by Jules Wake
‘God, I kid you not. They were dreadful. Not an ounce of originality or creativity. Stultified middle class crap.’ She laughed down the phone. ‘Yup, you got it. Typical spoilt, indulged brat.’ She slapped the desk hard laughing along with the person on the other end of the phone. ‘Never bought anything but designer.’ She cackled again. ‘No, every last one was a bit of this and a bit of that. Christ it was like a Paris designer jigsaw, not an original idea in there.’
Siena froze, the hand clutching her portfolio cramping like a claw, the tendons standing proud. Pain seared through her chest. Was it possible to feel your heart shattering?
‘And you should have seen her. You got it. Victoria Beckham’s blonde twin sister, all cheekbones and snooty look-down-her-nose attitude.’ More raucous laughter. ‘Seriously, she wouldn’t know fashion if it bit her on the arse. I had a bloody hard time keeping a straight face. Absolutely clueless. I did it as a favour for my niece. Had to be done. Thank God admissions deliver the bad news and not me … oh … shit.’
Ms Williamson looked up and her eyes met Siena’s as the portfolio dropped to the floor with a sickening thud.
‘Gotta go.’ The woman sighed. ‘You weren’t meant to hear that.’
At least she maintained eye contact, Siena thought. ‘I’d rather hear the truth.’ After the first hot flash had raced through her, she felt calm. In control. ‘Saves a lot of time later, don’t you think?’
The woman nodded to the chair Siena had vacated barely ten minutes before.
‘Look. The truth is, there are thousands of girls out there who want to be fashion designers.’ She gave Siena a kinder look. ‘I was harsh, but do you live and breathe fashion? Or just think you do?’
‘I thought I did.’
‘Going to the shows is great, but you don’t see the inspiration or the origin of the ideas.’ She stood up and pointed to a couple of pictures on the wall. ‘Look at the Sahara, the sinuous shapes of the sand.’
Siena stood up and went up to the picture; it had life and shape. She could almost feel the sun on her skin as she looked at the rippling sand.
‘Now look at this.’
The second picture was a model wearing a bizarre all in one type of playsuit, the sleeves and legs blouson, gathered at the ankle and wrist but with a slit running the length of each of the long lines. Silk fabric billowed and rippled in shades of gold, auburn and sand.
You could almost imagine a lizard running across the fabric, thought Siena with a start. She looked more closely at the design. Never in a million years would you wear it out of the house but the billowing shapes and the amazing print was an absolute work of art.
‘Do you see this when you’re at a show?’ asked Ms Williamson as Siena lifted a finger to trace the ripping effect of the silk.
Siena shook her head and turned to face the other woman, a sense of sadness blooming in her chest.
‘You’re too far removed from it. That’s the end of the line; you need to be at the start. Unravel the thread to the very beginning. In this case, the sand. I don’t think you’ve been exposed to real life very much.’
Siena stiffened.
‘You need to get out there, experience different things.’ The woman talked with her hands, a very different person to the earlier version. ‘I’m really sorry.’ She did look genuine this time as she nibbled at her lip, a gesture all too familiar to Siena. ‘What you showed me? Perfectly acceptable. Nice and perhaps ninety percent of women would happily wear those clothes you’ve drawn. But that’s what you’ve drawn, clothes. Not designs. Not ideas. I can see little bits in what you’ve done but not enough to say with any conviction that you’ve got real design talent.’
Siena nodded and closed her eyes thinking of the hours she’d spent on all those dumb drawings.
‘That’s not what I’m looking for. It all seemed a bit safe and pedestrian. Personally I don’t know if you’ve got what it takes. And you could spend a long time finding that out.’
Siena met her eyes and saw a touch of sympathy.
‘I’ve seen too many people chasing the dream, with all the talent in the world and never getting anywhere. But,’ she held up her hand, ‘that’s not to say I’m right.’
‘I see.’ Siena felt stiff and stupid. All she wanted to do was get out of there.
The woman exhaled. ‘Look, why don’t I show you round? Let you see what we do here.’
