Fifty going on fifteen, Tim lifted his head from his lap.
‘I’ll write a press release and call in some favours from the contacts I worked with – work with – at Art Today,’ I corrected, before Tim could object. ‘I’m sure the other PAs will know who the best person to contact at each—’
‘Other PAs?’ Tim looked inquisitive. ‘I thought you were an editor.’ Damn it. Most people did. Largely because I tried to make them think I was. The truth was that archiving the print issues in alphabetical order was the closest I had got to the content. I had known twice as much about art than any of the editors there but without those stupid evening classes, more qualifications or a heftier portfolio, I was stuck covering for Lady Devon Atwood every time she came to work with a hangover from ‘networking’ too hard or walked into a meeting with no preparation. But you couldn’t maintain a long-term, long-distance relationship without a little bit of sacrifice. Life was just too busy to do it all.
I could just tell him the truth. I’d actually done a good job in the couple of days I’d been helping them out here and he’d said it himself: he was pretty useless without Carlos. He needed me. And I needed him: I needed a job, rent money and my temporary living situation was, well, complicated. Surely Tim would understand. But then he might tell Jamie, and Jamie would tell Sam and Sam needed to trust me right now, needed me to be me right now, just a slightly more together me.
‘I am,’ I replied, just milliseconds before Tim began forming his next question, the next chink in the flabby armour I was trying so desperately to work around me. ‘An editor.’ I nodded, trying the word on for size for the millionth time. ‘I just started out as a PA, worked my way up,’ I explained. That was always the plan after all, until I got myself stuck. ‘Don’t worry,’ I continued, a record of reassurance stuck on repeat, for whose benefit I wasn’t quite sure. ‘I’m still in touch with the PAs and although editors are well connected’ – I nodded, as if imparting this editorial nugget – ‘PAs know everyone.’ I rallied some more enthusiasm as I finally felt the tremor of the truth fade away. ‘I’ll write up the press release and get to work. Trust me, our opening night will be filled to the brim with media bods and art editors. And better still, Tuesday’s Slumber will meet them at the door.’ Tim jumped to his feet and Olivia looked like she was trying hard to jump up and down but couldn’t lift her red-soled heels from the floor.
‘Jessica, you’re a genius!’ Tim exclaimed, engulfing me in an over the top embrace. I sighed. They were exhausting. But then I smiled. Tim thought I was a genius, again. Maybe now was the time to ask for my early pay packet? I only had four days left to get myself an apartment, leaving Sam with Jamie – a place I was growing less sure he wanted to be.
‘And Hannah Sommers will be a shoo-in?’ Tim interrupted my less-than-formed thoughts.
Why? My eyes betrayed a flash of fear, mind racing from deposits to divas.
‘She’s your new boss, right?’ Tim pushed his glasses further up his crinkled nose.
‘Right.’ I matched his smile, careful not to send us back over the edge. ‘She’ll be there.’
‘Do you think I should send out personal invitations?’ Tim asked, still seeking answers.
‘No!’ I objected without a beat. ‘No.’ My voice softened. ‘Leave the publicity to me. You have to keep the mystery. “The Mystery Artist with the Mysterious Curator”.’ I painted the headline to Tim’s silent applause. He could leave Hannah to me, no need to get involved, no need to risk a mix-up. And once I’d got her alone, once her edges had been softened by a couple of champagnes, I could finally have a second chance at getting her to convince Art Today to give me the same.
Chapter 18
Having spent the rest of the day immersed in the room of slumber hues, hunched over Tim’s beloved clipboard and brainstorming copy for the press release, it was good to be outside. I hadn’t had a moment to think about deposits or apartments, but at least getting my five minutes with Sommers was looking more likely. She was bound to accept the invitation – CreateSpace was to Sydney what The White Cube was to London – undeniably one to watch. My chances of her accepting my CV were slimmer. But not impossible. Improbable but definitely not impossible. I held on to that glimmer of hope. Resting against the wall Sam had leaned upon the day before, I waited for him to arrive. My stomach sank. I had been so busy writing the press release and reaching out to PAs that I had barely given Sam a second thought. But then reality reared its ugly head. Above the worries about finding a flat and a job, Sam was engaged to be married to a woman who had changed him completely. And I was here now, out of all of the people he could possibly have bumped into. If the reason I was here was to stop him marrying into the biggest mistake of his life, I had little time to do it in.
