Fine Lines

by Simon Beckett

  "I'l see you tomorrow, then. "Bye." Anna left the room, and I heard her go downstairs. After a moment the door slammed.

  I did not move. I felt confused, in turmoil. I looked across into the mirror. Now it held only the office and me. I looked middle-aged and unprepossessing. I switched off the light so the room was lit by the desk lamp, as before. I moved a chair until my view of the mirror was approximately as it had been from outside. I stared at it. It was stil empty, but with only a little concentration I could

  picture Anna moving into it again. I closed my eyes. The image held.

  Once more I pictured her breasts, traced in my mind's eye their every curve and swel . I saw the plane of her stomach, her navel, the black wedge of curls. She bent over again in front of me, her haunches smooth and round, cleaved by modest yet provocative shadows. Eyes closed, I ran through it al in slow motion, lingering and reviewing at wil . Almost without consent my hands moved, careful not to disturb the images.

  For the first time since I was a teenager, I masturbated.

  Chapter Two

  From then on, I was a man obsessed. I could not look at Anna in the same way again. Or, rather, for the first time I actual y began to look at her. I noticed things I had never been aware of before, either in her or anyone else. Each morning I would wait eagerly for her to arrive at the gal ery, wondering what she would be wearing, if her hair would be taken back or loose. I noticed how her clothes touched and briefly clung to her body when she moved, how she had a particular scent al her own. Everything about her seemed perfect.

  But if I was obsessed, it was a modest obsession. I knew my limitations. I had no ambitions to make her my mistress. Such a thing was so far beyond my experience as to be virtual y unimaginable. The best I could ever hope for was to become her friend, and so to that end I began to try and break down the reserve that existed between us. It was surprisingly easy. The hardest part was not making my sudden interest appear too obvious. I could have spent hours watching her, cherishing each unconscious movement, storing it for later, private perusal. The arch of her neck, a few bare inches of flesh, could hold me mesmerised for hours. I was constantly aware of her body underneath the clothes. They seemed only to emphasise what they concealed. One day she was very obviously not wearing a bra, and I could barely take my eyes from the judder and swing of her breasts. I convinced myself that this was a sign she was beginning to feel more at ease. In fact, I had never noticed in the past if she wore one or not.

  As she became more relaxed with me, I began to hear more about her private life. And in particular about Marty, her boyfriend. Her feelings for him were patently obvious, and the more

  I heard, the more I was fil ed with envy for this unknown man. And also curiosity. I tried to imagine what he looked like. I formed an image of him in my mind; tal and darkly good looking, a male equivalent of Anna. I admit to a slight disapproval that he was American, but I was prepared to admit that was probably my own prejudice. The object of Anna's affection could surely not be anything other than exceptional. I felt certain she would not give herself to less.

  Then came the opportunity to meet him for myself. Anna approached me one afternoon. "Are you busy tonight?" she asked.

  I tried to hide my rush of excitement. "No, not real y. Why?"

  "Wel , if you aren't, you could do me an awful y big favour. But only if it's no trouble."

  "I'm sure it won't be. What is it?"

  "A friend of mine is an artist, and it's her first show tonight. I wondered, if you weren't doing anything, if you'd mind coming along to it? She's real y nervous, so the more people who go the better. And with you being quite influential, I know she'd like you to be there." I felt a thril of pleasure. "I'd be delighted."

  "You're sure it's no problem? I know it's short notice."

  "Real y, I'd love to come." Anna beamed at me. "Thanks, that's great! Marty said you wouldn't mind." I was unsure whether or not I liked the implications of that. Then another thought struck me. "Wil Marty be going tonight?"

  "Yes. We'l be there around eight-ish. But you don't have to be there that early." I reassured her that it was not too early for me, and tried to be attentive when she gave me directions to where the exhibition was being held. But I was hardly listening. I was going to meet Anna's boyfriend. Her lover.

  I was suddenly acutely nervous.

  The exhibition was in a smal gal ery near Camden. I arrived there just before eight. My stomach was coiling. I had not eaten anything since lunch, but I was too on edge to feel hungry.

