Ink and Ivy

by Sara Martin

  “There. That looks great.” He pulled up a chair and, with his sketchpad resting on his knee, he began to draw me with brisk strokes.

  When the five minutes were up, the timer on Julian’s cell phone beeped. “Time for the next pose. Hmmm… Why don’t you sit down at the desk?”

  He cleared his desk by sweeping away the clutter onto the floor. He pulled out the chair for me and I sat down.

  “That looks good,” he said, surveying the scene.

  I stared out the window while Julian drew me.

  After five sketches were complete, a knock interrupted us. Priscilla came in holding a tray with pastries and a pot of tea.

  “I thought you two could use a break. You’ve been working so hard.”

  Julian cleared a space on the floor and put some cushions down. We sat down together. Priscilla poured the cups of tea.

  “Ivy, my dear, what’s new in your world?”

  My recent trip immediately sprang to mind. “I was in Wellington last weekend. I went to the Law School open day at Hill.”

  “That’s right,” Julian said. “How was it?”

  “Hill University was uninspiring, to say the least.”

  He scoffed. “No surprises there.”

  “But I was also able to visit the Elias Institute. Have you heard of it?”

  “It was one of the places I thought about studying visual art. Oh, yeah. They do a creative writing major too, don’t they?”

  I nodded. “The campus is absolutely stunning. There are private study rooms for everyone. The tutors are all so accomplished…”

  Julian smirked. “You sound excited just talking about it.”

  “I think it’s my dream school. Too bad it’s out of the question.”

  “Why is that?” Priscilla frowned.

  “My parents want me to study law. They’re going to pay for university and everything.”

  “But what do you want?”

  I want to please my parents, but I also want to follow my dreams. Too bad it wouldn’t be possible to do both.

  “I don’t know what I want.”

  “I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”

  “I hope so.”

  “Just remember it’s your decision. No one can make you do anything.”

  “I know.” Easier said than done.

  Our conversation turned to more light-hearted matters as we finished our tea.

  When we were done, Priscilla left us to continue where we’d left off.

  Julian began the next sketch, pencil in hand. I was posed on the couch, knees up and leaning against the arm.

  I noticed, as time went on, Julian’s strokes grew stiffer. He seemed tense. I could sense his growing frustration.

  “Maybe we should stop here?” I suggested.

  “No,” Julian snapped.

  I was taken aback by his abruptness. “Is everything okay?”

  “Yes. Let’s keep going.”

  “All right, then.” I eased back into position.

  Julian continued the sketch, but I could tell he wasn’t into it. When his pencil lead snapped, he cursed and threw the pencil across the room.

  “Julian—”

  “I’m sorry. Let’s stop.”

  “I thought this exercise was supposed to help you loosen up?”

  “I’m not very good at that, am I?”

  “You’re just not in the right frame of mind tonight. We could try it another day.”

  “Thanks, but I’m not sure that will help.” Julian’s face blazed red.

  I felt terrible for him. I wanted to comfort him so badly. “You’ll make a breakthrough soon. I’m sure of it.”

  He exhaled deeply. “Yeah. I hope so.” Doubt permeated his voice.

  “Julian…?”

  “Yes?”

  Before I could fully think the implications through, I put my arms around him, drawing him into a hug. I sensed his bewilderment, his rigid body in my arms. I continued to hold him until his breathing calmed. Tentatively, he lifted his arm and returned the hug.

  “What’s this for?” he asked.

  Embarrassment caught up with me, and I broke away. “You looked like you needed a hug.”

  Julian’s eyes searched me, and I blushed.

  A hint of amusement crossed his face. “I did. I feel much better now.”

  “Good.”

  Julian sighed and began to pace. “I think I’m just nervous.”

  “About what?”

  “About Florence. About everything.”

  “Don’t be nervous. This is what you’ve been working towards. You will finally achieve your dream. It’s wonderful.”

  Julian stopped. “I know. I’m over-thinking things. Sorry.”

  “It’s okay.”

