Picture Imperfect

Thursday 19th



I’ve only been in the office for about five minutes when my mobile goes off. For a second, my heart leaps. Is it Rhoda with some news already? But it isn’t Rhoda, it’s Alexis, an old school friend of mine.

I was very close to Alexis between the ages of fourteen to seventeen, but after that, our paths diverged and we didn’t really see each other very much, until about three years ago when, by coincidence, we were both with respective bunches of friends at the same pub. We started chatting about all sorts of rubbish and got to know each other all over again. I last saw her about six months ago.

She’d been married at the age of twenty to some guy called Robyn, who she was madly in love with until she found him in bed with a girl who’d come to their house selling solar panel deals. I think that’s what it was, anyway. This was a little over six months after they’d got hitched, so as you can imagine, it rather put Alexis off the idea of marriage and she’s never done it again. I often wonder, though, what the sexual chemistry must have been like between Robyn and the solar panel girl. Sparks must have been flying!

‘Are you busy, Chloe?’

‘I’m at my bloody office job. I’m never busy here. You know that.’

Kristin looks up and grins. She hasn’t asked me about the Mark situation so far today and I don’t think she will unless I happen to bring it up. Mrs Goddard is, as usual, silently ensconced in her office, looking, no doubt, out of the window and thinking about the past.

‘D’you fancy going out for dinner tonight?’

‘Sure. Have you got anywhere in mind?’

This is a relief. I don’t fancy another evening on my own at home. I need distractions, particularly as I haven’t any more painting to do.

‘Well I found this great Japanese place in Baker Street. That’s not too far away for you, is it? I thought we could meet in a pub first and have a couple of drinks if you like.’

‘It’s not one of those places where you have to sit on the floor in an awkward position, is it?’

She laughs. It’s like a bell tinkling.

‘No! It’s got seats just like a normal restaurant. What time do you finish there?’

‘Five-thirty.’

‘OK. You know the Waggoner’s, don’t you. I’ll see you in there at six?’

‘Fine.

Kristin smiles as I put the phone down. ‘Going out to get hammered?’

‘Just seeing an old friend’

She nods sagely. ‘Going out to get hammered.’

I print out the letter I’ve just typed and stick it in an envelope. Mrs Goddard likes to email and send a hard copy at the same time. She thinks it’s more polite. She used to send a fax, too, before Kristin talked her out of it. Probably with the intention of keeping the chat away from Mark (I think we both had enough of that yesterday), she asks me about my painting. I tell her that I’ve just finished two and my agent seems to think she might be able to sell them.

Kristin was obviously surprised when I told her how big they were. I think she’d imagined they were A1 size at the most, and probably nice watercolours of kittens or similar.

‘Wow! I’ve like to have a couple of huge, f*ck-off paintings in my place. Something like when a friend comes in, it’s like ‘BANG! Look at us!’’

I smile when I remember Jake calling ‘round to get them yesterday. Jake must be about seventy if he’s a day. As soon as I opened the front door to him, he raised a hand as if to indicate that not only should I not help him carry the canvases, or touch them in any way, I should also go into another room, not speak to him and keep out of his way. All of that in one gesture!

I suspect he’s had years of experience carrying large, partially-dried canvases and has also had disasters when some dumb artist decided to help him out. I watched him from the kitchen as he hooked his fingers under the frames at the back and lifted them up like they were nothing, then carried them down the stairs with a weird sideways walk, like a crab.

I looked out of the window and watched him place them in his van. It looked like he was attaching something to the frames so they wouldn’t fall over while he drove along, though I couldn’t see exactly what he was doing. As he drove off, I silently wished both paintings good luck.

When I meet Alexis in the pub, the first thing I notice is that she’s dyed her hair blonde. It suits her. The second thing I notice is that she’s about four months pregnant. I’m not the most observant person in the world.

We order drinks. I have a G&T; she has a Badoit with ice and lime. Despite myself, I’m mildly annoyed at this. When I go for a drink in a pub, I expect whoever I’m with to be drinking alcohol as well, even if they’re pregnant or on medication or have a serious allergy to alcohol.

We find a table near the window and look at each other. I smile at her.

‘So! You’re blonde now, then!’

She rubs her belly and takes a sip of her alcohol-free water. ‘Martin likes me to have blonde hair. He says it looks good on me.’

‘And Martin is…?’

‘Oh, of course. You wouldn’t know about him, would you. We must have met about six or seven months ago. It was all a bit sudden, but I knew that I wanted to get pregnant by him straight away. It was what he wanted, as well. He likes the way my body has been changing, too, so lots of bonking at the moment!’

Did she just say ‘I knew that I wanted to get pregnant by him straight away’? Can you imagine inflicting that on a man during your first date? ‘I know we’ve only just met, but I’d like to have your baby, if that’s OK with you.’ They’d run a mile.

‘So what does he do, this Martin?’

Apart from say ‘I like the way your body is changing.’ I don’t know why I’m asking about Martin’s job. I know it’s going to be something tedious. Alexis crosses and uncrosses her legs. She looks like she’s a little uncomfortable on the pub stool.

‘He’s a physiotherapist. He works for a couple of different health centres. He specialises in sport injuries.’

‘How did you…?’

‘I had a really bad sprain on my shoulder that didn’t want to go away.’

‘So you were one of his patients! How romantic!’

She laughs that tinkly laugh. ‘It’s lovely to be pregnant, Chloe. We’re so happy about it. I was getting that old biological clock anxiety. You know what it’s like at our age.’

She’s smiling all the time and it’s slightly unsettling. It’s as if she’s joined some religious cult and is extolling the virtues of abstaining from peanut butter and oral sex.

