‘When did they say the deadline was?’
‘August,’ I said.
‘That’s pretty soon.’
She might not have known that I’d found it difficult, getting paintings into that exhibition when she hadn’t. Or that I’d been embarrassed that I’d won a commission she and Finn would have killed for, but she was certainly making sure I suffered for it now.
I wanted to get on, but at the same time I had a burning curiosity to know what Chiara had said to her.
‘It’s OK,’ I said. ‘I have it under control. You don’t have to worry for me.’
‘You seem to think we’re all in your way, Ellie. It isn’t like that. I want to help you. Chiara wants to help you.’
‘Thanks, honestly I appreciate it, but at the moment I don’t need help.’
‘You have to face facts: if you’re charged with a hit-and-run, you won’t get into the States. They will need someone else for the commission. The sooner they know the better. No point in burying your head in the sand.’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘The hit-and-run thing that happened when you were driving down to Southwold. Chiara told me you hadn’t gone to the police –I guess you were afraid it would affect your chance of getting into the States, and now you haven’t confessed, you’re afraid it’s too late, that if you tell them, you’ll be done for whatever you call it, perverting the course of justice or whatever!’
I stared at her.
‘That’s all been sorted,’ I said quietly. ‘It was something I was worried about but it’s OK. It’s all been taken care of.’
But had it? My stomach contracted, the old anxiety. Would it ever go away?
‘OK, hon. No need to sound so jumpy.’
Don’t call me ‘hon’! I felt like shouting at her.
‘I really need to get on, Louise. As you’ve just reminded me, I haven’t got much time left. I need to catch up.’
‘OK,’ she shrugged. ‘But, Ellie, please don’t take this badly, we all care about you.’
‘Thanks.’
‘And we all want to meet your new guy. Bring him to the pub, why don’t you? You’ve kept him to yourself for too long. We’re beginning to think you’re hiding him from us deliberately.’
‘OK.’
‘See you around then.’
‘Yes, see you.’
It took me a little while to regain my peace of mind after she had left. I went up to the café with Pepper and got myself a cup of tea and a muffin.
I sat outside on the wall beside the River Lea for a while, staring at the water. The tide was up. It was warm and there was a brisk breeze bringing with it the earthy smell of slurry. Cloud shadows raced across the surface of the river turning it murky grey, and then raced off, leaving it sparkling again in the sunlight. A radio played somewhere, ‘We are stardust’, and there was the clanking of building work and the rumble of trains. The cable cars moved steadily in a stream high up in the air. Out on the Thames, tourist boats passed on their way down to the Thames Barrier, sending a wash across the river and up the creek so waves splashed up the wall.
I tore pieces off the muffin and threw them up in the air for the gulls, who caught the pieces mid-flight. I tried to get the dreamy feeling I’d had when I left Patrick’s this morning to come back. It was OK, I told myself. Patrick was the only person in the world who could pursue the investigation into the accident, if he wanted to. If he did, I would of course confess to the fear that I was the culprit. Even then, nothing would change how we felt towards one another.
I must not let Louise’s comments bother me.
I remembered then something Finn once told me about the significance of the evil eyes painted onto the sides of boats in Turkey. They were not simply to ward off evil spirits, but specifically to ward off the vagaries of envy. People painted them on to their boats when they had had good fortune, because they knew that this good fortune was ammunition for other people’s envy. Next time I was due to see Louise, I decided, I would need to wear an evil eye.
I went back to my studio and sat and stared at my canvas and could no longer remember what on earth I was thinking when I started it.
All I could think was that the hit-and-run had not gone away. Even if Patrick wasn’t interested in it.
It was hanging around me the way the gulls were hanging around the slurry from the bulldozers on the other side of the River Lea, waiting for their moment to swoop.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Patrick was waiting for me when I got back to his apartment. I’d stopped and bought bags of provisions. I was going to cook for him so we didn’t have to go out, and could move seamlessly from dinner to bed, or the other way round.