  The gal ery looked warm and bright, and I could see people mil ing about inside as I approached. I peered through the windows, trying to pick out Anna and settle my nerves before going in, but succeeded in doing neither. I took a deep breath and opened the door.

  A glass of wine was immediately pushed into my hand by a cadaverous young man in a baggy sweater. It was obviously from a supermarket's bargain bin, but I accepted it grateful y and looked around for Anna.

  There was no sign of her. I looked at my watch. It was stil not quite eight o'clock, and feeling anticlimax mingle with relief I turned my attention to the exhibition.

  The daubs were even more amateurish than I had feared. I dislike abstract art at the best of times, and this was nowhere near the best.

  I recognised one of the critics there, and the look he gave me supported my own opinion. The majority of the crowd appeared to be more interested in the free wine than the paintings, and I could not blame them. I was considering accepting a second glass myself when Anna's voice came from behind me.

  "Hel o. Have you been here long?" I turned, surprised and flustered. "No, no. I've only just got here." I breathed in her perfume. She stil wore her coat, and a scarf was draped around her neck. Her face looked pinched from the cold. "Sorry we're late. The tube was delayed again, and we couldn't get a taxi. We walked from the underground." She moved to one side.

  "You've not met Marty, have you?" I had been aware of someone standing just behind her, but only peripheral y. He was so unlike my idea of what Marty should look like that I had taken no notice of him. Now, as he stepped forward and held out his hand, I felt a shock so strong I could barely respond.

  The tal , good-looking Marty of my imagination did not exist. The creature Anna introduced was smal , slight, and run tish His clothes hung on his meagre frame, and dark-framed glasses made his eyes seem disproportionately large in his thin face. His hair was unkempt and mousy, completing the image of a bookish schoolboy.

  I managed to smile as I shook his hand. "I'm pleased to meet you. I've heard a lot about you."

  "I don't know if that's good or bad." His accent was relatively slight. But by then his nationality was the least of my complaints.

  I was recovering now from the initial shock. "Oh, you needn't worry. It was al good."

  "I only told him the good points," Anna said. They smiled at each other.

  "Here, I'l find somewhere to put your coat," he said to her. "Would you like another glass of wine, Mr. Ramsey?" I felt I needed one. "If it's no bother." I gritted my teeth. "And please, cal me Donald." Taking Anna's coat, Marty disappeared into the crowd. There was nothing about him to make him stand out from it.

  "So what do you think?" Anna asked. I blinked.

  "Pardon?"

  "The exhibition. Have you had chance to see much of it yet?" For a moment I had thought she was asking my opinion of her boyfriend.

  "Wel , I haven't seen it al ," I hedged.

  "Oh, there's Teresa," Anna said, looking beyond me. "She's the artist.

  I'd better go and have a word. Would you like me to introduce you?" I could think of few things I would like less. But it would keep me close to Anna. "Yes, al right." The artist was a thin, intense young woman dressed completely in black.

  Her eye make-up was almost as alarming as her art. For Anna's sake I did my best to sound encouraging without committing myself. Marty joined us a few moments later, and the evening reached a nadir when the youn
g woman insisted on escorting us personal y around a selection of pieces, explaining her intentions and methods in stultifying detail.

  But by then reaction to seeing Marty was beginning to set in, and I was glad the artist loved the sound of her own voice enough for me to keep mine to a minimum.

  Eventual y, she went in search of other victims. I stood with Anna and Marty in front of a huge canvas that looked as though a child had smeared creme caramel on it.

  "I think Teresa must be nervous," Anna said, after a moment. "She's not normal y as pushy as that."

  "I suppose your first exhibition must be nerve-wracking," I said, for Anna's sake.

  Marty studied the painting. "It's nerve-wracking enough having to look at it."

  "Marty!" Anna tried to look severe.

  He gave an apologetic shrug. "I'm sorry, but I might as wel be honest. I hate to say it, but I just don't think this is any good, that's al ." One hand went up to push back his glasses.

