She’d already had a look on Twitter. Remembering Rainbows was trending. Only it seemed that many of the Tweeters had thought that Meredith – who’d been unable to promote her own work – was part of a collaboration with Robert.
Can’t believe what I’m watching on @ WakeyWakey! Some freaky scientist having a breakdown over a doll #RememberingRainbows
Wow, @WakeyWakey! If that’s embracing happiness, I’d rather be miserable #Remembering Rainbows
Great.
Jessica tried to remind herself that no publicity is bad publicity and that two of her clients had been trending on Twitter in the last couple of weeks. But somehow it didn’t seem like a success.
Loved watching @DrRobHaydn on @WakeyWakey! Embrace your inner child! #RememberingRainbows
she tweeted half-heartedly.
Her phone beeped with a text from her brother: ‘Watched your programme – never laughed so hard in my life!’
‘Yeah, thanks for the support, bro.’
‘Seriously, what do they say – no publicity is bad publicity!’
Why did people always say that? ‘Let’s hope so ’ she replied.
As the car turned into familiar streets she began to long to get home, sling off her work shoes and make the most of an ‘at home’ lunch break. But as they neared the high street, Robert’s hand suddenly gripped her arm. ‘Ask the driver to stop!’ he said, excitedly.
Jessica looked out of the window but couldn’t see anything particularly worth stopping for. A newsagent’s, a fish and chip shop with steamed-up windows, and a charity bookshop. But she avoided suggesting he actually ask the driver himself and leaned forward. ‘Would it be OK to stop here?’ she asked.
Two minutes later they were standing on the pavement, watching the sleek black car drive away. Home for Jessica was still a good fifteen minutes’ walk and as they clearly hadn’t been important enough for the driver to wait for, he’d headed back to the studio, or wherever his next assignment was.
‘What is it?’ she said, turning to Robert and trying to smile. In truth, she was pretty knackered and just wanted to get back for a forbidden full-strength coffee.
‘I just want to show you something,’ he said, gesturing to a small alleyway.
Robert didn’t seem the sort that would want to show her something dodgy in an alleyway, so she persevered, ‘Yes, but show me what?’
‘What I mean by embracing your inner child.’
Oh gawd.
She followed him along the alleyway, dodging around the obligatory fag-ends, broken bottles and dog shit that seem to collect between buildings, and emerged into a small park.
In the corner of the grassed area, there was a tiny fenced-off playground. A man stood at the bottom of the slide, arms wide ready to catch a small boy. Two women sat on a bench, close to where two toddlers were scaling a slightly rickety-looking climbing frame. Both women were on their mobile phones, eyes fixed to their screens. Jessica felt a pang of recognition.
‘Great, it’s not busy!’ said Robert, seeming more enthusiastic than he had in the studio when promoting his book. He grabbed her hand and began to run. Rather than slap it away, she was so taken by surprise she found herself tottering by his side, her heels sinking slightly into the fudge-like mud.
When they reached the small area, Robert flung the gate open with such force that all three children squealed. Unperturbed, he dragged Jessica to the swings. ‘Sit!’ he said and, feeling a bit self-conscious, she perched on the edge of one of the plastic seat and gripped the chains. She’d assumed he was going to sit on the swing next to her and start to rock back and forth, but instead he hopped behind her and began to push.
Whoosh! His hands thumped into the small of her back and she found herself thrust forward. Back again, and again the hands pushed her. Faster and faster until something actually did change inside. She began to stretch and bend her legs, encouraging the swing to go higher and higher. The hands on her back reminded her of being a child, her dad’s powerful pushes sending her high enough to ‘bump the moon’, as they’d used to joke.
She watched the horizon stretch and fall away as the swing moved; the landscape became a blur of indiscriminate colour – blue, green, brown – the red brick of the wall; then up again. A feeling of excitement – adrenalin – began to pump through her and her heart began to pound. When had she last sat on a swing? Probably sometime in the nineties before she’d become a teenager and far too cool for that sort of thing. She’d pushed Anna on them when she was younger, of course, but never sat on one herself.