  “Let’s call it a night.”

  I nodded.

  “Can I give you a ride?”

  “Better not. My parents weren’t too thrilled last time. I’ll take the bus.”

  “Are you sure? Then let me walk you to the bus stop. It’s dark out.”

  “Okay. Thanks.”

  Back downstairs, the lights had been turned off. Priscilla must have already left. Julian locked up. Outside, the air was crisp. We walked side by side down the road.

  “This is it,” I said when the bus stop came into view.

  “I’ll wait with you until the bus gets here.”

  “Thanks.” I smiled appreciatively.

  We didn’t have to wait too long. The bus rumbled down the street. I signalled, and it pulled over.

  “Goodnight, Julian.”

  “Goodnight.” He waited as I got on the bus.

  Taking my seat, I watched through the window as he walked off into the night.

  Seeing Julian struggle with his art made me more determined than ever to practice my writing. Head down and blank notebook in front of me, I put pen to paper. I blocked out all negative thoughts and began to write. The words didn’t flow at all, but I forced myself to continue. I filled one page, then one more, and then the next. After five pages, I stopped and read through what I had written. My heart sank.

  This is complete and utter crap. I felt like tearing out the pages and starting over. This must be how Julian felt. I took a deep breath. No. I won’t give in to self-doubt. With its pages still intact, I put the exercise book away.

  On my way out of the library, I instinctively looked for Anna at the issues desk. In her place stood an old lady with long, silver hair and tiny, round spectacles.

  I wonder how Anna’s getting on. Her baby must be due around now. She could even be in hospital this very moment. I hoped she was okay.

  I walked home from school. My over-enthusiastic mother arrived later in the evening.

  “I have wonderful news, my darling,” she said.

  “What is it?”

  “Work experience.”

  “What?”

  “It’s all arranged. Natalie Turner has agreed you can work at the firm over the holidays.”

  I groaned internally. I had forgotten all about this. Or, perhaps, I had assumed it would just go away. I didn’t know what to say. Mum was so happy.

  “That’s great, Mum,” I said. If it didn’t seem genuine, she didn’t notice.

  “Starting Monday, you’re due in the office with me at 8:30 am every morning.”

  I physically recoiled.

  “Don’t look so shocked. It will be a worthwhile use of your holidays. This is real world experience to include on your CV and university application.”

  “I know, Mum.”

  She squeezed my shoulder. “This is just what you need. You’ll see.”

  14

  I woke to a blaring alarm. Wiping the sleep from my eyes, I reached out and turned it off. I couldn’t believe it. The rest of my classmates would be sleeping in right now, and here I was, getting up even earlier than usual to go to work. I took a lukewarm shower to wake me up, then I got dressed. Although I had a lot of clothes, I didn’t really have anything that looked profes
sional. The best I could do was a dress and a cardigan. In the kitchen, Mum prepared breakfast. I sat at the dining table.

  “Isn’t this exciting?” Mum said as she spread jam on toast. “This is going to look amazing on your application to law school. How could they even think about turning you down now?”

  I tried to take slow, deep breaths and calm myself down.

  Just after eight, I bundled myself into the car with Mum. I had never been to Turner-Blomquist & Associates before, but I knew it was located in the only high-rise building in town. We took the lift up to the fifth floor and arrived at the reception, where I had to sign in on a guest book.

  “Now, we’re going to see Natalie,” Mum said. “Don’t be scared of her. She’s not that bad.”

  I didn’t think I would be scared, but now Mum had warned me, I wondered if I should be.

  Down a long corridor, we reached an office at the back of the building. A name card on the door read, N. Turner LLB (hons), LLM, MPhil.

  “Ready?” Mum asked.

  I nodded meekly. She opened the door. We arrived in a sort of waiting room. A second door passed through to the inner sanctum. We crossed the divide and Mum gave a polite knock on the door before we entered.

  Natalie sat at a grand mahogany desk. She was a blonde woman, middle aged—but who obviously took good care of her appearance. She strummed her perfectly manicured nails on the desk. Mum nudged me forward.