  "What do you think, Donald?" I was annoyed at being put on the spot. "Wel , this sort of thing's not real y my cup of tea, anyway. I've never been fond of the abstract movement."

  "Would you say it's wel done, though?" Anna asked. "I know you won't like it, but do you think there's ... wel , anything there?" I struggled to be diplomatic. "Wel , there's an obvious enthusiasm.

  And it is only her first exhibition, but ..." I shied away from the criticism.

  "But you don't think it's real y any good." Anna finished for me.

  I sighed. "No, not real y. But that's only my opinion, of course."

  "I know Teresa's an old friend and you don't want to hurt her feelings," Marty said, 'but you've got to admit this is a mistake. She should have stuck to doing portraits at Covent Garden. It might not have got her any reviews, but at least it made her money. She's wasting her time with this." Looking at the canvas in front of her, Anna reluctantly nodded. "Poor Teresa. She's put everything she's got into it, too."

  "That doesn't say much for Teresa," Marty murmured. Anna gave him a little push and turned to me, smiling rueful y.

  "I'm sorry for dragging you down here, Donald. I didn't realise it would be this bad." It stil sounded strange to hear her use my Christian name. "No need to apologise. I've enjoyed the experience, if not the art." Marty looked at his watch. "Wel , we've done our duty. I can't see any point in staying any longer, can you?" I felt a sudden emptiness at the thought of them leaving. I remembered I had not eaten, and wondered if I dare invite them out for dinner. But while I was trying to gather the courage to ask, the opportunity was lost.

  "You don't mind if we go, do you?" Anna asked. "We haven't had a chance to eat yet, so we're going to get a pizza, or something." I smiled. "No, of course I don't mind."

  I waited by the door while Anna made her excuses to the artist and Marty fetched their coats. Those few minutes alone were enough to turn my depression into a dul ache of outrage.

  We went outside together.

  There was nothing now to stop us from going our separate ways. Me to my solitary house, the two of them to whatever they had planned. And eventual y to bed.

  "Would you like a lift?" I asked.

  Anna shook her head. "No, it's okay, thanks."

  "It's no trouble. It's too cold to be walking tonight."

  "No, honestly, it's okay." She appealed to Marty. "We've not real y decided where we're going yet, have we?"

  "No. There's stil a dispute about whether it's going to be Italian or Chinese. But thanks anyway." He held out his gloved hand, smiling.

  "It's been nice meeting you." I shook it. They said goodnight and walked away. As I watched them go, I noticed that his feeble figure was no tal er than hers. He put his arm around her, and I felt a sour, leaden feeling in my gut. To think that she had given herself to such a pathetic creature was unbearable. The ful impact of my disappointment final y hit me. I drove home, imagining the two of them together. Now they wil be in a restaurant, I thought. Then, later: now they wil be home. And then: now they wil be naked. The images were as vivid as though I were watching, but this time unwelcomely so. I had a sudden vision of his body on hers, and quickly forced it from my mind. It was useless tormenting myself. Unworthy as Marty was, he was stil Anna's choice.

  I could do nothing to change that.

  I consoled myself with the thought that at least I was closer to her than I had been. Now the ice had been broken and I had seen her social y, I had something to build on. It was not much, but it was al I had. I would have to content myself with that.

  It was only when even these crumbs were threatened to be taken from me that I felt compel ed to act.

  I found out by accident. It was shortly after the exhibition. I was upstairs in the office, Anna was downstairs in the gal ery itself. I had no idea she was using the telephone until I picked up the office extension and heard her voice.

  I did not intend to eavesdrop. But there was something seductive about being able to listen without her being aware of it. And once I had hesitated, I had no choice. They had not noticed the click when I lifted the receiver, but if they heard me set it back down they would know I had been on the other end. So I had to listen.

  The gist of the conversation escaped me at first. Then Anna said, "I know it's a big step, but I want to go," and I became more alert. The word 'go' seemed fraught with dreadful connotations.

  "So long as you're sure, that's al right," the other speaker, a girl, said. "But have you thought what'l happen if it doesn't work out? I know you won't like me saying it, but you haven't known each other that long, have you?"

