Eventually, a heady mix of travel fatigue and booze silenced Sandra and Gary who sat quietly in the people carrier as they headed from the airport to the hotel. It was 7pm local time when they arrived at the Hilton in Chelsea which was only a few streets from the Mark Weiss Gallery where they would be going the following evening. During the flight over, Gary and Sandra had talked endlessly about hitting the bars when they arrived but, after a long-haul flight in which they’d practically drunk Virgin Atlantic out of mini vodkas, neither seemed ready to follow the plan through. Instead, they both said a weary goodnight and headed up to their room. Jason, too, was tired and did likewise. They had agreed to meet for breakfast the next morning, and Ben and Emily were planning to encourage Gary and Sandra to do their own thing during the day so they could do some sightseeing.
Although they were tired too, they decided to drop their bags, freshen up and head out to one of the local diners to get a drink and a snack. Finally free to enjoy their own company, Ben and Emily headed for their room and were just about to swipe the key to get in when Ben’s mobile rang. It was Gary.
‘Is this oor room?’ he demanded without introduction.
‘Yes,’ said Ben. ‘What’s the problem?’
‘It’s a bloody palace,’ he barked down the phone. ‘We’ve even got mood lightin’ in here. Sandra, that’s a fuckin’ Jacuzzi.’ Ben laughed as he listened to Gary giving his wife a run-down of every new item he spotted. It was difficult not to find their antics amusing – and endearing.
‘You like it then,’ said Ben, reminding Gary he was still on the line.
‘Like it? I’ll never get Sandra hame.’ Gary finished the call as abruptly as he’d started it leaving Ben to shake his head in bewilderment before opening the door to his own room. Once inside, like Gary, Ben and Emily marvelled at the lavish suite Sarah had booked and paid for – only telling Ben the day before he left that she’d arranged for him to be upgraded. It would have been almost impossible for him to imagine a year ago how much his relationship with his sister-in-law would have changed. Now Sarah, despite her failings, was the closest thing to family he had.
Enjoying the moment, he put his arms around Emily’s waist and drew her to him.
‘Isn’t this wonderful? I can’t believe how different my life is now.’
‘Mine too.’ She kissed him softly on the lips, deciding it would be a better idea to stay put and skip dinner.
Sarah stared at the digital clock next to her bed and watched the time turn from 2.59am to 3.00. She let out a long sigh for what seemed like the hundredth time before finally admitting defeat and switching the bedside lamp on. She looked around the dimly-lit room and admired her own good taste as she took in the printed wallpaper along the front wall of the bedroom and the painting on the white side wall she had so carefully selected from a gallery in Barcelona we had visited two years previously. The memory of the trip forced an emotional dagger through Sarah and she shut her eyes quickly, bracing for the pain. Her life had been so easy then. She didn’t have to explain herself to anyone or question anything. She was an attached, wealthy lady with only the inner-workings of her marriage to worry about. Maybe she’d dwelt on our problems too much, she mused. Perhaps, if she’d had more important things to worry about there wouldn’t have been so much tension.
She thought of Ben and Emily, just starting out in their relationship with all the excitement that brought. She checked the clock again. 3.05am. They would have arrived in New York by now and would either be out somewhere together, or spending time in their room. Another dagger worked its way in, more slowly this time, twisting in her stomach. She realised she felt horribly jealous of Emily. And the more she thought about it, the worse her jealousy got.
She looked down at her swollen belly and was once again confronted by her fear of being alone with a baby she had no idea how to care for. She wished Ben wasn’t so far away. She could have called him first thing – and had the comfort of knowing he would talk her down again. Make everything alright.
She closed her eyes and breathed deeply, trying to relax, but just as she started to drift to sleep she felt her stomach muscles start to tighten before taking a firm grip. She sat up quickly, panic rising in her chest. She’d been experiencing these ‘Braxton Hicks’ for a couple of weeks now, but in the last few days they’d been increasing in frequency and intensity. ‘Don’t come now, baby,’ she said out loud. ‘I’m not ready yet. Let’s just wait for your uncle to get back first.’