  So, she isn’t going to speak on my behalf, I realised.

  I was terrified. “Uh, excuse me,” I asked.

  Natalie didn’t look up from the paperwork preoccupying her.

  “Excuse me, Ms. Turner,” I said again.

  Natalie looked up and narrowed her eyes. “For Heaven’s sake, speak up.”

  “Ms. Turner,” I began, raising my voice considerably. “I’m Ivy Beckett. I’m here for work experience.”

  “Work experience?” She consulted the large diary on her desk. “Very well.” She looked at Mum. “Karen, show her around and introduce her to everyone.”

  Mum nodded.

  “Then, Ivy, report back here to me.”

  I almost instinctively said “Yes, sir” but stopped myself just in time.

  Mum took me around the floor. It felt like a maze with twisting corridors and door after door. She showed me where the bathroom and kitchen were first. Then she took me around the various offices, except for any which were occupied by clients. Most of the people I met seemed grumpy and not too pleased to see me.

  After Mum finished giving me the tour, she reassured me, “You’ll be fine. I’ll be in my office, just next door to Natalie’s, if you need me.”

  Back at Natalie’s office, she had me sit at the desk in the waiting room.

  “You are to greet anyone who comes in and fetch them a glass of water, tea or coffee if they want one. Ring me if anyone is waiting. You are to answer the phone when it rings. Do not put any calls through to me. I’m busy. Take a message instead and write it down in the notebook on the desk.”

  Nervousness rippled through my stomach. What if I took a message down incorrectly? What if I got peoples’ names wrong? I just had to force it out of my mind and focus on surviving one day at a time.

  I sat at the desk, and Natalie went back into her office and closed the door firmly behind her. For a while, I just sat there aimlessly. The phone didn’t ring, and no one arrived to see Natalie. After a while, I decided it wouldn’t hurt if I did a bit of writing during my downtime. I had brought a notebook with me. As time went by, I decided the job wasn’t so bad after all.

  I was startled when Natalie came out of her office.

  “Can you do a coffee order?” she asked.

  Before I could respond, she began rattling off a list of coffees. I grabbed a pen and wrote them down. I didn’t dare ask her to repeat the order, so I hoped I had it down right.

  “We have an account at Antoine’s. Just say bill it to Turner-Blomquist,” Natalie explained.

  “Right. Where is Antoine’s?”

  She sighed as if I should know exactly where it is.

  “It’s opposite the church. Across the courtyard.”

  “Oh. Okay,” I said, although I didn’t know where the church was.

  Natalie left, and I tried to ask Mum, but she was on the phone.

  I guess I’m on my own.

  It felt nice to get some fresh air after being holed up all morning. Much to my relief, I managed to find the church, and after a thorough stroll around the courtyard, I saw the café. I placed the order at the counter and said to put it on the Turner-Blomquist account. I was mentally prepared to be questioned, but all went smoothly.

  Juggling two cardboard cup holders in hand, I returned to Turner-Blomquist. Natalie wasn’t in her office, and I had no idea where she went. I had to go ask Mum what to do.

  “She’s probably in the board room,” Mum said.

  “Is it okay if I just go in and give them the coffee?”

  “Yes. Just don’t draw too much attention to yourself.”

  I nodded and went to the board room. The doors were closed, but I didn’t knock. I just slipped in with the coffee, placed it on the table and slipped out again. Natalie didn’t so much as give me a glance of acknowledgement. When I got back to my desk, I had my first phone call.

  “Turner-Blomquist, Natalie’s office,” I said, having first rehearsed what I’d say in my mind.

  “Yes, is Natalie available please?”

  “I’m sorry. She’s in a meeting.”

  “Do you know when she’ll be free?”

  “No, sorry. Would you like to leave a message?”

  “I’ll just call back later.”

  “Okay.”

  “Thanks, bye.”

  “Bye.”