‘So when’s it due?’

‘The end of June, if everything goes to plan.’

A couple of guys stroll past us, giving sly glances at Alexis. I think it was the blonde hair that got their attention. When they see she’s pregnant they keep on strolling. How unadventurous of them!

‘So, er, you’re not getting married or anything like that?’

‘No. We haven’t discussed it at all. You know me. It doesn’t have much of an appeal.’

‘I guess not.’

‘What about you and Mark? Any plans for kids yet? You’ve been living together for god knows how long.’

‘Two years. No. No plans like that.’

She stares at me for a couple of seconds. ‘You don’t have to love someone to build a good life with them, you know.’

‘What?’

‘I mean, you know, it’s enough that you get on with someone. You like them, you sleep with them, you have similar interests, you run your lives together, you have kids and so on. I don’t think there has to be this mystical ‘love’ thing on top of it all, do you?’

‘Um – yes. Yes I do.’

‘But you don’t love Mark, do you. You never have. The only time I’ve ever seen you in love was when you were seeing that guy – what was his name? – the one who designed credit cards. It was some bizarre job like that wasn’t it?’

God almighty – I’d forgotten how blunt she could be.

‘You mean Hamish?’

‘Yes. That’s him. There was a magic in the air when you were with him, for want of a better phrase. On the few occasions that I saw you with Mark, that was never there. What happened with Hamish? I’m sure you told me.’

‘Oh, you know. Fizzled out.’

‘Shame. But you’ve got Mark now. You can’t always have the fairy dust. No one can. It’s just not realistic. Two years living in the same place, a year and a half going out before that. It’s not to be sniffed at. And neither of us is getting any younger. I mean, it’s still all going OK, isn’t it?’

‘I suppose so. So you love Martin, then, do you?’

‘He’s wonderful.’

I’m not sure, but I think a simple ‘yes’ might have been the appropriate answer to that question. I think I’ll keep the Mark holiday stuff to myself. This is becoming a disturbing conversation and I don’t want to stick anything else into the bubbling cauldron that we’re stirring here.

‘The thing is, Alexis, things are not going badly with Mark or anything, but he’s done this thing that has made me think…’

And like an idiot, I spill the whole thing to her. No matter who I’m talking to, I just cannot keep my mouth shut about it. What is wrong with me? She gives me a ‘pregnant woman sympathetic look’ as I will later come to think of it.

‘It’s just men, dear. He’s still young. He’s going to do things like this.’

OMG – she sounds just like my mother! I have to respond to that one.

‘He’s a year and a half older than me, and I don’t do things like this!’

‘Just let him get it out of his system. Once he’s back, you’ll settle into your routine again and it’ll be as if it never happened. Try and imagine if it was me that asked you to go on a holiday with me…’

‘Yeah, I’ve been through that one. And we took a couple of guys with us who were friends of yours. And Mark couldn’t come. In fact, he hadn’t actually had a foreign holiday for six years. I’d feel bloody awful about it. I’d feel like a real cow. I’d tell you that under no circumstances would I go with you. I’d tell you that I couldn’t do that to Mark. I’d tell you that I’d be afraid he’d leave me or something. I’d suggest that you found someone else to go with you, or just the three of you went. It wouldn’t kill you, would it? Just the three of you?’

I’m going crazy. I’m talking about this fictitious scenario like it’s real.

‘Really, Chloe, Forget it. You’ve got a nice, stable guy there. He’ll look after you. You’ve been with him too long to let it all fall apart now. Two years; something must be going right. Have you spoken to anyone else about this?’

I nod. I’m starting to feel beaten. I feel that maybe I’m crazy and what Mark has done is just a ‘guy thing’, to be classified alongside his computer games and Autocar collection.

‘What did they tell you?’

I take a deep breath. ‘My mother said it’ll be a fortnight next time and he’ll be taking some nice girl with him. My boss said he could have said ‘no’, but took the decision not to; my co-worker called him a little shit and my agent said that if someone did that to her, she’d walk out of the front door and never return.’

Alexis smiles and shakes her head from side to side. I’m not quite sure what this head shaking is meant to indicate, but I look at her expectantly in case it’s something good. I need something good. Something mediocre would be acceptable at the moment.

‘You’ve had four pieces of advice, now take five. Stay with Mark. You won’t regret it. All of your friends have had pretty emotional responses to this. In the main, they’ve told you what they would do under those circumstances. But they’re not you. They’re different people, all with different histories and different experiences. You have to listen to your heart on this, Chloe. It’ll tell you what to do and I know you’ll do the right thing.’

I’m sure I’ve read somewhere that you lose 10% of your brain function when you’re pregnant. I wonder if it’s true.

After we’ve had dinner and said our goodbyes, I take the long way back to the tube station so I can clear my head a little. I walk along the whole of Oxford Street and back, sometimes stopping to look in a shop window.

Alexis said I’d do the right thing. In her view, doing the right thing is staying with Mark, acting as if nothing has happened and getting on with life as normal when he returns.

But I can’t help thinking what he would do and say if the situation was reversed. I think he’d blow his top. I think there’d be a huge row. I think he’d ask me to get out of the flat and find somewhere else to live.

As I pass Selfridge’s, I think of Rhoda and her Food Hall pickup. Maybe she’s got the right idea. Rhoda would never get herself trapped in a relationship like the one I’m in. At least, I don’t think she would. Am I trapped? Is that the right word? I continue walking. I feel numb. I don’t even feel numb. I feel beyond numb.

I’m starting to think that this is the worst thing that’s ever happened to me.