She realised she was smiling. Genuinely smiling. And she began to think that maybe there was something in this reconnection theory. ‘Wow,’ she said as she whooshed forward. ‘This is … this is …’
‘See!’ Robert called from behind her. ‘See what happens when you let go!’
‘What?’
‘LET GO!’ he yelled.
Something about the fact he yelled so forcefully made her respond to his request on autopilot. She loosened her grip on the chains and flew off the swing at top speed, crashing to the ground with enough force to knock the wind out of her.
‘Jessica!’ Robert cried, running forward.
The other adults regarded the pair of them with silent, judging eyes.
‘I’m fine, I’m fine,’ she said hurriedly, getting to her feet and feeling her knees scream in protest. Tears stung the back of her eyes. Don’t cry, don’t cry, she told herself. Her cheeks were burning.
‘I’m so sorry. So sorry!’ Robert said, gratifyingly concerned about her. ‘I didn’t mean … I meant, you know, metaphorically …’
‘I know. I know! It’s my fault.’ She had gravel wedged in the skin of her palms and rubbed her hands together to remove it.
‘Look,’ he said helping her up. ‘My car’s parked at my flat – just round the corner. Do you want me to give you a lift home?’
Minutes later, they were in Robert’s small hatchback heading for Jessica’s place. ‘Thank you for today,’ he said. ‘I mean, I’m not being completely blind about … about what happened in the studio. And I didn’t mention it, but I checked my phone and there’s been a bit of tweeting going on about it.’
‘Yep, a bit,’ she said, with a grimace of sympathy.
‘Oh. Well, I just try to look at the positive side of things when I can,’ he said. ‘For me, I managed to go on a live TV show, I didn’t mess up my lines and I definitely didn’t look like a fool compared to, well, you know.’
It was true, and hearing him describe it like this made her feel better. ‘You’re right,’ she said.
‘You know, it’s more than nerves for me – I have a bit of a, well, phobia I suppose, of public speaking.’
‘But …’
‘But you – something about your encouragement – helped me to overcome it somehow.’
‘Oh!’
‘I’m sorry about the swing though.’
‘It’s not … don’t worry about it,’ she said. ‘I mean, I understood what you meant for a minute, before, you know.’
‘Yeah.’ They grinned at each other suddenly. It had been pretty ridiculous. And now that her knees had stopped stinging, the whole thing seemed hilarious.
‘Next time, I’ll choose my words more carefully,’ he smiled, pulling up outside her house. ‘Number ten, right?’
‘Yep. That’s me.’ She looked fondly at the red-brick semi that had been her home for over a decade.
‘Listen, thanks. Especially, you know, for coming with me. Because I realise that you have a lot of other stuff on. And you didn’t have to come.’
‘Pleasure.’ And actually, she realised, in many ways it had been. They looked at each other for a while.
‘Well, I’d better …’ she said, nodding at her house.
‘Yeah.’
He leaned forward
and she leant towards him, aiming to kiss the air next to his cheek. There was a moment where they both changed sides, then changed again, to try to line up cheek to mouth and mouth to cheek.
And misjudged it. Before either of them had a chance to pull away, their lips collided in a clumsy kiss.
‘Oh!’ he said, pulling away. ‘I’m sorry! I didn’t—’
‘I know, don’t worry.’ She felt her face get hot. ‘It’s well … these things happen.’ For some reason, her lips ached to lean into him again. It had been a while since she’d been kissed. She grabbed her bag and gave him a quick nod before she could give in to the urge.
Exiting the car with a quick goodbye, she looked towards her front door and saw a tall, slender woman standing there: her hair glittering in the sunlight, her eyes fixed firmly on Robert’s car.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Getting to see @ArtyHugo’s entry for @ArtisArt this afternoon. #soexcited #loveart #lifeisgood @StarPR
Jessica tried not to think too much about Liz’s face as she drove the short journey to Hugo’s studio. That raised eyebrow, slightly inhibited by Botox, the knowing look on her face. ‘Everything all right, Jessica?’ Liz had said as Jessica walked up to her. ‘Just came to drop a few ideas off, but had no idea you’d be here!’ She’d held a white envelope out and Jessica had taken it, mutely.
