‘Nope, wouldn’t be right to get drunk with a colleague.’
‘I didn’t mean it like that. I mean, we’re friends of course, but friends who work together.’
‘Yes. Colleagues.’
‘Betty—’
‘I broke up with Tristan. He didn’t want me to come here. It meant missing his sister’s wedding. He told me I would have to choose. And I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to stress you out. Because generally I pretty much tell you everything.’
‘Not everything …’
‘Everything. When my diaphragm got stuck, who did I call?’
‘I know, Betty, but this was different. This was about my family and—’
‘I wouldn’t understand.’ She nodded and finished the last of her drink. ‘Everything’s ready for the show. Marcus has scheduled all the media to go out. I’m gonna head back to London. I don’t want to get behind on my work.’
‘Bettina, you’re taking this—’
She stood up and tucked her computer under her arm. ‘Night, Alison. Best of luck with whatever it is you think you want to achieve.’
41
MY ALARM RANG. I had set it to birdsong; I thought bringing nature into the room would make waking up feel less violent, but opening my eyes was no less distressing than it was every morning. I was miserable; I wanted to shoot those birds. I stared at the ceiling, trying to untangle the actual events of the day before from my frantic, fretful dreams. Mostly the nightmare was real. I pushed my fingers into my mouth, pleased to find my teeth in place. My room phone rang.
‘Yeah?’ I croaked into the receiver.
‘Wake up,’ said Henry. ‘I know how much you love your mornings so I’m sending you breakfast. I’ve convinced the cute chick on reception to let us use one of their meeting rooms as a base today. Meet us downstairs in forty-five.’ I pulled my body off the mattress; muscles I didn’t know I had ached. When I opened the curtains and let the day in, the city stretched out beyond what I could see and I digested how insane my mission had been. My time with Frank had felt so magical that I somehow believed that my need to see him would overpower reality. There was a knock at the door; it was time to let reality in.
In the meeting room Nush was curled up in the only comfortable seat, a high-backed wing chair in the corner. She had a throw wrapped round her and a pair of oversized sunglasses obscuring most of her face. Henry was at the table slamming the keys of his laptop.
‘What happened to Bettina?’ he asked before I could sit down. ‘She sent me an email in the middle of the night saying she was off the project.’
‘Yeah, something came up,’ I replied. ‘Can I get a coffee?’ Henry ignored my request. He pushed his scraggly fringe back from his head, revealing a streak of grey that had developed in his dark locks.
‘Mate, that’s not on. If anyone knows about bailing it’s me, and this is a bad time to bail. She was running the ticketing system and I can’t make any sense of it.’
‘Give it here and go get me a coffee.’ Henry pushed the screen towards me and left the room, muttering something about incompetency. The open window displayed a mishmash of numbers and names; I had no idea whether what I was looking at was good or bad, and not enough energy to begin to work it out. ‘Nush, you must have heard from your contacts. How many people have you got coming?’ Nush let out a low moan. ‘Nush?’
‘I don’t know!’ she shrieked, pulling the throw over her head. ‘Stop nagging me.’
‘This isn’t nagging, Nush. If you don’t get your act together, you will understand what nagging is. You will feel the full force of me at peak nagging, and believe me I could get a master’s degree in nagging. You will not survive it.’ Nush pulled her glasses down to peer at me. The previous night’s eye make-up had melted and spread into the appearance of two black eyes. ‘Get out your phone. Check Instagram, see how many people are liking your stuff or whatever. Give me numbers.’ It seemed to be taking a lot more effort than normal to breathe. I had been so focused on finding Frank that I’d missed the fact that if the event failed, Carter would lose all faith in me; Nush, or rather her daddy, would stop paying me, and the house of cards I had spent twenty years meticulously building would topple down.
The door flew open and the promise of caffeine momentarily lifted my spirits, but it was Charlie who burst into the room and he wasn’t holding a latte.
