by Foster, Zoe
Chelsea became smaller and smaller on the lounge, pulling into herself, trying to, Abby presumed, slip through the crack in the cushions and disappear. She wasn’t going to say a thing, and she couldn’t. Mads’s pain and anger vibrated from every cell in her body; there was nothing that could be said to calm or appease her.
‘It’s so fucking typical, isn’t it. You don’t want a baby, have never wanted a baby, and you’re handed one on a fucking platter without a whisper of effort or thought. I, on the other hand, want for nothing more in this world than a baby, and I cannot, no matter how ravaged my body or marriage become, fall pregnant.’ As she spat her words at Chelsea, she crossed her arms and her eyes became small and glazed.
‘It’s just textbook fucking Chelsea Patton, isn’t it.’
‘I realise you’re very upset, Mads, and with all of my heart I am sorry. I am genuinely and deeply sorry for how I delivered this news. And it breaks my heart that you can’t conceive, of course it does, you’re like a sister to me, I hate seeing you so sad and feel so helpless—’
Mads mumbled something inaudible and shook her head. Chelsea ignored her, battling on with her monologue.
‘But, and none of this takes away from what you’re feeling, of course it doesn’t, but can you appreciate this is a bit fucked for me too? I’ve—’
‘Don’t you DARE try to make this about woe is you, oh, your poor life,’ Mads said, warningly.
‘Mads? I heard you out, now you hear me out,’ Chelsea was gathering momentum; Abby was becoming more and more terrified for her wellbeing with every word she spoke. It didn’t happen more than a few times a decade, but when Mads lost her shit, she wrapped it in camouflage and tossed it into the Amazon Jungle.
‘I am in a new relationship, and I am pregnant. The man who wants to have this baby with me already has a wife and a kid, and he seems to have left them without too much thought. All of that of course is on top of the guilt I feel even being pregnant knowing what you’ve been through, and, you know, your situation …’ She rubbed her forehead awkwardly, clearly wanting to skip that part. ‘But who’s to say he won’t get bored of this family in a couple of years?’ Chelsea’s eyes were glassy and full of anxiety. ‘It’s hardly a silver fucking platter, Mads.’
She wiped a tear from her eye, which Abby gratefully took as her cue to stand up and get a box of tissues from the bathroom. She prayed there would be no punches thrown in her absence.
When she came back into the room, offering the box to Mads, who had taken a seat at the table, and then to Chelsea, who hugged her knees in close on the sofa, both were quietly sniffing and wiping under their eyes, but neither of them took one. Abby set the box on the coffee table; placed her hands on her hips and looked at her two friends with sadness.
‘Guys. I think that maybe—’
‘Do you know what, Mads? I would have this baby and hand it over to you in the delivery room if I could.’ Chelsea looked at Mads, who refused to look back at her, shaking her head sadly instead.
‘Oh don’t be godamn histrionic. And fucking moronic.’
‘I mean it.’
Mads snapped her head up to face Chelsea. ‘Oh, yeah okay, Chels, great idea. Hey, why don’t I call Dylan right now and tell him everything’s sorted, I found a baby in my friend’s belly that we can have!’
She was about to go nuclear. Abby needed to step up.
‘Okay! Enough. Come on, we’re all adults,’ Abby said, not entirely sure that they were.
‘It’s impossible to get through to Mads when she’s so upse—’ Chelsea started, frustration beginning to seep in.
‘I just need to be alone, actually,’ Mads said decidedly, standing up to encourage their exit, her eyes locked on the floor.
Chels stood up, collecting her bag off the coffee table, looking wounded and shocked, like a little girl who’d just been told all the girls at school no longer liked her.
‘Mads, can we please talk about this? I can’t leave you being so upset …’
Mads was silent, head down, playing with a loose thread on the tablecloth.
‘Chels, let’s leave it for now. We love you, Madsy. We’ll call you later.’ Abby steered Chelsea, who was crying again, by the arm and together the two women walked out the front door.
Wide awake at 4.02 a.m., Abby walked from the bedroom to the kitchen for a glass of water, peeking into the office as she did, which Charlie had been working from so diligently in her absence. It was, like the rest of the house, absolutely pristine.