‘You’re an angel,’ he said as I threw pasta into a pan and sliced smoked salmon, one of the few dishes I knew how to cook. With a little crème fraîche and some dill it would taste pretty good. It was deceptively simple. I chatted as I cooked, about my painting, filling him in on the visit from Louise, missing out the hit-and-run bit of course, but telling him how she had made me worry I wouldn’t be finished in time.
‘Who needs enemies when your friends behave like that?’ Patrick said.
He was standing behind me, and he leant over, kissed me on the ear, took my earlobe in his mouth and nipped it gently.
I dropped the wooden spoon and turned to him.
‘It’s time you moved in here,’ he whispered. ‘Then you won’t have to put up with them and can concentrate on your art.’
He took me in his arms as I buried my face in his chest.
‘All you have to do,’ Patrick said, taking my hand, and moving it towards the keypad on my phone, ‘is ring the estate agents and tell them you’re moving out. They’ll have a waiting list of tenants desperate to pay ridiculous sums of money for a flat in Mile End, so they won’t be bothered.’
‘But isn’t it a bit soon?’
I was remembering Chiara’s reaction when I’d told her Patrick wanted me to move in. Yet, living with Patrick in his Wapping apartment was more than I could have hoped for – a dream come true.
‘Ellie. You’ve just said, your friends have let you down. I always say better one you can trust than a million you can’t.’
And he was right.
It only took a phone call to the estate agents who looked after the flat the next day, and I had done it. They said they would be able to find some new tenants keen to move in as soon as I wanted.
Chiara and Liam were moving into their new flat in London Fields at the end of the month. Chiara and I met at the flat one evening after work. She had already packed her clothes into suitcases that stood by the door and when I came she offered to make coffee.
I began to collect my bits and pieces together as she filled her espresso pot.
‘So we’re both moving on.’
‘Yup.’
‘You’re decided, are you, Ellie?’
‘Yes, I am.’
‘But we haven’t even met him.’
‘You will do.’ I still felt betrayed by her telling Louise a confidence. But I didn’t want to bring it up. I continued to take things off the shelves, place them in the cardboard boxes I’d gathered from the Tesco Metro down the road.
‘It feels odd you moving in with someone I’ve never set eyes on,’ she persisted. ‘Ellie, I hope this hasn’t anything to do with that night in Southwold, has it?’
I glanced up at her.
‘What do you mean?’
‘The night you thought you’d hit someone in your car?’
‘You shouldn’t have told Louise about that.’
‘I didn’t tell Louise you’d hit anyone! I just explained why you were distracted that weekend! That you were having another of your irrational fears that you were responsible for something you couldn’t possibly be.’
‘Louise wouldn’t understand that.’
‘OK. Look. I’m sorry, Ellie. You matter to me. Let’s please stay friends. Bring hi
m to the pub at least, please?’
I stopped packing and folded my arms across my chest. Adopted my best teacher pose.
‘I’m OK, you know,’ I said. ‘It’s just perhaps difficult for you all to accept that I’m moving on, starting a new kind of life. I’m happy, Chiara, happier than I’ve ever been.’
‘And I’m glad for you.’
‘I’m happy for you too, of course, that you’re settling down with Liam. I would just like you all to be happy for me.’
‘We are. We would be, if you weren’t keeping us in the dark about this man.’
‘OK, I’ll bring him to the pub,’ I said.
‘Promise?’
‘Promise.’
‘Because it’s important to me we stay friends.’
‘Me too.’
‘I want you to be godmother to my child.’
I stared at her, my mouth open.
‘Oh, Chiara! That’s so lovely! Oh! I don’t know what to say. Really?’
‘Really. Though of course not in a religious way, Liam wouldn’t stand for that. Fairy godmother, he calls it. Will you be?’
‘I am honoured. Totally.’ And I was. The request had brought tears to my eyes.
And we hugged each other.