‘The venue are being completely unreasonable about Picnic. They’re saying it’s indecent.’ He began pacing the length of the room in the manner of a very important man considering an equally important decision, but with a black vest revealing his pale, spindly arms he looked more like a toddler gearing up for a tantrum. ‘Picnic is the cornerstone of the collection,’ he cried. ‘If you don’t get Picnic, you don’t get me!’ Picnic was a collection of found condoms; Charlie had foraged them from parks and woodland areas in and around London. Art is subjective but it was objectively gross.
‘Charlie, leave Picnic for a more aligned audience. You have so many other … wonderful pieces. If anything, I wonder if it would detract from all that.’ I made an effort to appear as though I really was in that very second wondering, when in fact I was silently screaming.
‘Take it out!’ Charlie banged a fist on the table. ‘You can’t just take it out. The project needs to be viewed as a whole. It’s a journey.’ A journey through your depraved mind, I thought. Henry rushed in, also coffeeless. Things felt very bleak.
‘The drinks have arrived here,’ he said breathlessly.
‘They haven’t. Do you see a coffee in front of me?’ I said with the last of my patience.
‘No, the drinks for the show, they turned up at reception. I must have given them the wrong address or something.’
‘What are you going to do about Picnic?’ demanded Charlie.
‘Can you excuse me for a minute,’ I muttered. I went to the women’s bathroom and sat on the closed lid of one of the toilets. It was a trick I tried to use when the girls were young and I needed some time to myself. As it had then, it failed, and within a minute Nush was calling my name.
‘Are you in here? We need you.’ I held my breath and the room fell silent. I exhaled prematurely, alerting her to my presence. Three heavy thumps shook the stall. I wriggled out of my navy linen trousers, pushing them down to my ankles in case she peeked through the gap at the bottom of the door. ‘Charlie’s freaking out and he’s blaming me, and people are saying that they haven’t got ticket confirmation and I can’t deal with this. I had about three minutes’ sleep last night.’
‘Anoushka, this is your show. You have to take some responsibility.’ She sniffed.
‘I hired you to take responsibility. You work for me.’ I listened to her heels tapping on the tiles as she walked away. I considered it, but knew that hiding in the toilet for two days was not a viable option. He picked up on the second ring.
‘Carter,’ I said. ‘I’m sorry.’ There was no time for elaboration. ‘I may be in over my head.’
‘Why’s that?’ he asked, and I sensed a hint of distraction or amusement.
‘Things aren’t going to plan. Bettina, um, she’s had to …’ I bit down on my lower lip to compose myself. ‘Bettina’s gone and I don’t understand the booking system. Honestly, I don’t understand any of the systems we use really.’ Carter was silent. I imagined him slipping off his glasses and holding the bridge of his nose, exhausted by my existence. ‘Carter?’ I whispered.
‘Do you want to know something, Alison?’ I said yes because what could he say about me that I hadn’t already said to myself? I was a fraud, I was a liar, and I always bit off more than I could chew. ‘Alison, no one really knows how those systems work. That’s how they make money. If we knew, we probably wouldn’t buy them.’ Relief flooded out of me with a snort. ‘Leave it with me,’ he said. ‘I’ll get back to you shortly.’ I clutched my phone tightly, my trousers still round my ankles; a small voice in my head berated me for asking a man to save me, but a louder
one told me I might be beyond help. Even though I was waiting, I wasn’t ready and when the phone rang, I jumped and fumbled with the slider before gushing a hurried hello.
‘Carter said you needed an extra body.’ Annie, her delight bouncing down the line. ‘Email me some details. I can be there by late afternoon.’ What could I say but yes?
I left the toilets, not quite determined but something approaching it. I was tired of losing people and things, and I wasn’t willing to let the art project go. I had the sense that something good could come from Frank and me – the show would be the child that made a failed relationship worthy and, ultimately, I couldn’t let Annie see me fall apart. In the meeting room Nush was snoring softly in the wing chair, the throw pulled up to her chin. Henry, hunched over the laptop, whispered, ‘I think I’m getting somewhere with this.’ I stood beside him and watched as he pulled names and numbers across the screen. I kissed the top of his head; he smelled a bit like sawdust.