Desperate for a mental distraction following the scene at Mads’s and the consequent vent session with Chelsea directly afterwards, Abby lay in bed and composed a long email to Sean on her laptop. Then she wrote an epic one to her mother, describing her trip, and the numerous trinkets she wanted to present her with this weekend. Still sleep evaded her. Desperate for slumber and incredibly bored, Abby began mentally composing the perfect, nonchalant text to Marcus, who she had decided was not only completely over her, but probably already seeing some 21-year-old honey. It seared Abby’s heart to think of him out partying, having gorgeous, no-strings sex with cool, hot girls who looked like they’d just stepped out of Nylon magazine. Her whole Alessandro thing somehow didn’t count by comparison, and anyway, Marcus would never know about him. Abby knew it was in bad taste to want to make him jealous, but being in good taste seemed so ineffective by contrast.
Abby took her phone off the bedside table and started tapping out drafts.
Marcus, how are you? I was wondering if you were around this wee
No. Too dull.
If a lady were to ask a gentleman for a coffee this weekend, would a gentleman be available and/or interested?
Too friendly. And jokey.
If my number hasn’t been changed to ‘ignore and delete’ in your phone, and you decide to read this and respond, would you maybe meet me for a co
Awful. Too convoluted and quasi-self deprecating.
My fingers are sore from drafting clever versions of this text, so: I’d love to catch up with you, is a coffee possible in the next few days?
Honest, Australia.
Fuck it. Abby hit send, momentarily forgetting it was 5.30 a.m. and he might very well think she was out and boozed and thus reasonable to ignore, then switched her phone to silent, so she didn’t listen for its bzzz all night like a psychotic girl waiting for a text from the guy she’s into, despite being precisely that. Abby was disappointed she still needed to do such things at her age, wasn’t all of that gamey stuff and torture meant to have ended in your twenties? Abby lay in bed, eyes blinking in the darkness, waiting in vain for sleep to flow over her.
36
‘And that’s how I accidentally got CashCard as a client.’
Charlie looked genuinely bemused as she relayed the story of landing an enormous gig for Allure, purely by chatting to a nice old man at the bar, while she waited for her boyfriend at a Caribbean luncheonette. Once Abby had finished teasing Charlie for being such a hipster that she ate at a ‘Caribbean luncheonette’ she swamped her business partner with praise.
‘Charlie, do you even know how many pies those guys have their paws in? Sport and concerts and the te—’
‘I know,’ Charlie interrupted. ‘Lawrence said he’s keeping on some other agency as well, for some things, thinks they’re more an actual modelling agency or something, but he definitely wants our girls for like, VIP golf days, or the celebrity box at the football, or – you’ll love this – playing hostess at one of the million concerts they sponsor. He was using Elite models, but said that the girls were always too precious to actually do anything, like serve drinks, or chat, or smile.’
‘Well, what great news to come back to. Charlie, you’re just terrific.’
Abby’s phone buzzed.
I think I can manage that, yes. How’s tomorrow at 11 at Alfies?
Marcus! The lack of kisses and friendliness was a kick in the shins, but Abby had to remember the actual situation, and not t
he one she coveted. She asked Charlie to hold that thought for one moment, and frantically replied.
Perfect. And thank you.
She almost added ‘I’ll wear my lobster suit so you recognise me’, but thought it might be pushing it. He was still upset with her. Probably didn’t want any of her terrific jokes at this stage. Excitement squelched through her arteries.
‘Sorry, go on,’ Abby said, grinning at Charlie.
‘Less awesome news is that I lost a few girls … Does that happen a lot? I was kind of scared to tell you.’
‘Any of the good ones?’
‘Uhhh, there was Jacqui … and Amy, who had only done about two shifts, decided it “wasn’t for her”. Oh, and Tara.’
‘Really? Jacqui? And Tara? Shit. That bites. Do we know why?’
‘Didn’t say.’ Charlie’s eyebrows and shoulders were up.
‘That’s weird that they wouldn’t say why … Oh well. It happens, I guess. Three is a lot, though.’