‘Jess?’ I turned around to see him standing there, his suit slightly crumpled and his tie stowed away in his pocket. ‘Sorry I couldn’t meet you for lunch,’ he apologised. He needn’t have; he’d never had time for lunch when we were together anyway. At least this time I was rushed off my feet too, not sitting at home waiting for his call. ‘Good day?’
‘Crazy day,’ I said, but then smiled. ‘Good crazy.’ And I meant it.
‘Got to love a bit of good crazy.’ Sam laughed warmly as he began to lead the way to the car. Wait, was he talking about me? I picked up pace to walk alongside him and he put his arm around my shoulder and gave it a little squeeze, a familiar glint of cheekiness in his eyes. He was. In the past, I would have shrugged him off and jabbed his ribs in mock aggravation, knowing he’d just hold me tighter. This time his familiar embrace felt fragile, like if I moved I might never get it back.
‘Ready to go home then?’ Sam nodded towards the car. Home. To Jamie. If I was ever going to remind Sam of what he really wanted I’d need to spend some time with him alone, away from the influences that had surrounded him all day, every day, since his own new start.
‘Sure, although it’s still pretty light out. Fancy walking to the beach?’ I turned to him with what I hoped was an enticing smile. I knew he couldn’t resist the ocean. Surfing to Sam was like Malbec to me: hopelessly irresistible. It was just a shame that one of us got fit whilst the other got pissed.
‘Jamie’s home already,’ Sam replied, a hint of disappointment in his voice. ‘And she’ll worry. She just texted actually, she’s made us dinner – says you’re welcome to join us.’ Sam rested a hand on the top of the car, hesitant to open the door and get in. ‘In fact, I think she’ll like it, she loves being a host.’ Yes, I know; she’d made that part abundantly clear.
‘That’s nice of her,’ I said through gritted teeth. When was she not nice? And more to the point, when was she not home? I thought doctors were supposed to be workaholics. Jamie just seemed to lounge around in leggings. I bet she wasn’t even a doctor. I needed to get Sam by himself. Just a bit of time for us to have some fun and hang out for longer than sixty minutes (sixty-five if I piled on the mascara). I knew the one thing he couldn’t resist. Well… that could be Plan B. But his second favourite thing could work for sure.
‘Hey, Sam?’ I asked, as we got into the car. ‘I’ve been thinking.’
‘Don’t hurt yourself,’ he quipped and promptly received his overdue rib-jab.
‘I think’ – I accentuated the word in mock defiance – ‘I’d like to learn how to surf.’ I smiled, trying to look wistful as I gazed out of the window, oceanwards.
‘You’re kidding me?’ Sam shook his head. ‘I tried to get you to surf with me so many times when we were together.’ He turned the key in the ignition and started to drive. He had tried to get me to do a lot of things when we were together – read the newspaper, exercise on the weekends – surfing was one compromise I wasn’t willing to make. We knew there was a limit to the kind of changes people in love should make.
‘I just thought you wanted to see me in a wetsuit.’ I raised an eyebrow in his direction.
‘Well there was that.’ Sam grinned. Was he flirting with me
? Surely a happily engaged man shouldn’t be flirting with his ex – not to mention inviting her to stay with him? ‘But honestly, I used to beg you to go surfing. Why the change of heart?’
As if he needed to ask.
‘That was Brighton, Sam. It was freezing.’ I looked out of the window again. The sun was still refusing to appear – but surely it had to be warmer than bloody Brighton. ‘You reckon you could arrange a lesson for me?’ I asked, my blood pumping at the thought of Sam’s body behind me as he corrected my stance. Sam grinned for a moment, as if imagining the same.
‘Absolutely!’ He said, placing a warm hand on my thigh, before quickly removing it; old habits die hard. But right now, it didn’t seem like a habit he wanted to kick.
‘I know you probably go with Jamie all the time…’ I forced her name into the conversation, if only to test the water. He seemed more content to be here with me.
‘Sometimes. She goes out with Joshua more though,’ he sighed, disappointed at the thought. My mind jolted at the mention of Joshua, but forced itself back to Sam. For once I knew this was the right next step. ‘How about this Saturday – Coogee Beach – ten o’clock?’ Sam continued, his eyes lingering on my collarbone before searching for my smile. ‘The waves are gnarly that time of day.’
