by Ellis, T. S.
“Russell.” I gulped.
“Yes, hon?”
“I don’t want us to get back together. I think we should call it a day.” Without any warning, a tear ran down my cheek. It was fast too. It reached my chin in no time at all.
“Oh.” He took a slug of his whisky.
“Don’t cry, hon. It comes across as hypocritical when you’re dumping somebody.” His voice was harsh. Harsher than I’d ever heard it. But then he softened. “I’m sorry.”
I wiped the tear away. But it was followed by another. I’d been with Russell for seven years. Only six months ago I’d had no idea what I’d do without him. I just couldn’t envisage my life without that face on the pillow next to me. And now, here I was, ending our relationship. I’d always thought that if you’re the one to end a relationship it can’t hurt that much. But my heart was breaking. The words weren’t coming out easily. They were reluctant partners in my plan.
“I’m sorry, Russell. I’m really sorry. But when you left it hurt so much. I mean, I was just devastated. I spent days hunched up on the floor crying. Just crying. My heart couldn’t take it. I’d always thought that whatever life threw at me I’d always be able to rely on us. But then you went. And it broke something. It broke something that can’t be mended.”
I reached for my vodka and cranberry and drank half of it in one go.
“I’m sorry, Fay. I just got a bit confused. I made a mistake. It’s been seven years. Aren’t I allowed one wobble?”
I stared at him. How could I do this to him? His eyebrows sloped in sadness, his eyes dulled. I wanted to travel back in time, to go back more than six months when life had been so simple. I loved him, he loved me. That was my world. It wasn’t the most erotic world, but it was safe, secure. And we had our moments.
But try as I might, I couldn’t get over the fact that he had walked out on me. He’d done it once, he could do it again.
It hadn’t been a row, there had been no great arguments, just a low key conversation. I hadn’t even been entirely sure why he went. He said he wasn’t feeling good about us anymore. That was all he said. The whole thing had been decided in one night.
Yes, I still wished I’d never heard him say that he was leaving, and that we’d carried on the way we were. But I couldn’t turn back time.
And I’d slept with Carl. But it wasn’t as if I was blind enough to think that I’d ever have the stability I’d had with Russell. If anything did develop with Carl it would be… different. Which was scary.
And I wonder if that made it even harder to let go of Russell; despite the words coming out of my mouth.
“I’m sorry, Russell. I’ve been thinking about you so much over the last six months. I even imagined you back in the flat. Imagined you running me a bath, putting rose petals in the water. Really vivid daydreams. But that’s all they were, daydreams. I want you to love me like you once did. But I don’t think you could.”
“Yes, I could. I do. I love you.”
“Even this. This… meeting, you let a week pass before we met. I know you had to go to Spain. I know that.”
My breath began stuttering as the tears kept flowing. Only a trickle now, but a constant trickle.
“But once upon a time, Russell, you’d have met me as soon as possible. You’d have left work early to make it happen. Or driven to the agency during your lunch hour. You’d have been dying to meet me.”
I looked up at the ceiling, hoping that by tilting my head up the tears would stop. It helped a little.
Russell interrupted. “So you don’t love me anymore? That’s what you’re saying.”
“That’s the crazy thing,” I said. “Because I do still love you. I love you very much. But I can’t see myself in a relationship with you. Not at the moment at least.”
He twiddled his thumbs. “Is it the new guy?”
I took a tissue out of my bag. “No, it’s not the new guy.”
“Oh, come on. Be honest.”
“It’s not that simple.”
Russell buried his face in his hands. I wanted to walk over to him, put my arms around his shoulders and give him a hug like I used to. But I couldn’t.
He lowered his hands. “Tell me about the new guy.”
“No,” I snivelled.
“Please. I’d like us to go on telling each other everything.” It was Russell’s turn to choke back the tears. “And to be honest, it would help. I know it might sound a bit weird, but we’ve always been able to tell each other everything, and I’d like that to carry on.”
“No, Russell, I can’t.” It was my turn to bury my face in my hands. I could hardly bare to look at him. This was so painful.
“Please, darling,” he pleaded.
“I have to go.” I stood up, grabbed my coat and walked out of the pub as fast as I could, hiding my tear-stained face from the other patrons.
To my surprise, Russell wasn’t far behind.
Outside, my wet face made the night air feel chillier that it was.
“Let me come back to the flat with you,” Russell begged. “Then we can talk about this.”
“I don’t want to talk at the moment. It’s too painful.”
“If it’s too painful, why do you want us to split up for good. If it’s too painful, there must be hope that we can stay together.”
I turned to face him. “Why did you have to leave, Russell? Why? Was there someone else? Tell me. Truthfully.”
“There wasn’t anybody else, hon. I just couldn’t be with you for a while. Maybe it was a mid-life crisis.”
“But you’re only thirty-two.”
“I was just being weird. I can see that now. To be honest, I don’t know why.”
“You’re not telling me the entire truth, Russell. I know you’re not.”
He stared down at his feet as he spoke. “There was somebody else. But only after I left. Not before.”
I screwed up my face, turned around and carried on walking up the dimly lit side street.