‘Did I do something wrong?’ Charlie sounded defensive rather then apologetic.
‘Oh, no, no … Did we get any gains?’
‘A few nearlies, but not quite Allure standards, I’m afraid.’
That was a bit odd, Abby thought. They were getting almost twenty applications a week when she left. And good ones, too.
‘Oh. Okay then, well I’ll go through any new submissions today.’
‘Also, uh, we kind of lost the Tag Heuer account to Faces.’
‘You’re shitting me,’ Abby said in disbelief. Tag Heuer had been a constant and pleasant client for over twelve months. Why would they have switched all of a sudden? Maybe leaving Charlie here alone wasn’t the world’s greatest idea after all; things were falling apart.
‘Di didn’t say … was really weird actually. Must be a money thing. We are kind of expensive, I guess. Anyway, I’ve got a meeting now, but maybe we can get lunch after?’
Abby prickled at Charlie’s comment about Allure being expensive. Also it was very strange that Di didn’t send her an email and just left like that. Abby had a fantastic relationship with her.
‘Did Di email about it, or—’
‘Oh, it was all on the phone, unfortunately. You know how she loves a chat, all darl this, darl that …’ Charlie was speaking rapidly, and busying herself looking for something in her bag.
‘So strange … I should call her—’
‘Oh, so no point; trust me. I tried.’ Charlie’s intonation signalled the end of the conversation. ‘So, lunch? Moko’s?’
‘Yeah, cool, sounds good,’ Abby was in a daze.
‘Sorry again about Tag. Hopefully CashCard will triple what she gave us.’
Charlie smiled at Abby and swivelled back round to her laptop, which she packed into its sleeve, popping her Chloé messenger bag over her shoulder and standing up.
‘Oh, hey, before you go, you haven’t seen my two little Hermès bangles at all have you? I can’t find them ANYWHERE and it’s doing my head in.’
‘No … Sorry, you sure you didn’t take them to Italy?’
‘Yeah, no … I remember almost taking them but then thinking I’d lose them so I left them here, in the bathroom I thought … Oh well, I’ll find them.’
‘I’ll help you look later,’ Charlie flashed a smile and powered out of Abby’s house, and Abby was left alone, to wonder why she felt like her own company had run away from her, and scold her brain every three minutes or so for sneaking over to the area marked ‘Marcus’, when it was told in no uncertain terms to sit on the grassed area marked ‘Allure’. She called both Chelsea and Mads, but neither answered. She’d give them one more day, she decided, then she was going in.
At 11.03 the next morning, Abby walked into Alfies wearing a sleeveless olive green silk dress she’d picked up at D&G and her tan trench coat. She was a little bit cold, and her new suede heels were a little bit ruined, and her hair was a little bit demented from the pouring rain, but she was unflappable, because she was seeing Marcus today. She was sure she looked decent, but it was actually her giggly smile and the glint in her eyes that raised her above the commoners today. Abby was vibrating with excitement and nerves, unsure of what new information she would possess in an hour’s time.
Marcus was seated already, one ankle resting on a knee, tapping away on his phone. It was a scene Abby wished she could freeze in time, not just because Marcus was looking dishy with his scruffy hair and an almost-beard and a sexy, high-necked black coat, but because if things went badly today, this was the last moment she didn’t know that, and she still had some hope.
‘Good morning,’ Abby stood awkwardly at the table, wondering whether this was a kiss hello or sit straight down moment. She started to remove her jacket for something to do, when Marcus stood up, his eyes taking her in appreciatively, and kissed her on the cheek. His smile was weak, nowhere near as dazzling as the one Abby was used to, but she pretended not to notice.
‘Hey there … Italy sits well with you, huh? Most people come back looking like gnocchi … you look more like a little grissini.’
Abby laughed, luxuriating in his compliment as she placed her jacket on the back of her chair and sat down. She prayed he couldn’t see her fingers shaking. Men don’t compliment women unless they are attracted to them, right? No, of course not.
‘Thank you … Have you ordered a coffee yet?’ Abby’s mind was hyperventilating with anxiety and fantasy and it was making it hard for her mouth to do its job.