As Siena warmed to Ms Williamson on the tour, her ambition waned. Embarrassment burned in her stomach that she’d even dared to think that her, quite frankly, schoolgirl drawings were good enough. The standard of work that she saw was staggering, beautiful, frightening, shocking, weird and often quite unintelligible but all of it evoked emotion.
‘So what do you think?’ asked Ms Williamson as they came full circle and back to reception.
‘I’m blown away. The passion. Energy,’ she gave a mocking laugh ‘and embarrassed. I loved it all but I’ll never be a designer. Not out there enough.’
‘No,’ the older woman gave her an assessing look, ‘but I like you. I am guilty of perhaps judging on appearance first. I didn’t give you a fair chance. I’m not sure you have what it takes to be a designer, but clearly you have a genuine love for fashion. Design is my specialism. We do lots of other courses here related to careers in fashion. Have you thought about a related area, like fashion journalism or blogging? Let me speak to a couple of people. Here’s my card. I’m Ruth by the way. Give me a ring.’ She placed the square of card into Siena’s hand. ‘Nice coat by the way. Who’s the designer?’
Siena smiled ruefully.
Jason had promised Siena he’d pick her up and had to get a move on when he got her text. With a bit of wild driving and at least three penalty points if he’d been caught, he made it to the station by the skin of his teeth, but to his surprise she was already there, sitting outside the station on a bench, huddled into her coat, lost in thought.
‘Hey, sunshine. Want a lift?’ He called through the window over the noise of the diesel engine. This car was starting to sound more and more like a tractor. Looking slightly dazed, she lifted her head and he saw the faraway expression clear as she registered it was him.
She hopped in beside him, her feet sinking into the rubbish without her usual huff of disapproval. One day he’d surprise her and clean out all this junk.
‘You OK?’ He looked down at her feet, frowning.
‘Yeah, fine. Thanks for picking me up.’
‘Sure?’ Her feet rustled as she pushed aside a McDonald’s bag without a murmur.
She nodded, her hands clutching the Prada bag in front of her, all prim and upright. Guarded. Something tugged at his gut.
‘How did you get on? Did they think your designs were fabulous darling?’ He gave a grin which faltered when he saw stark pain fill her eyes and he regretted not listening to his instincts and treading warily.
‘No, they didn’t. They thought they were a bit crap, actually.’ She smiled dolefully and shrugged her shoulders despondently.
‘Ouch, did they really say that?’ No one would come out and say that. Surely. Was she exaggerating? Maybe they weren’t as fulsome with their praise as she’d hoped.
‘Yup, she really did say that. “Stultified middle class crap” to be precise.’
‘Whoa!’ He leaned over and laid a hand on her thigh. Her leg jittered beneath his touch. ‘That’s harsh.’ How did you come back from that? He squeezed her thigh. ‘I’m really sorry. That sucks.’ He squeezed again. ‘Really sucks.’
She sighed, gazing out of the window. ‘It’s better to know, I guess.’ She seemed numb and disconnected, as if the sunshine had been drained away.
‘Yeah, I agree with that, but there are ways.’
She turned and gave him a level stare. ‘Doesn’t matter now. I can stop wasting my time chasing rainbows. Do you mind if I open the window? I’ve got a bit of headache.’
Jason looked at her pale face. ‘Come on, I’ll take you for a drink.�
��
Chapter 17
They managed to get seats near the open fire and when he returned with their drinks, he found Siena with her hands stretched out, warming them up.
‘This is nice. Thank you.’
‘You OK?’
‘Not really. I feel stupid.’
‘Stupid?’ he asked, sitting down placing his pint on the table and a half in front of her.
‘Being so clueless. But,’ her face lifted, ‘the woman, Ruth, did say to call her back. You know when you’re so fixed on one thing, you don’t see other things.’
‘I know that feeling. Now try your beer.’
‘Do I have to?’ she asked. He had to hand it to her. She bounced back quickly.
‘Yes, it’s your beer education.’
‘Really? Do I need one?’
‘Yes. I’ve had an idea.’
‘Are you allowed to do that?’ Signs of the back to normal Siena filtering through. The twinkle was back in her eyes. ‘I thought Will was the brains of the operation.’