‘I’ve used some of the questions you provided – and thank you for that; and added a few, you know, extras just to keep everybody happy!’ she’d added with a smile.
‘Thank you.’
‘So …’ Liz had continued, seemingly unable to help herself. ‘Who was that handsome chap?’ she’d nodded towards the space where Robert’s car had been. ‘Couldn’t help but notice he gave you rather a large peck.’
In fact, it had been a full on-the-lips smacker, which they both evidently knew. ‘Oh, Robert?’ Jessica had replied in what she’d hoped was a light-hearted tone. ‘He’s just a client.’
‘Wow, do all your clients thank you so … so enthusiastically?’ Liz had followed this question up with a light-hearted titter, but her pointed look had revealed real interest.
‘No, of course not,’ Jessica had snapped, trying to keep her cool. ‘He’s, well, he’s a writer,’ she’d explained with a what can you do? eye roll and shrug combo.
‘Ah OK. Artistic.’
‘Exactly.’
There had been a pause as the two women regarded each other. She wants me to invite her in, Jessica realised. ‘Look, I’d love to ask you in, but I’m just off to a meeting. Well, a viewing, really.’
‘Oh?’
‘Yes, one of my clients has finished a competition entry, and I promised I’d swing by’
‘Sounds exciting. Well, I’d better …’ Liz had gestured to the road.
‘Sure. But look, we must get together for a proper chat,’ Jessica had added, automatically.
Which of course had been immediately scheduled into Liz’s smartphone rather than left vague.
As Jessica swung into the car park near to Hugo’s studio, she almost took the bumper off a car that someone had parked awkwardly by the entrance. ‘Shit.’
She paid her parking after the fourth attempt using the text-and-pay number then walked the short distance to the chip shop. The door to Hugo’s studio room was slightly ajar, but she knocked anyway. Just in case.
‘Jessica!’ said Hugo, leaning his head and shoulders over the bannister. ‘Come up!’ he was grinning broadly. He’d maintained his clean-shaven look, she noticed, but a slight shadow suggested that he might be entertaining the idea of a moustache.
She trotted up the stairs and followed Hugo into his studio.
The room looked pretty much the same as it had last time: the same subtle paintings on the walls, a new one half-finished by the window, and what she assumed was the competition entry in the centre, hidden under a cream-coloured cloth.
‘So,’ she said, smiling. ‘The big reveal.’
‘Indeed.’ He suddenly seemed less sure of himself as he stood there, rocking slightly from foot to foot. He was wearing jeans so immaculate that they had to be brand new, and a floral shirt that still had the creases from being folded in the shop. He looked dressed up for the occasion, but why?
‘So …?’ she prompted.
‘So,’ he replied. ‘Look, Jessica, I’m not sure what you might think about this.’
Which didn’t bode well.
‘Have you … have you changed your entry?’ she asked, wondering whether his ‘dark phase’ had had a resurgence.
‘No, it’s not that. It’s … well. You know, you’ve been such a support, such an inspiration to me, really …’
‘I have?’
‘Yes! You were the one who believed in me when no one else did! You were the one who supported me when I changed my work – I’d never have continued with Drowning Man on Fire or Proud Man if it hadn’t been for your positive feedback.’
‘Right …’
‘Anyway, so when I thought about the competition, I wanted to reflect that. How … how we’re only as good as the people we rely on …’
‘Yes?’ She had no idea what was coming.
‘So …’ He pulled the cloth and it flopped lightly to the floor. Jessica looked up at the picture and gasped.
Before her was a self-portrait of Hugo, standing at his easel. Painted in minute detail, the skin was luminous and every hair, every tiny feature was immaculately formed on the canvas. There was no doubt that Hugo was a brilliant artist. The second figure in the painting was Jessica – depicted in almost photographic detail. In the composition she was his subject, reclining on a chaise longue while also talking on a mobile phone. She also appeared, in miniature, on the tiny canvas the painted Hugo was working on.