‘Thanks for sticking with it, bro.’ He gave a shy smile. ‘My colleague Annie’s coming to replace Bettina. I’ll go and finish setting up the venue and you keep going with this. Where’s Charlie?’
‘Not a clue.’ We exchanged a look we used to in childhood, when Mum was reaching for another drink. I rang Charlie’s room before combing the bar and gym. As I searched, I began to strategize – would anyone notice if the artist wasn’t present? How feasible would it be to have Henry stand in as Charlie X? I couldn’t spend any more time searching for a man in Berlin. I decided it was best to get to the gallery and arrange the pieces myself; if the artist had a problem with that, he would have to channel it into his next creation. For the next two days, I was in charge.
Outside, Charlie was crouched next to a large terracotta pot, a hand-rolled cigarette burning between his fingers; several discarded butts were scattered at his feet.
‘Charlie? Charlie, are you crying?’ He stood and threw the cigarette down with the others.
‘No.’ But his blotchy face said otherwise.
‘I’m heading to the venue, are you ready to go?’ I started towards the road.
‘What’s the point?’ I turned slowly, to give me time to take several inhalations.
‘Because we have an event starting in about thirty hours, and it’s pretty much centred around you.’ Charlie leaned back on to the wall behind him. I clasped my hands together to stop myself from dragging him away from it.
‘My dad’s an actuary, senior partner,’ he said. ‘Do you know what that means?’
‘Not really. I mean, I have a vague idea. I can picture the type of person—’
‘It means he makes a shitload of money, which means that nothing I ever do will ever be good enough. He’s made that abundantly clear.’ He dropped his head as though it was heavy with his thoughts. I joined him against the wall, addressing the space in front of me so I wouldn’t seem too confrontational.
‘Charlie, you won’t know this because you’re not a parent, but it’s nothing like they say it is. Everyone thinks you get this tiny creature and you love it and it’s as simple as that, but it’s not, because nothing’s simple. Yes, you love them, but sometimes you resent them for depriving you of the dreams you had or envy them for living out their own.’ Charlie gave an incredulous grunt.
‘Really?’
‘Really,’ I said. And at the time I thought I was only saying it to comfort him, but later I realized it was true. That I resented Ruby for having everything I had wanted when I was growing up, and was jealous that she used her voice to speak out against the little she had to complain about. ‘I bet he wishes he had all your creativity, I bet actuarying doesn’t give him much of an outlet. I bet he wears jazzy socks.’ Charlie laughed, and it was light and relaxed.
‘He does, lime green – they’re rank.’
‘See. I’m right. He wants a bit of what you have, but he only has socks. Don’t let his failings become your own.’ Charlie stood upright and squared his shoulders.
‘Let’s put on a show,’ he said. I could tell he wasn’t completely convinced, but he was getting there.
The venue was an old school building, converted into meeting rooms. We’d hired the entire space, and I was more than a little intimidated as Charlie and I stood in the centre of the hall, engulfed by its potential. The venue staff were young and smiley and seemed ready to help, but their English faltered and their presence was scarce when there was any real work to be done. Charlie and I set up between the two of us. He let me know in short, terse sentences how he wanted the art positioned or that I had inadvertently placed a piece upside down. And he listened carefully, hands on hips and jaw set, as I explained the importance of giving the attendees space to move and congregate. I felt harried, and sweat had glued my shirt to my back, but we were collaborating and that made me feel a lot less alone.
When the main room was finished we went upstairs to the balcony, where Charlie had decided he wanted to display Picnic. He had to force the door so hard that he fell forward as it opened, into an area that was definitely not as functional as advertised. Abandoned paperwork was piled around the room and the remaining floor space covered with dust so thick it looked like carpeting. Charlie swore and moved towards one of the first stack of papers. As he did, the floorboards creaked menacingly.
‘Get out, Charlie!’
He let out an anguished cry before shouting, ‘Everything’s fucked!’ The noise disturbed a pigeon that had been concealed somewhere in the rafters; it flew haphazardly above our heads before crashing into a window and plummeting to the floor, to turn in jerky circles.