She closed her eyes again and continued her deep-breathing. Within minutes she felt her mind drifting back towards sleep, her train of thought moving between the real and the unreal as she became increasingly drowsy.
It was then I saw my chance to reach out; to cut in.
In her dream she was walking by the shore, close to the lighthouse. She saw me walking towards her in the distance. I was smiling and waving – I was the old Harry, she thought, the happy-go-lucky one she fell in love with. Sarah waved back, unsure how to react when, even in sleep, she knew I was dead. Yet in this dream it felt natural to see me. I picked up my pace, as did she, running free from the constraints of heavy pregnancy. Then briefly we held each other tight, her arms clasped so firmly behind me I thought she would never let go.
With breakfast out of the way, Ben wanted to make the most of every moment of the free time he and Emily had in New York – the city he had already fallen in love with. He was in awe of the sheer number and variety of stores, delis, restaurants, nail bars, coffee shops, pet salons – anything you could think of, in abundance. On top of that, the people were so alive and dynamic. They appeared to have no sense of self consciousness, as if just being an inhabitant of this great place brought with it an endless supply of confidence and ambition. He and Emily spent much of their time walking in silence, hand in hand, taking in the constant action all around them.
Their first stop was a large gallery in Chelsea, which had a special exhibition featuring the work of an American artist who Emily was particularly keen on. Inside they found an incredible sequence of oil paintings depicting what at first seemed like fairly grotesque images of childbirth, naked figures wrestling, a mutually obese couple embracing on a bed, but, on closer inspection, Ben realised they were actually rather beautiful. They were certainly earthy and full of character. While my brother sat down to read a leaflet about the artist, Emily excused herself and went to seek out the gallery owner. Half an hour later and Ben was running out of leaflets to read and art to look at. He moved to sit on a leather sofa near the front window and watched New Yorkers pass him by on the street outside as he waited.
He thought of Sarah and wondered what she’d be doing. He suspected she might even be having a post-lunch nap as she was growing increasingly tired these days, and he made a mental note to check in with her later.
After exchanging cards with the gallery owner, Emily finally rejoined him and they moved on a couple of blocks to a second gallery to see a collection of what were described as ‘Graphic Primitives – a hybrid of gestural tension and mathematical analysis’. To Ben, these paintings just looked like a mess of structures and colours but, he reasoned, at least they had captured his attention. Emily made notes as she wandered around, eyeing a couple of paintings for her own clients. Then she asked Ben again if he would mind waiting for her while she spoke to the manager. ‘Just try and keep it under forty-five minutes this time,’ he said, to which she raised her eyebrows.
By the time they had left the second gallery, half an hour later, Ben was thoroughly sick of looking at modern art and persuaded Emily it was time to go for lunch in a restaurant she had visited before and loved, which was only two blocks away.
Once inside the heaving eatery, Ben and Emily were shown to a small table for two in the back corner from where they could survey the scene in full. They watched intently as a group of men – who looked like they’d walked straight off the set of The Godfather – greeted each other with kisses on both cheeks before taking thei
r places around a table set for eight. Otherwise, the crowd of diners were a mix of large and small tables of families, couples and business men and women. All ate heartily and chatted loudly, adding to the magical ambiance of the place.
Ben and Emily spent a long time pondering the menu before he opted for marinated fresh sardines followed by goose liver ravioli, and she decided on grilled octopus for antipasti, then a wild boar ragu.
Ben’s eyes then swept greedily over the dessert menu and he quickly settled on a pumpkin cheesecake which he was determined to leave room for.
‘I’m so glad you recommended this place,’ he said. ‘I haven’t even tried the food and already I’m longing to come back.’
‘Eating here is an unforgettable experience. And we will come back,’ she winked.
Ben felt a sudden surge of hope and excitement – a powerful mix of emotions that had become strangers to him in his adult life. Was it Emily, was it the Melville Centre – or both? Whatever had finally made him so happy, he didn’t want it to end. It was time to take a risk, he told himself – to seize the moment in a way that, only a few months ago, he wouldn’t have dared.