  I sighed, knowing full well that if he called back later he still wouldn’t be able to talk to her. He should’ve just left a message.

  By midday, I was beginning to get hungry. I wasn’t quite sure when I should get up to have lunch. Should I let Natalie know? Should I eat at my desk or in the kitchen? Or could I go outside? There was so much I didn’t know about workplace etiquette, and I supposed it also varied from workplace to workplace.

  When my stomach began to growl loudly, I wandered to the kitchen. I took my lunch out of the fridge, microwaved it and ate in the kitchen. After filling the void in my stomach, I went back to my desk. The phone rang several more times in the afternoon.

  Late in the afternoon, I was winding down and preparing to leave when the phone rang again.

  “Hello,” said a strange voice.

  “Hi,” I replied, a little taken aback.

  “I want to speak to Mummy.”

  “Is your mum’s name Natalie?”

  The boy took a few seconds to respond.

  “Yes.”

  “Okay, hold on. I’ll tell her.”

  Natalie had told me not to put any calls through to her, but surely she would want to speak to her own son. I took a deep breath before knocking on Natalie’s door.

  “Yes?” Her voice was rife with irritation, and her eyes blazed.

  I gulped. “Excuse me, Natalie, but your son is on the phone. He wants to speak to you.”

  “I’m busy.”

  “But—”

  “Tell him I’ll see him tonight.”

  “Oh. Okay.”

  I couldn’t believe she would snub her own child like that. Having to let the little boy down upset me greatly.

  “I’m sorry, your mum is busy. She will see you tonight.”

  “Okay.” The boy sounded as if he were about to cry.

  I wanted to say something to him, but it was too late. He hung up. The experience left a sour taste in my mouth. How could Natalie be so cold?

  The clock ticked five o’clock, and I was desperate to get home. But I was afraid to just up and leave. Natalie was still in her office and probably would be until far later. I was sure Mum would come get me when it was time to go. Soon, it was ten pa
st, and then twenty past. Finally, at twenty-five past Mum collected me. On our way out of the building, I saw most employees were still there, working.

  Upon arriving home, I realised I had never been so exhausted.

  So, this is what it’s like to go to work? I had been so naïve. School was blissful compared to this.

  After dinner, I took a long, relaxing bath. Then, it was time for a cup of tea and zoning out in front of the TV, which I almost never did. Tiredness set in early, and I went straight to bed. I fell asleep quickly.

  When the weekend finally arrived, I thought it would be a welcome reprieve. But, much to my dismay, it came and went in a flash. On Sunday evening, I felt nauseous. Never had I so dreaded the arrival of Monday. I hoped working for real wouldn’t feel this way.

  When my alarm went off on Monday, I groaned. I almost fell immediately back to sleep, but the movement going on in the hallway kept me awake—barely. I dragged myself out of bed.

  “You look pale,” Mum said when I met her in the kitchen.

  “I don’t feel great.” The dread of facing the week ahead made me feel sick.

  “Well, perk up,” Mum said without an ounce of sympathy.

  I took a deep breath and tried to muster as much positivity as I could.

  When we got to work, I went to the kitchen to put my lunch in the fridge. A man with a bristly moustache and red cheeks stood making a cup of tea.

  “Hi, Jerry,” I said, remembering his name.

  “I’m sorry, what’s your name again?”

  “It’s Ivy. I’m here on work experience.”

  “That’s right, your Karen’s daughter.”

  I nodded.

  “How’s it going so far?”

  “It’s okay. All I have to do is answer phone calls, take messages and get coffee or lunch for Natalie.”

  “Are you managing to stay on her good side?”

  “I think so.”

  “Are you studying law next year?”

  “I might be.”

  “It’s a good career. But you need to love it. Otherwise, it’ll slowly grind down your will to live.”

  That didn’t reassure me one bit. “Uh, thanks for the advice.”

  Natalie had several clients lined up for meetings that day, so I was continually on my feet, making them tea or coffee and trying to give them the impression they were important to Natalie. I was well out of my comfort zone.