‘Only when he’s thinking with his pants on.’ He took a long swallow from his pint. He had no idea what Will would say, given he’d only thought of it fifteen minutes ago. Scraping together the cost of a second flight probably wasn’t the best use of the business account but fuck it. What was the point of running your own business if you didn’t get the occasional perk? ‘That contact from France. He wants a meeting.’
‘That’s brilliant.’
‘In Paris.’ Jason pulled a face.
‘Paris is wonderful at this time of year.’ Siena nudged him. ‘You philistine. I could tell you all the best places. You’d love it.’
‘Hmm not sure about that, but I could do with a guide and translator.’
He watched as a range of emotions ran across Siena’s face. Initial excitement quickly doused by uncertainty.
‘Do you really need a translator?’
‘Yes,’ Jason rubbed at the stubble on his chin. ‘You should have seen me trying to translate that bloody email this morning using Google. Yes, I mean it.’ Her face fell and he could see her reluctance. ‘Too dangerous?’
‘No, everyone’s gone skiing. It would feel a bit strange, that’s all.’
‘Don’t worry, I’m sure I could get by fine.’ Jason reassured her. ‘I can’t really afford it anyway, to be honest, but it would be a great foothold in France for you. There’s real interest in British beer over there at the moment.’
She suddenly straightened and began digging in her handbag. ‘Voila!’ She pulled out a credit card sized piece of plastic and waved it excitedly. ‘You shall go to the ball, Cinders and Buttons will translate. Sorry, I’m being silly. There’s absolutely no reason why I can’t come and help you. Ça alors, you’ve done loads for me. I can do the flights.’ She beamed at him. ‘Pay you back for letting me stay.’
‘You don’t need to do that. It’s a business expense.’ He laid a hand over hers. She had even less money than he did.
‘No, you don’t understand. Air miles. Air France.’ She laughed. ‘I’ve got enough on here to circumnavigate the globe several times over. We can go business class.’
‘We don’t have to do that. It would be great to have a native speaker though.’
‘And, ta dah! Marriott Rewards points. Accommodation too.’
‘Cool. I’ll speak to Will and we’ll get online when we get home. Now try the beer. If you’re going to be our new Head of Sales and Marketing, you’re going to need to know what you’re talking about.’
She grimaced and took a hesitant sip.
‘What do you think? That’s our session ale. Nice, light.’
‘Mmm,’ she said putting the glass down with one of her trademark dazzling smiles. ‘Interesting.’
A man walking past them suddenly stumbled. Jason bit back a smile. Too busy gawping at Siena.
He studied her as she wrinkled her nose, in a gesture he knew was her preface to asking a big question. ‘So how did you get into making beer? It seems like the sort of the thing old men do.’ She tilted her head towards him, waiting for his answer.
Funny, he’d become so used to her being around, he’d forgotten how beautiful she was. He swallowed as his gaze travelled down the smooth golden skin of her throat as she tilted her head back. Not his type. He’d end up in the same situation as before.
‘Funny, that’s what one of my sisters said.’
‘You’ve got a sister?’ Her head snapped down and she turned to face him, her hands resting loosely on the table.
‘I’ve got two. Why would that be such a surprise?’ He sounded ridiculously defensive.
‘I don’t know, I had you pegged as an only child. You seem quite happy on your own. Actually no, maybe that’s why you’re always so grumpy,’ she caught his eye, a dimple in her cheek deepening. ‘Less grumpy these days.’
‘I can’t be grumpy, you’re always on my case about it. And living on my own was easier for a while.’ It had been what he’d needed to get his balance back. ‘I’m not living on my own now, am I?’
‘No and less grumpy,’ she teased. ‘See, I’m good for you.’ The words hung in the air as the teasing expression died. Her eyes met his and tension shimmered between them.
He snapped his eyes away. There was no way he wanted to get cosy with her. Time for a change of subject. He crossed his legs and folded his arms.
‘Will and I were at university together. We liked beer.’ That was the short and simple story. His eyes clouded at the memories.