‘Emily,’ he said earnestly.
‘Yes?’ She looked at him with wide open eyes, totally unsuspecting of what was to come.
‘Will you marry me?’ he asked.
Emily’s face flushed with shock. She sat forward in her seat as if buying time to think for a moment whilst trying, but failing, to maintain an illusion of poise.
In the end, she went with her gut instinct.
‘Yes,’ she replied nervously, her bottom lip starting to crumble.
Ben leaned forward over the table and kissed his new fiancée.
‘I didn’t see that coming,’ Emily laughed, dabbing at her eyes with her napkin.
‘Neither did I,’ said Ben. ‘I just opened my mouth and ended up proposing to you. I guess the words had been hiding in there waiting to come out.’
He reached over the table to kiss her again, then quickly sprang back as he saw a waiter pass their table.
‘Can we change our wine order?’ he asked.
‘Of course,’ said the waiter in his gloriously authentic Italian accent.
‘Bottle of champagne please.’
‘No problem. Are you celebrating?’ the waiter asked.
‘Yes,’ Ben beamed. ‘This wonderful lady has just agreed to be my wife.’
CHAPTER fourteen
SARAH DELIBERATELY TOOK HER TIME as she walked the last few winding streets that would lead her down to the shore at Newhaven. It was a route she very rarely took by foot but, inspired by her dream the night before, she had decided the next morning to trace her nocturnal steps. Of course there was the part of her that wondered whether I might appear to her again but, more than anything, she just wanted to feel that connection once more. Just one more moment of that liberating feeling of no longer being alone.
As she rounded the corner and saw the lighthouse at the end of the pier she was reminded of the time, several years ago, she had driven past on her way to a work meeting only to see Ben standing staring out across the water as he leaned on the harbour wall. She had been struck both by his solitude and his serenity. In that moment it had dawned on her that he had given up searching for fulfillment. His peace came from the self-defeatist in him that said, ‘don’t even bother’. She thought of him now, that same inner-calm providing the very thing that was so important to the future of the Melville Centre – and to her child. She shuddered at how dependent she was becoming on him. How barely an hour went by without her wondering what he was doing, whether it would be okay to call him. She knew she couldn’t expect Ben to fill the gap left by my death, but that still didn’t stop her thinking about it. They had become ridiculously at ease with one another. Sarah had no idea how it had happened, but it had happened.
She crossed the street and began the walk she had made in her dream just the night before, treading the pavement leading along the shore, half hoping, half fearing, that she might encounter me again – this time in reality. Perhaps I would bring her a message, she hoped, make her see sense, stop her yearning for a different life. Her eyes searched all around for a sign, but her quest was soon thwarted when she was seized by a twist of pain across her stomach, tightening and tightening its grip until she could hardly breathe. She put her hand out to hold on to the harbour wall, and gasped for air. An elderly man passing by rushed to her aid. ‘Are you all right, love?’ he asked anxiously. ‘Is the baby coming?’
‘I don’t know,’ she said, her voice an unrecognisable high-pitched squeak. She took several more deep breaths before straightening up. ‘It’s passed,’ she said, her body flooding with relief. ‘Must have been all the walking. I’ll take a taxi home.’
‘Let me flag one down for you, dear,’ he said, taking Sarah by the arm. ‘And you should give your husband a phone so he can come back and keep you company. You shouldn’t be out on your own.’
‘Yes,’ she found herself nodding, not having the energy to explain her morbid predicament. ‘He’s away on business,’ she said. ‘He’s back soon though.’
‘And a good thing too,’ the old man said, tutting to himself. ‘You shouldn’t be by yourself in your condition.’
Revived by a short nap following their long lunch, Ben and Emily made it down to the hotel reception to find Gary nervously pacing the floor, while Jason stood outside with his mother as she smoked a cigarette.
‘The taxi’s here,’ Gary called cheerfully when he spotted them.