Russell kept following me. “I had a wobble, Fay. I admit it, I forgot how much I love you. And I hate myself for forgetting. I let everything else get in the way — work, mainly. It was all becoming a bit routine. And that’s my fault. But now, I think I love you more than ever.”
I shouted, “No.”
“But I do. And I have to tell you.”
“I’m your warm bath, Russell. That’s all. When you’ve had a long day, it’s lovely to have a warm bath to come home to. But eventually the warm bath becomes tepid. And I would just become tepid for you all over again. Eventually. And even if I didn’t, I’d be afraid that I would. It’s broken, Russell. Just broken.”
I kept walking at an even pace, neither speeding up nor slowing down. Russell kept following but didn’t say anything for a few moments. Then he spoke, his voice more calm.
“Okay. I accept that. I don’t agree. But I accept it. There’s no way we can resume our relationship. Not for the moment. But please tell me everything. I want us still to have that. To chat. Leave me with that.”
“No, Russell. It’s creepy.”
“It’s not, hon. I want you to be happy. I honestly do. And it will help me understand what you need.”
I stopped and turned. I’d thought the tears had stopped. But they began to flow from my eyes yet again. I’d cried so much that my blouse’s collar was damp.
“I can’t do that,” I said. “I appreciate the thought. I really do. And it’s one of the things that makes you so special. But I can’t do it. I just can’t.”
I lowered my head and started crying. My chest heaved, my shoulders shook, my vision blurred.
Russell approached and put his arms around me. I thought it would be best if I stepped away. But I couldn’t. I felt safe, secure. My heart was so heavy I thought it would drop through my body.
20. Trouble at work
IT WAS DIFFICULT to concentrate at work the following morning. The sunglasses came in useful a second time. I’d hardly got much sleep the
previous night and the face that greeted me in the bathroom mirror was one that had gone fifteen rounds in a fight with my emotions.
Life in the office wasn’t made any easier when Anna called. I still hadn’t told her that she wasn’t on our books anymore.
“Hi.” I couldn’t use her name. Although everybody in the office wasn’t paying me the least bit of attention, it felt like they were listening in.
“Hi, Fay. How are you?” she asked. “I was just thinking about you. You were a little tired when we had that lunch. I was worried that you were okay.”
Typical Anna. Anna was the only model who would ring me up and not ask me what I was doing to further her career. There was no side to her. If she asked about your wellbeing, it was because she was concerned about your wellbeing. In fact, I couldn’t remember a single phone conversation with Anna when she’d asked if I’d secured any modelling assignments for her. And if not, why not. It was an attitude made even more notable because I rarely did have any assignments for her.
“I’m feeling much better,” I said, which wasn’t exactly true. Or was it? Part of me was feeling better for having seen Carl Rask at the gallery this week, and part of me was feeling like shit for breaking up with Russell. These conflicts were still battling it out in my head.
“I can see why. You have a new boyfriend.”
She must have seen the picture in the magazine. Even though I’d thrown the office’s copy into the bin, it wouldn’t be long before word got around. But so what? I wasn’t ashamed of him or myself. And it’s not as if I pursued him because he was famous. And yet, it was odd to hear him referred to as my boyfriend. I still couldn’t quite think of him as that.
“Fay!” The voice calling my name didn’t come from the telephone. It was Polly calling me from her office.
I whispered into the phone: “Anna, I’ve got to go. Polly’s shouting for me.”
“Oops, good luck.”
When I put the phone down, I slunk off into Polly’s office. I wished I could stop feeling like a naughty schoolgirl who had been summoned for sticking chewing gum under the desks, but I never could. Oh well. As usual, she made me wait. Something on her computer was always more important than talking to her staff.
“I just had a phone call,” she said.
My heart sank.
“From Portia.”
“Oh.”
“She’s not happy. No, that’s an understatement. She’s livid.”
“Why?”
“She’s livid with you.”
I tried to trawl through my memory as quickly as possible, to arm myself. But I couldn’t think of anything. I’d handled all her bookings professionally. If anybody had been less than professional it had been her.
“Why is she mad?” I asked for the second time.
“Apparently, you were at the opening of the Carl Rask exhibition at the Tate Modern.”
“I was, yes.”
“You were his date.”
“That’s true.”
“And Portia asked you to get a photo of her with Carl.”
Now I remembered. But I couldn’t see why she was still harbouring a grudge about it.
“It wasn’t on work time. It’s my social life.”
Polly raised her eyebrows. “Since when have you been on the arm of world-famous artists?”
“We just met by accident. I didn’t know who he was.”
Polly made that shape with her mouth that she always made before she was about to do something she didn’t want to do. Her lips both slid to one side of her face as if, inside her mouth, she was trying to dislodge a piece of meat she’d had for lunch.
“Put yourself in my position, Fay.”
I didn’t know what she meant by that. But I replied anyway. “Okay.”
“When we lost Sienna, this firm looked like it might go bust. But now we have Portia, things are looking healthy again.”
She stared at me as if I was supposed to fill in the blanks. I think I just looked bemused, which annoyed her.