‘Come on,’ I said. ‘I’ll sort it.’ He followed me to reception, where two of the staff members were engaged in a conversation too animated to be about work.
‘I need to speak with someone about the balcony.’ The pair, a young man with a bleached-blond crew cut and a girl with visible tattoos and large black-rimmed glasses, stopped talking and stared at me blankly. ‘The balcony, it seems unsafe and it’s very dirty.’
‘Dirty,’ said the boy with a smile, and then disappeared into a small office behind the desk. Charlie and I waited in heavy silence. The girl didn’t move from her position, her inked arms hanging limply by her sides. ‘Dirty,’ the boy said again, as he re-emerged clutching a wooden broom. Charlie slammed his forehead on to the desk, and the sound of the impact echoed around the space. The girl looked alarmed but the boy maintained his satisfied smile.
‘No …’ I cleared my throat. ‘I don’t want to clean it, I want it to be usable now, as stated in our contract.’
‘You don’t want it clean?’ asked the boy. Charlie, who had not removed his face from the counter, began to bounce his head rhythmically on the wood.
‘No, I want it clean but I don’t want to do it, I want it to be done.’ My pitch rose as I felt things start to slip out of control yet again. A stern female voice came from behind me; I didn’t understand the German but the commanding tone was universal.
The boy’s smile drooped and he whispered a halting, ‘I’m sorry.’
‘Finally,’ I said. ‘Someone in charge.’
‘I don’t know about that,’ said Annie, as she slipped in between Charlie and me. I flip-flopped between awe and annoyance as she conversed with the boy, but by the time she had finished I had landed on acceptance. ‘Jasper and his colleague will stay tonight to help with the event and clean up, and he’ll speak to the owner about a partial refund. Henry’s nearly finished the ticketing system and then he’ll head over with Nush; in the meantime, Charlie, please introduce me to your art.’
From the moment Annie arrived, Charlie softened and became completely malleable. I’m sure her looks helped – it would be difficult for any red-blooded man not to submit to those charms – but it wasn’t just that: she knew exactly what to say and how to say it. She convinced him to save the condom piece for his next show. ‘I like to save something for later,’ she said, just suggestively enough to remain professional. She cajoled the ve
nue staff like a benevolent dictator, and under her watchful eye they began to resemble useful members of society. When Annie asked me what food I wanted her to order, I realized I was famished.
‘I could literally eat anything,’ I said. ‘And thank you.’
‘It’s no problem.’ She pulled her hair back from her face and secured a ponytail with a band she had on her wrist. It was one of those ones that looks like an old-style phone cord; I was always finding them between the sofa cushions.
‘Annie. Thanks for everything – for coming and, well, just being you.’ Annie did her nose wrinkle.
‘Well, I can’t be anyone else, can I?’
‘No,’ I told her, ‘you really can’t.’
Henry arrived triumphant from taming the ticketing system, and spent the rest of the day emailing Berlin’s movers and shakers with the location; even Nush stayed sober long enough to post some intriguing set-up pictures on her numerous social media accounts. At the very end of the day Annie, Henry, Nush and I squeezed on to one of the hotel-lobby sofas and toasted our efforts with a bottle of champagne. I was proud of them and myself. I’d achieved something that felt like it could be spectacular, and for the first time I didn’t feel like I was faking.
The show was spectacular. Charlie flicked an internal switch and overnight transformed himself from a doubt-ridden wannabe to a bona fide artist. Annie had Henry man the door with her, and even when things got backed up they flirted the crowd into submission. Line after line of people shuffled into the hall to gawp in wonder at Charlie’s imaginings; they were delighted to have the man himself explaining the deep symbolism behind used gum. I tried to stay in the shadows; I wanted to watch it unfold, witness all those people enjoying what I had created, and all the time I never gave up hope that one of those people would be him.
‘We did it!’ screamed Nush, as she caught me carrying discarded champagne flutes to the kitchen. She didn’t wait for me to put them down before pulling me to her.
More Than a Mum Page 29