By the end of the month both Chiara and I had left the Mile End flat. She had moved into the London Fields place with Liam, who she’d been with for six years, and I’d moved in with Patrick, who I’d been with for just over six weeks. My painting things were in the studio and everything else I owned was in his flat. Including Pepper.
‘Now I’m living with you, Patrick,’ I said, ‘I’d like you to meet my friends.’
‘Why?’
‘Because they are curious about you.’
‘Why are they curious?’
‘Because you are special to me, and they care about me, I suppose.’
‘Who are these friends? Not the ones who let you down, I hope. Not the ones who poor scorn on your painting?’
‘The ones who I was at college with – there’s Chiara, my Italian friend, and Liam, her fiancé and soon to become father to her child. There’s Louise who, well, she can be a bit complex. But I used to go out with them every week, and they miss me, and they want to meet you.’
He finally agreed to pop into the pub on Wednesday night for a quick drink – ‘If you promise you’ll come for dinner with me on Thursday. I want to take you to Moro’s.’
We arranged to meet at Wetherspoon’s as usual. It seemed a little down-market, now I was getting used to frequenting the high-end eateries of London, but it was important to me that my friends were comfortable with the venue, and none of them had much money.
Chiara and Liam were already there when I arrived, sitting hand in hand leafing through a baby clothes catalogue, and Louise was there with Finn sitting on the far side of an enormous table, which meant we were all far apart and would be struggling to hear each other’s conversations.
I wasn’t sure how Finn would react to meeting Patrick. I knew it would be awkward for him, but he would have to meet him sometime, now he was a fixture in my life.
I felt my heart swell with pride as Patrick swung in on his crutches beside me. He was looking disarmingly handsome in a deep blue shirt, one of his Paul Smith ones, which complemented his eyes, and an Armani jacket and trousers. He stood out among my bohemian crowd, who looked, in his presence, scruffy and thrown together in their eclectic outfits made up of vintage finds and bits and pieces from H&M or Primark.
Patrick smiled his beautiful smile, shook everyone by the hand and bought a round of drinks, and I could see them assessing him, wanting to work him out, wanting to understand how I’d pulled someone so different from our usual crowd. He came and sat next to me and put his arm around me and placed a chilled bottle of wine in front of me in an ice bucket, and two glasses.
‘So tell me,’ Chiara said. She was sitting closest to us and she leant over so we could hear above the noise of the bar. ‘How exactly did you two meet?’
‘We met through friends in Southwold,’ Patrick said quickly. ‘Ellie and I hit it off straight away.’ He smiled, pulled me towards him. ‘And when I had my accident she was the only person who came to see me in hospital. The only person prepared to put herself out to help me recuperate.’
‘Your accident?’ Chiara asked. She glanced quickly at me. ‘Is that how you . . .?’
‘Yes,’ said Patrick, smiling. ‘It’s how I lost my leg. Don’t worry, we call a spade a spade, don’t we, Ellie, because there’s no point hiding your head in the sand.’
‘Of course,’ I said. I could feel Chiara’s eyes on me.
‘Ellie’s like my guardian angel,’ Patrick said. ‘She came to me just when I needed her. She’s the first person I’ve really loved since I lost my wife.’
‘Lost your wife? You mean . . .?’
‘She died,’ said Patrick.
There was an awkward silence during which even the bustle at the bar seemed to fade.
‘I’m so sorry,’ Chiara said. ‘Was she. . .?’
‘No, she wasn’t in this accident,’ Patrick said, waving his hand over his right leg.
He squeezed my hand under the table. ‘It’s OK. It was two years ago now. Babe’ – he was looking at me – ‘get me a bag of crisps, will you? I need something to disguise the flavour of this horrible wine.’
‘Of course.’
I got up to go to the bar and left Chiara and Patrick chatting.
Later, after we’d had a few drinks and the conversation had moved on to more casual topics, Chiara made a gesture and I realised she wanted me to follow her to the loo.
‘Are you OK?’ she asked as we stood in front of the mirrors in the women’s toilets.