As far as her – fairly untrained – eye could make out, this piece of work was as good as any she’d seen in the National Portrait Gallery.
But that wasn’t why she’d gasped.
She’d gasped because in the painting both she and Hugo were entirely and graphically naked.
‘Ta dah!’ Hugo said, looking at her expectantly.
‘Oh!’
‘You don’t like it?’
‘It’s not that …’ she paused trying to find the right words. ‘It’s, well, We’re … we’re not wearing anything!’
‘Ah, the nude element,’ Hugo said, as if he hadn’t been sure whether she’d notice. ‘It’s meant to demonstrate the fact that when we’re stripped back our real characters shine through,’ he explained. ‘At the core, I’m an artist, you’re an inspiration and support. You see,’ he pointed to her hand on the phone in the picture, ‘how you’re simultaneously inspiring me and showing that you’re far more than just a muse – a working woman who inspires both with the flesh and the mind …’
He smiled slightly, seemingly not getting the point.
‘Yes, well, but I mean … We’re … we’re not actually wearing anything.’
‘No.’
‘You can see my … there aren’t any clothes,’ she continued, helpfully.
‘Yes.’
‘And this is going in the gallery?’
‘Yes.’
‘Where … where people I know … where my mum will see it?’
‘Yes.’ Catching her tone at last, Hugo looked crestfallen. ‘I thought you’d be …’
‘What?’
‘I don’t know. Proud, maybe? Flattered.’
‘Oh. Well, I guess I’m flattered.’ Looking at Hugo’s depiction of her naked form, she could see that his idea of what she might look like under her clothes was pretty amazing. Clearly, he’d never seen a woman with stretchmarks and a post-baby tummy droop. ‘It’s just …’
But what could she do? Ask him to enter Drowning Man on Fire? Ask him to blur her features and possibly wreck the picture?
The picture was brilliant. And if she was truly on his side she ought to support him.
‘It’s great,’ she said, at last. ‘I was surprised, that’s all.’
‘And you don’t mind me entering it?’
‘No. No! of course not,’ she smiled. ‘It’s a winner, I’m sure of it.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes.’
Was that a good lie? she wondered on the way home. Saying she was OK with it? Her intentions had certainly been good. All she’d have to do is keep her mother away from the gallery for a week or two. Surely that couldn’t be too hard?
She wouldn’t let herself think about what might happen if he won – for now, at least.
Waiting outside school for Anna – and early for once – she checked her phone and discovered an answerphone message: ‘Hi, Jessica. It’s Robert. Look … I wanted to. I wanted to say sorry. You know with the, well, the kiss thing.’
Ought she to be upset? It had been such an odd day, what with the Wakey Wakey! experience, flying off a swing and skinning her knees for the first time in a couple of decades and then being shown a piece of artwork destined for public display in which her entire (albeit flatteringly imagined) body was on view, that in all honesty she’d almost forgotten about their embarrassing cheek-kiss fail.
She dialled Robert’s number and prayed for an answerphone so that she could put the whole thing to bed without having to relive it with her client.
Bad luck; he answered.
‘Hello? Jessica?’
‘Hi, Robert. I got your message – don’t worry about it. Just one of those things!’
‘Oh, phew. I mean, it was … I just didn’t want you to think—’
‘Don’t worry, honestly.’
‘Although,’ he paused. ‘I always … I try to be honest about things. The kiss was accidental, but I started to wonder. You know, whether there’d been a part of me that did it on purpose.’
‘On purpose?’
‘Yeah. I mean, it sounds silly. It’s just … I have thought about it. Kissing you, I mean.’
‘Oh.’ He’d thought about her in that way? She’d spent so much of her time obsessing over her weight gain recently that she’d thought herself completely invisible to the opposite sex.
Everything is Fine: The funny, feel-good and uplifting page-turner you won't be able to put down! Page 16