“It’s like this — Portia is very upset. She’s been reading a magazine. And instead of seeing a picture of her on the arm of Carl Rask, there’s a picture of you. I’ve tried finding the magazine in our rack, but it’s not there.”
I averted my gaze.
“But I found the picture online.”
“It’s not my fault they took my picture.”
She waved away my explanation. “That’s not the point. You can have your picture taken whenever, and with whomsoever. The point is, Portia is very upset. She’s so upset she’s threatening to leave our little agency unless I fire you.”
I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. But then it was my turn to get miffed. “But you’re not going to. Because you wouldn’t do that.”
I waited for Polly to confirm my reading of her character, but instead, she gazed at her computer again, pulling that ridiculous expression with her mouth.
“You wouldn’t do that, Polly. Not you. Not the woman who threw a plate of canopées over the editor of The Mirror.”
“Either you’ve misread my behaviour or you’re not as clever as you think you are. My mischief isn’t genuine. I realised long ago that fashion needs people who are larger than life. So I obliged. The editors know that. The advertising agencies know that. It’s not about principles, it’s about putting on a show. That’s what fashion is about.”
I had deluded myself. For all her faults, went my thinking, I always believed I was working for somebody who stood up for what she believed in.
“So you’re firing me?” I reiterated.
“Yes.”
“How do you feel about that?”
“Terrible.” But she said it without a flicker.
“But I’m your best talent spotter. I discovered Sienna. And I found Portia. I have an eye. What happens when the agency finds itself in need of another star?”
“Look, Fay, you must see the spot I’m in. Don’t be difficult.” She sighed. “Yes, you’re right, you do have an eye for talent spotting. And that’s how I’d like to use you in the future. For every model you unearth in the future, and recommend to the agency, I will give you one percent of future earnings. And before you dismiss that as too little, it isn’t. If they go on to become successful, and if you find enough of them, it could work out all right.”
I didn’t have the mathematical skills to work out, in an instant, what that would amount to, but my hunch was that I’d have to unearth a Naomi Campbell every month just to make a living.
“Should I leave today?” I asked.
“Probably for the best.”
“But I…”
“I’ll pay you for the next three months and give you a good reference.”
I didn’t know what to say after that. She told me she’d give me a good reference as if she was doing me a favour. What a joke.
I walked out of her office in a daze. I’d never been fired before. And although I knew it wasn’t my fault, it still hurt. The thought that the agency would carry on the next day without me was gut wrenching.
Back at my desk, I rifled through my drawers. I didn’t keep much in them, and what there was didn’t seem worth taking. I slumped in my chair and watched everybody on their phones talking to the industry.
Sulky Soozie held her phone away from her ear as somebody on the other end went into a rage. No doubt one of our models had turned up late, or not at all. Cool Chrissie typed with one hand and held her phone with the other. It was a marvel how adept she was at that.
Diffident Dougie was the only one not on the phone. He was staring into space. He caught me looking at him.
“You all right, Fay?”
“Yeah, fine.”
I didn’t want them to see me cry. Besides, I don’t think I could cry. I don’t think I had any tears left after the last few days.
I grabbed my coat and bag and just left. It was so unfair. It would have been difficult enough if I’d been fired when it was my fault. But there was no poi
nt taking it to a tribunal. Polly would just make something up. Besides, fashion was such a subjective industry, sometimes having a face that suddenly didn’t fit was enough to find yourself unemployed.
It was a strange sensation walking back to the train station in the middle of the day. I was very upset, but it was true, I had no tears left. That didn’t stop my insides churning, as if I’d eaten a particularly rancid dish of prawns.
I wanted to talk to someone. Emily would still be at work, I couldn’t disturb her. The best listener in times like this was Russell. But I couldn’t call him. That wouldn’t be fair.
I walked through Covent Garden. Everybody appeared to be so busy. Even the tourists looked like they had abandoned their usual stroll in favour of a purposeful stride. I, on the other hand, dawdled. People crashed into me, then apologised. Some didn’t bother to apologise. I didn’t know what to do with myself. It’s a strange feeling being out and about mid-afternoon with no need to rush back to the office.
I could call Carl, I thought. But I hardly knew him. And from what I did know, he wasn’t the kind to sit down and talk about problems. Or perhaps I was doing him a disservice. But anyway, it was too early on in the relationship, if that’s what it would turn out to be, to burden him with this.
When you meet someone new, it’s the most exciting time. Everything is slightly unreal, like a magnificent fantasy. Of course, the fantasy can’t last for ever and ever, but it’s best to try and prolong it. Carl was my fantasy. He was exactly what I needed right now.
But fantasies aren’t good for sharing bad news with.
There was no need to worry. Polly was giving me three months’ pay. I should take it easy, not panic.
Just breathe, Fay, I told myself.
I took out my phone and looked up Carl’s number in the address book. I hesitated but then hit the “call” button.
“Hello,” he said, “Can I call you back?” He sounded rushed.
“Yes, sure.”
The line went dead. Perhaps I had caught him in the middle of working on a new canvas. But he said he never took his phone into his studio. Or maybe he was with another woman. Maybe Portia, with fire in her belly, had wormed her way into his place and seduced him.