  "Oh, don't you start, Debbie. I've had al that from my parents. You know what my mum's like."

  "Wel , for once I can see her point. I mean, I real y like Marty, but it's stil a massive risk, isn't it?"

  "I know it is, but I've got to take it. It isn't as though I'm doing it lightly. Sometimes I'm petrified when I think about it, but I can't just stay here and let him go by himself, can I?"

  "Couldn't you go over later?"

  "What's the point? If I'm going I might as wel go with him. Why spend God knows how long apart, just until I'm sure I'm doing the right thing? There's only one way to find out, isn't there?" The other girl sighed. "I know. And I suppose I'd do exactly the same if I were you. I'm just jealous that it isn't me who's being whisked off to America." The room lurched. I tried to tel myself they might only be talking about Anna going on holiday, but then even that straw was snatched away.

  "Have you told your boss yet?" the girl asked.

  Anna's voice dropped lower. "No, not yet. It isn't for another couple of months, so I'l tel him nearer the time. We're going to need al the money we can get until I find a job over there, so I don't want him sacking me. I don't think he'l mind, but I daren't chance it." I closed my eyes. I wished I had never picked up the telephone. Anna was leaving. Going to America with that sad excuse for a man. Not only was he wasting her, now he was taking her away.

  And she did not even dare tel me. I hardly heard the rest of the conversation. I had just enough presence of mind left to put the receiver down when it finished.

  I sat there and tried to gather my wits, already feeling a sense of loss. And growing anger. This was Marty's fault. Anna would go to America with him, and I would never see her again. There was nothing I could do to prevent her: as poor as Marty was, I was a poorer rival.

  It was the first time I had actual y thought of myself as such. But I realised now that that was what we were. Rivals. As the concept established itself in my mind I began to consider what advantages I had over him. It was painful y obvious that there was only one. His ignorance. Neither he nor Anna perceived me as a threat to their relationship. Until that moment I had never considered myself as one either. Now I knew I had to be.

  The question was, what could I actual y do about it? Common sense told me that, by myself, the answer was very little. It was then I hit upon the idea of bringing in outside help.

  Two days later I cal ed Zepp
o.

  Chapter Three

  The same night I met Zeppo I had a peculiar dream. Normal y I am a heavy and deep sleeper: if I have any dreams, as psychologists insist I must, I do not remember them. But this was extremely vivid. I was in the house I grew up in. I was lying on a sofa, and I presume I was a child, since everything in the room was much larger than it should be.

  A fire was burning nearby, and I felt warm and comfortable. My mother was sitting with her back to me, brushing her hair in front of a mirror, and I lay there, peaceful and secure, watching it catch the glow from the fire with each stroke.

  That was al . Or at least as much as I could remember. Why I should remember any of it at al I had no idea. There was nothing about it that seemed exceptional. But the memory of it stayed with me after I had shaved and breakfasted, and was stil on my mind as I drove to the gal ery.

  I put my distraction down to that and my meeting with Zeppo the previous night. The traffic was moving slowly as I came into the centre of London, the usual crammed lanes of early morning vehicles. I approached a junction and passed through the traffic lights, and suddenly there was a crunching jolt.

  I was rocked violently as the car came to a sudden stop. A Range Rover had run into my left wing. I barely had time to recover from the shock when the cars waiting behind me began blaring their horns. I glared up at the other driver, a woman, about to gesture for her to pul away and wait for me, when she did the same, gesticulating imperiously before backing her car off mine. The discrepancy in heights had prevented the bumpers from locking, and they separated with only a slight jar. She edged around in front of me and, once clear of the junction, pul ed into the side.

  I had stal ed on the impact, and as I tried to restart the engine I found my hands were shaking. The clamour of car horns only made matters worse, and it took three attempts before the ignition caught.

  A rasping, scraping noise came from my left wing as I pul ed to the kerb behind the Range Rover. I put on the hand brake and climbed angrily out. I was just formulating the first heated phrase when the woman slammed out of her car and preempted me.