Ben smiled and realised he was growing fonder of his travel companion by the minute who, despite his bark, had a big heart and clearly loved his boy. Gary looked smart in a blue shirt and grey suit and, once outside Ben found Sandra too had pulled out all the stops in a lilac dress. ‘You look beautiful,’ he told her, giving her a peck on the cheek. She smiled and winked, ‘You’ve scrubbed up alright yersel.’
But the smartest of all was Jason, who oozed cool in a black fitted shirt and pinstripe black and grey trousers with expensive-looking leather shoes, polished to perfection. Emily in a black and white fitted dress with burgundy shawl, was chic and typically understated, while Ben had adopted the male evening uniform of shirt, dark jeans and blazer.
He and Emily had agreed to keep their news to themselves this evening so as not to overshadow Jason’s moment. Once inside the people carrier, they kept the conversation to a superficial discussion on where they’d visited that day.
Ben was glad they had all opted to dress smartly as they were soon to discover that the gallery was extremely upmarket – as was the owner. Mark Weiss greeted them personally at the door as they arrived, dressed in an electric blue suit and crisp white shirt. He peered at each of them in turn through his black-rimmed spectacles before introducing himself. He shook hands with Ben, Gary and Sandra but dramatically kissed Jason and Emily on each cheek as if they were long-lost friends.
‘You’re a genius,’ he said earnestly to Jason who was, by now, looking distinctly out of his depth. To everyone’s huge relief a girl arrived carrying champagne on a tray which they all readily accepted. Ushering them round the corner into a sectioned-off, but spacious second room, Mark proudly presented Jason’s drawings which had been immaculately framed and mounted on the walls to breathtaking effect. In a large space like this and at full size, Ben found his drawings even more spectacular. The detail was extraordinary, especially considering Jason had received no formal training whatsoever. Standing in the middle of the room, Ben understood perfectly what all the fuss was about and couldn’t wait to see how the other guests responded to Jason’s work.
Gary took one look at the display and burst into tears only to be fiercely reprimanded by Sandra.
‘Whit’s wrong wi you, Gary? Sort yersel’ oot.’
‘I just… cannae… believe… this is ma bairn.’ Gary sobbed, gesturing towards the pictures on the wall, before flinging his arms around Jason. ‘I’m so proud ae you son.’
‘He’s an awesome talent,’ Mark chipped in. ‘As soon as I saw his drawings, I knew he was going to be a big deal. I’ve got some important people coming here tonight – buyers, critics, some other gallery owners – and I know they’re going to be blown away.’
‘What do I need to do?’ Jason asked, his nerves written in bold letters across his face.
‘Just be yourself,’ Mark reassured him. ‘Your work can do the talking.’
Mark was right, as the forty or so guests dribbled in, Ben watched each of their faces turn from mild interest to a mixture of awe or intrigue – sometimes both.
‘He did THAT just with a pen?’ One very loud, colourful New Yorker boomed, adding: ‘It’s as sharp as a picture.’
All the while, Gary stood to the side clutching his glass of champagne and looking like the cat that got the cream.
‘Hi. I’m Jason’s dad,’ he would say from time to time as guests filtered past. ‘He gets it frae me, eh,’ he’d wink as he nodded towards the pictures, the guests smiling politely back at him not exactly sure what he’d just said.
Jason, as instructed, stuck close to Mark Weiss all evening, meeting the great and the good. Ben marvelled at how well the youngster was coping with such an overwhelming experience. There was clearly a lot of money in the room along with some very influential people from the art world.
Ben overheard a critic introducing himself to Jason and asking him why he had chosen a ballpoint to produce his drawings.
‘It was all I had,’ Jason replied.
‘Then that’s all you needed,’ said the critic.
Ben also watched Emily as she mingled with the other guests, completely at home in this fanciful world and handing out her business cards like they were sweets. From time to time she would glance over at Ben and smile conspiratorially as if to show him this was just a game. But Ben knew just how seriously she was taking this. She hadn’t stopped networking from the second they got in the front door and wouldn’t until the last person left.
From the Outside Page 17