‘Sam, don’t try and pull off “gnarly”. It didn’t work then; it doesn’t work now.’
‘Pipe down, J.’ He shot me a glare before turning back to the road. ‘You up for the challenge?’
‘Hell, yeah,’ I replied. He had no idea how up for it I was.
31 May 2016 – Nottingham, England
‘Are you sure you want to do this, Jess?’ Zoe gestured to the offer letter held in my hands; why were they shaking? This was what I wanted. I looked across at her, our memories captured in Polaroids pinned to the thin wall behind her.
‘Yeah.’ I looked down at the Art Today logo, heading a letter so different from the praises and promises of the one they’d sent me years ago telling me I’d been shortlisted. At least an admin position would get me down to London. ‘It’s the next step, isn’t it?’
‘To what?’ Zoe looked up from her own position sitting cross-legged on my bed, adding another layer of polish to her chewed-down nails.
‘You know, forward…’ I waved the paper in her direction, ‘…into adulthood.’ I perched on the edge of the bed.
‘I don’t think that’s a destination, Jess.’
I looked down at her bright yellow nails. If it was, she wouldn’t be arriving any time soon. She was set to go travelling, to postpone the ‘next step’ as long as humanly possible, before following Sam and me down to London.
‘You know Sam’s been planning the London move for ages.’ I forced a smile, willing her to give me one in return. The pace of the hospitals was different there. In a city of almost nine million, how could it not be? I was excited for our pace too. Moving down, moving in; starting a new chapter in our own love story.
‘I know, I know.’ She raised a hand up to blow on her nails. ‘It’s just I thought your plan was to go pitch up shop in Cornwall, buy a little gallery…’
‘And live off what?’ I laughed, flinging my legs fully onto the bed, sending it bouncing.
‘Beans on toast?’ Zoe quipped.
‘We’re not freshers any more,’ I said, as our minds recalled a time when everything was on toast, everything so simple. ‘I need a bit more than beans.’
‘But I didn’t think you were bothered about journalism?’ Zoe pressed on. Why wouldn’t she stop? Why couldn’t she just be happy for me? I batted away her words, not letting them hit me; journalism would be fine, better than fine.
‘I think I’m starting to be,’ I replied, far from convinced. I was graduating soon and one by one friends were lining up internships, securing jobs, planning moves, taking steps. Part of me envied Zoe for having the freedom to do whatever she wanted, wherever she wanted, to forge her own path. But I got to forge one with Sam and I couldn’t really imagine it any other way. ‘It’s a good way to use my degree,’ I pointed out. ‘And it’ll get me down to London. Maybe I could try and pick up those evening classes again?’
‘You trying to convince me or yourself?’ Zoe smiled, her eyes a little sad.
‘Maybe a bit of both.’ I shrugged, genuinely not sure. At least I was sure of him.
Chapter 19
5 August 2020 – Sydney, Australia
‘Are you sure you’re okay, baby?’ I heard Jamie’s voice in a low whisper, stopping me in my tracks before entering the living room. ‘You don’t seem yourself,’ she continued.
‘I’m fine,’ I could hear Sam say, his steps getting nearer.
‘Are you sure? Sure you don’t need some space? Some quality time?’ Quality time; once again Jamie and I were after the same thing.
‘I’m sure.’ I heard him cut her off, as Jamie let out a sigh. I remembered that sigh. I also remembered tickling away his seriousness until he finally manned up and talked. Clearly, Jamie didn’t know that secret. I wondered what else she didn’t know about him?
‘I know when you’re hiding something,’ she whispered back. ‘Is it J—’
‘Seriously, I’m fine,’ Sam said, tone clipped, not raising his voice. ‘I’m enjoying having…’
I listened intently, skin tingling at the mention of my name, nose tingling with… oh crap, I was going to sneeze. Hold it in, Jess, just hold it in. Shit. I lifted my finger and thumb to hold my sneeze from escaping into the silence, powerless against it, unable to stop it…
‘Jess?’ Sam called around the corner as I emerged slowly, feigning nonchalance.