‘Most men do, it seems.’ At that moment, the girl-woman seemed all woman. ‘They don’t all go off and start a brewery.’ Her voice softened and her eyes watched him, open but keen as if she’d caught his lingering sadness.
‘We shared a house and started home-brewing.’ He shuddered, the taste of that first pint still horribly imprinted. ‘Ugh, the first batch, it was disgusting. Even as students we couldn’t drink it.’
‘Must have been bad, I heard students drank anything.’
‘It was shite. Unfortunately we’d bought all the kit and were broke. Will insisted we had another go. That lot wasn’t quite so bad.’ He shook his head. ‘Not great but almost drinkable. So we did another batch. To cut a long story short, eventually we got quite good. Played around with recipes, tweaking it. Started to sell it.’ He looked around and put his finger on his lips. ‘Totally illegal of course. You’re supposed to pay duty on alcohol. Do the proper environmental health stuff. Not boil it up in a couple of old pressure cookers and hope for the best.’
‘You mean that’s not what you do now?’
‘I won’t tell Ben you said that. He spends hours cleaning and sterilising our equipment. We built up quite a reputation. Made some money. Always nice. Helped me pay my way through uni. Unfortunately, to do it properly needs a huge amount of investment. We had talked about it but then in our third year, Will’s dad died.’ His mouth crumpled, remembering that day.
‘Poor Will, that must have been a terrible shock.’
Jason closed his eyes, ten years ago and it still hurt. ‘A month later my dad died, too.’ He let out a breath with a long exhale and looked away over to the other side of the canal. ‘Tough times.’
Siena laid a hand over his and gave it a gentle squeeze. She left it there.
Her fingers were still slightly cold, their touch distracting. He stared at her neat, oval nails, the long index finger laid across his knuckles, fighting the urge to lace his fingers through hers.
‘Will and I drank a lot of beer, wept, wrapped up our little operation and went out and got proper jobs.’
‘What type of proper job?’ asked Siena, softly.
‘Merchant banking. I was quite good at it.’
He felt Siena pull back in surprise and it was a relief that she’d removed her hand before he did something stupid. She broke the moment perfectly.
She ducked her head under the table to look at his legs and then popped back up again, a pronounced and rather put out
frown wrinkling her forehead.
‘So those jeans are not surgically attached. Are you telling me that you once,’ she gave a theatrical gasp, ‘wore a suit?’
‘Believe it or not, I owned several. Hugo Boss, actually.’
Siena seemed speechless, her mouth worked but nothing came out.
‘They’re in a box somewhere at my mum’s.’ He grinned, pleased he’d managed to surprise her.
‘Merchant banker. Brewer. Not a short hop.’
He sobered. ‘No. I worked in the city. Luckily I earned huge bonuses, as Dad’s pension bombed. I had to help Mum and my sisters.’ Those really had been tough times, although ironically had helped in the longer term. ‘It meant I could only afford to buy a flat in an old mansion block in a duff part of London. The area went up in desirability. The flat escalated in value. A property developer made me an offer.’
‘Handy. So it was meant to be.’
‘Not exactly.’ He stopped, swallowing. Acid swirled in the pit of his stomach. That familiar burning sensation. And he didn’t even have his indigestion tablets with him. Might as well spill all. Show her what he was really like. ‘I had a girlfriend, Stacey. She lived with me. She didn’t want me to sell. Didn’t want to move out to the country.’
Siena frowned. ‘That seems a bit unfair on you.’
That wasn’t what she supposed to say.
‘Not really. I had a responsibility to her. Stacey. She— We— We’d been living together for three years. She lost her job and,’ he stared off at the view outside the window, ‘never got another one.’ Not that she’d tried too hard but he’d been so busy working and by that stage was earning enough. With hindsight he should have pushed harder on that one. ‘She was financially dependent on me. What could I do? So I stayed put for another year, but I couldn’t hack it.’ He closed his eyes and then looked Siena in the eye. ‘I did the selfish bastard thing. I sold the flat and kicked her out.’ And had hated himself ever since. He waited for her to withdraw her hand, instead she maintained her gaze.
‘What happened to Stacey?’
