything.’ I pressed his leg under the duvet, forcing him to sense the tone. Sam was so used to seeing her boisterous and carefree that I was pretty sure he wouldn’t recognise her any other way, wouldn’t realise anything was wrong. But I could.
The Spare Bedroom: A totally heartwarming, funny and feel good romantic comedy Page 11