‘Yes, and yours – soy capp, yes?’
Abby’s insides melted a little. He was so considerate. How could she have forgotten how thoughtful he was?
‘Perfect … Thank you.’ she cleared her throat, trying to clear some of the nerves with it. ‘So how are you, what’s happening?’
‘Yeah, really good, thanks … work is still work, but that’s to be expected. Nothing else super-exciting going on, really … But who cares about me; how was Italy? What are the headlines?’
Oh, you know, thought Abby, ate some fettuccine, drank some wine, saw some statues, hooked up with some guy for a week of it, an older guy, who’s successful, experienced and self-assured, just like you always said I would probably end up with, but that’s not the point, he wasn’t for me. You are, Marcus, you are. Now TELL ME YOU WANT ME BACK THIS SECOND.
‘It was pretty special,’ Abby said, finally. ‘It was a bit strange being alone for so long, but there were so many places to see, and things to do, galleries and teeny gelato shops with queues ten deep, and field trips to beautiful vineyards and, you know, I was working the whole time as well, so I definitely wasn’t bored, and th—’
‘Any epiphanies? Life-changing moments?’ Marcus didn’t realise his offhand question was the entrée to a very heavy main course.
Abby paused, biting her lip. Well yes, Marcus, if you must know, there was one, and it concerns you. Abby took a quick breath and decided to leap. These platitudes were killing her. And coffee would only send her even further into a jittery spiral. The time to come clean was now. Now. Abby exhaled theatrically.
‘Funnily enough, yes in a way. I did.’ Embarrassingly, her voice broke like a wimpy, pimply teen. Marcus’s expression turned to one of concern.
‘Are you okay, Abs?’
His kindness almost set off the ludicrous tears of anxiety and nervous energy and jet lag that were perched in her already glassy eyes. She took another deep breath. This was getting preposterous. This was not telling someone they had cancer, it was telling her ex-boyfriend she’d made a mistake and wanted to try again.
‘Marcus, I missed you. I miss you. I thought of you, without exception, every single day I was away from you. I wrote a thousand emails and texts to you that I never sent, and I imagined you being there with me non-stop. It killed me that you never contacted me, even though I know I didn’t deserve it, and I know it’s not “cool” to admit that, but I don’t want to play games, Marcus. You deserve honesty and you deserve respect and I hope that by telling you
all of this, you feel you’re getting that.’
‘Long black; soy capp.’ The heavily eye-lined waitress placed two coffees on the table.
Abby ran clammy fingers through her hair. ‘I know this is full-on, and I could’ve perhaps done it a better way, but I wanted to do it in person, and man up, because I need to tell you that I apologise. I severed something beautiful that I sincerely wish I could resurrect.’
‘Jesus, Abs. Not here to talk about the weather, are you?’ Marcus blew air through his mouth in a silent whistle, his eyes showing apprehension and mild incredulity. He stirred sugar into his coffee slowly, his head shaking almost imperceptibly.
‘Marcus, I’m sorry for just dumping it on you like this. And look, you don’t need to say anything now. I just, selfishly I suppose, wanted to let you know how I’m feeling, and you can do with that information as you please.’
A lengthy silence, and then Marcus, still looking down, said, ‘I’m not sure I can do anything with it, Abby.’
The soundtrack Abby’s brain had supplied to the conversation suddenly changed from one that hinted of optimistic, romantic conclusions, to one that pre-empted disaster. Abby sensed that all of the guts she had spilled on that little café table were about to be swiftly swept onto the floor, and into the bin.
‘I thought about you while you were away, of course I did, and I considered contacting you, but I didn’t Abby, and that’s because you hurt me, you know? I was really fucking hurt.’
Abby sat stunned, unable to move, and very, very disenchanted with where this was all heading.
‘Abby, I’m sorry, but right now I can’t— this won’t— it’d be wrong to start anything up with you again.’
An invisible heavy-weight boxer punched Abby in the stomach, rendering her unable to breathe, see, comprehend. Then suddenly, clarity: ‘You’re seeing someone,’ Abby said, dead-faced.