‘Of course.’
‘He’s traumatised,’ she said. ‘He’s lost a leg. And a wife. Aren’t you a little out of your depth?’
‘I’m fine.’
‘I hope you don’t think you’re somehow responsible for healing him emotionally, or even physically – it would be just like you . . .’
‘What are you getting at?’
‘He seems very needy. You quite often feel you have to rescue people. Like Frank, with Pepper.’
‘He’s not needy,’ I said. ‘He’s incredibly positive and in control. And don’t you think he’s pretty damn hot?’
‘Well, yes, he’s nice-looking.’
‘And buff.’ I felt a little drunk. I felt as if I was the cat who had got the cream. Chiara was jealous. Everyone was jealous.
‘OK. Yes, Ellie, he’s nice. He’s fit and he looks like he’s got money. And if you’re sure you’re happy, that’s all that matters.’
‘I am. I am happy.’
‘Good.’
‘So let’s get back. You wanted to meet him, so let’s go and talk to him.’
I started to walk away from her out of the loos.
‘It’s just losing a wife to meningitis is shocking, so sudden, so unexpected,’ Chiara went on, coming after me. ‘He can’t possibly be completely over it.’
We had come back into the noise of the pub now, the roar had got louder, it was hard to hear yourself speak.
‘It wasn’t meningitis!’ I shouted. What on earth made Chiara think so? She must have misheard Patrick. ‘What makes you think it was meningitis?’ But she couldn’t hear and was waving towards the door.
‘Look! There’s Ben and Caroline!’ she cried. The noise of the pub halted any further conversation between us as she went ahead and I let the comment go. I felt the usual sense of grounding my brother Ben always brought with him and a kick of pleasure at the thought he would be able to meet Patrick, share my joy at meeting this amazing man.
We zigzagged our way through the crowds in the bar back to our table, and I put up a hand to wave to Ben and show him where we were sitting. Then I turned to tell Patrick he was about to meet my brother.
His seat was empty.
His crutches were there, leaning up against the pew. I
looked around, but couldn’t spot him. The crowds had thickened and the noise was deafening.
‘Where did he go?’ I asked Louise. She shrugged. ‘He got up suddenly. Said he had to go.’
‘Go? He hasn’t got his crutches! How could he go?’
‘Hey, Ellie!’ Ben and Caroline had come up to me and Ben flung his big brotherly arms around me.
‘Sorry,’ I said, disentangling myself. ‘I’ll be back, just a second.’
I pressed my way through the crowds towards the door. He couldn’t possibly be leaving. His crutches were here. We had only arrived about an hour ago.
But Patrick was outside, flagging down a cab, looking quite confident without his crutches.
‘Where are you going?’
He swung round.
‘I’ll see you later,’ he said, ‘I’ve done as you asked, met your friends and now I want to get home.’
‘Hang on. I wanted you to meet my brother and his fiancée, they’ve just arrived.’
‘Leave me alone, Ellie. I’ll call you later.’
‘OK. Well I’ll come with you.’
‘NO! There’s no need. Drop it!’ There was the same hard edge to his voice that he’d had when he found me looking at his photos. His eyes had gone hard too, his pupils pinpricks in his icy blue irises.
‘You don’t get it, do you, Ellie?’
‘Please, Patrick, I want you to meet my friends, my brother, I . . .’
As he sat down on the back seat of the taxi, he looked up at me and his face softened.
‘Ellie, I can’t sit there being pitied by all your friends. I can’t let them see me so dependent on crutches. It’s humiliating to me. You stay and enjoy yourself, and I’ll see you later.’
He reached out for my hand and dragged me towards him.
‘I need you,’ he whispered in my ear. ‘But I don’t need pity from strangers.’
‘They don’t pity you, Patrick, they’re not like that, and anyway you’ve left your crutches! How are you going to manage? It’s nothing to be ashamed of, needing them.’
A Trick of the Mind Page 16