‘Morning.’ I smiled at them both, Jamie’s weary concern clashing against the energy Sam was exerting to pretend I belonged there. ‘Am I interrupting something?’ I asked, sure that I was. Jamie looked at Sam.
‘No, not at all,’ Sam objected, standing up and pulling out a chair beside him. ‘We were just talking about dinner, weren’t we?’ He looked at Jamie, pleading with her to agree.
‘Yes, we, er…’ She could do with a few lying lessons herself. ‘Want to join us tonight? I can cook.’ I wasn’t sure if she was offering me her food or her credentials. I studied her smile, striving for perfection even though she was clearly pissed off.
‘Thanks.’ I smiled back, still genuinely appreciative they were making space for me, even more so for the fact Jamie’s aggression was still passive. Just three more days. I looked at Sam, a sadness escaping through his smile. Three more days to let you know that you don’t have to do this. Not if you don’t want to. Not if you’re confused. I was almost convinced that my own ‘are you sure you’re okay?’ would be met by a more honest response – at least he knew I wasn’t perfect. He knew he didn’t have to be anything other than himself around me. ‘I’m actually checking out the apartment after work,’ I said. Drama be damned, I needed that deposit from Tim today. I’d have to see what happened with Sam and Jamie from a distance – hopefully the distance from Randwick to Coogee. Jamie softened; the end was in sight.
‘Cool,’ Sam said, walking across to the living room to gather his gym stuff from the airer stretched wide and covering the room’s initial cosmopolitan sheen with an unmistakable air of domesticity. ‘Want some company?’
Jamie’s modelesque frame stiffened all over again.
‘No, it’s okay. It’ll be boring.’ I shrugged, though my heart started to thud harder. It was okay, they had dinner plans anyway. ‘Just admin.’
‘You sure? Sure you don’t want a lift?’ he continued, overcompensating for not being able to give me one this morning. ‘To Randwick?’
I smiled, shaking my head. One hundred per cent. Not until I knew my own address.
‘I’ll be okay.’ I said. ‘Thank you.’ I turned to Jamie, who matched my tired smile as she gathered the breakfast bowls from the table, clearing the mess away.
‘See you at home after?’ Sam asked. I nodded. Home after. After I’d found a home.
A
buzz interrupted the click-clack of my heels. I stalled on the steps leading into the gallery to retrieve my phone from the worn pocket of the only jeans I’d, naively, packed for Sydney. I froze as I saw the sender’s name: H. Sommers. I swiped open the body of the message, heart in my mouth, subject line dancing:
Re: The Mystery of Morning – Leo Todd And Friends Launch New Exhibition at CreateSpace.
My hungry eyes devoured the words:
Dear CreateSpace.
I’d erred on the side of caution and kept my own identity anonymous too, content to hide behind CreateSpace’s email account.
I’d like to accept your invitation to the opening night of your new Leo Todd exhibition. An opportunity I couldn’t possibly refuse.
I hoped she’d feel the same about my working with her. I swiped across to my personal account, trying desperately to not mix work and what I wished was pleasure: turned out a handful of acceptances and rejections for a bunch of studio flat viewings in and around Randwick wasn’t all that pleasurable. Not when a big part of me wanted to stay close to Sam. At least Sommers’ reply might buy me some grace when I asked Tim for this week’s wages. He’d made it very clear on my first day that he was going to pay me more for my Art Today Australia expertise – an offer I wasn’t sure would stand up if he discovered that I’d only ever been Devon Atwood’s PA. I imagined even less so if he exposed me as unemployed. I didn’t have time to negotiate; I had to move forward with this today.
Pushing open the door, I found Tim and Olivia in situ. Tim was dressed in black dungarees, a flesh-coloured polo underneath that made me do a double-take. His hair and beard looked like they hadn’t been trimmed in weeks. Devon would have never let her beauty regime slide. Once again, I blamed her skewed priorities for my redundancy – it was all about keeping up appearances for her. Olivia looked as pristine as ever, tapping manicured fingers on the laptop resting on one of the two flat-pack desks we’d erected as our makeshift office in the corner of the room. I sat at the second desk, quietly so as to not set off any more mood swings. They both nodded to me, but a comfortable silence fell between the three of us: my problem-solving had earned their trust.
The Spare Bedroom: A totally heartwarming, funny and feel good romantic comedy Page 14
