The Ex Next Door, page 5
Keen not to let a wholly unexpected – but very welcome – opportunity to offload about Elliot go, I had just got as far as, ‘Well, you’ll never believe this…’ when David was distracted by something to my left and looked away.
Following his gaze, I turned to see Jasmine crossing the road and heading our way: a blonde, curly-haired raincloud, primed and ready to make a bad day worse.
‘David!’ she exclaimed, bouncing through the doorway. ‘Sorry to crash, but I just wondered if you’d be around after work tomorrow. I’d like to drop off some more pieces for the showing next week and I think I might want to swap a couple of the paintings out.’
He didn’t immediately reply, and she smiled and put a hand to her curls, which today were bobbing about, wild and unrestrained. ‘Oh my God, you’re staring at my hair. I’m such a bedhead this morning, and look at this,’ she added, tugging at a cutesy floral tea dress, which she’d teamed with yellow kitten-heels, topped with red bows. ‘I look like a tea towel, don’t I? But I just grabbed the first thing I trod on. I’m leading a class in thirty minutes and overslept.’
I was tempted to interrupt and ask, firstly, why it wasn’t me she wanted to run the swaps past, as I was the one co-ordinating the showing, and secondly, why she hadn’t dropped by another time or, better still, messaged rather than calling in personally, if she was running late.
But deciding that I really didn’t have the energy to buy into any of her crap that morning, I settled for a gentle cough instead.
She whirled around, hand on chest. ‘Oh, Esme! I didn’t even see you and you’re standing right there. Seriously, I am so, so not with it this morning. I am definitely in need of a quiet night in. Know what I mean?’
She laughed and then quickly returned her attention to David, thus depriving me of the opportunity of informing her that actually no, I didn’t have a clue what she meant because, now that I thought about it, an awful lot of my nights had been ‘quiet’ and ‘in’ since going rural.
I walked to the other side of the counter, with a view to distracting myself by unboxing some pieces which Douglas Muirhead, one of our much less irritating artists, had dropped off the day before.
Jasmine, meanwhile, was still gushing. ‘So, David, can you stay a tiny bit late tomorrow? After closing, I mean. What time is the latest I could pop in? What’s your…’ she giggled girlishly, ‘bedtime?’
I looked up sharply, in time to catch her biting her lip. Was she flirting with him?
The gallery door opened and all three of us turned towards it, David and Jasmine smiling as Cass entered.
‘Hi, all,’ she said, raising a hand and then turning breathlessly towards me. ‘Sorry to bother you, Es, but I’ve forgotten… Hey, Esme, over here.’ She clicked her fingers rapidly above her head. ‘Are you listening to me?’
‘Yes, of course, no problem,’ I said distractedly, while straining to hear David’s response to Jasmine’s bedtime line.
‘Well, look at me then,’ said Cass, leaning over the counter, taking my face between her hands and turning it towards her. ‘And not at them,’ she added in a murmur. ‘What’s going on?’
I frowned, releasing my head from her hands and nodding towards Jasmine.
‘She’s flirting with him,’ I whispered angrily.
Her eyes flicked left and she tilted her head backwards slightly as we both listened in.
‘That’s just so great of you,’ Jasmine was saying. ‘I’ll bring a bottle of wine with me, as a thank you. Ooh and I’ll try really hard not to stay and help you drink it. Not making any promises, though,’ she laughed.
Cass looked at me. ‘Yes, you’re right, she’s coming on to him,’ she said, matter-of-factly. ‘Now, like I said, sorry to bother you, but I need the spare keys to the salon. I’ve left mine at home.’
‘That’s just so out of order,’ I muttered.
She blinked. ‘Hey, and how many bloody times have you forgotten your keys?’
‘No, no.’ I shook my head and wrenched open a drawer under the counter. ‘I mean it’s out of order for her to be all over him like a rash. And now,’ I added in a hiss, looking up and throwing a hand in Jasmine’s direction as she followed David into the workshop, ‘she’s found an excuse to drag the poor guy out the back. I thought she was supposed to be pressed for time.’
Reaching into the drawer, I took out Cass’s keys. ‘There you go,’ I said sullenly, handing them over.
She took them from me, saying nothing, but smirking slightly.
‘What?’ I asked, putting a hand to my nose. ‘Is it my pores?’
‘Your pores are fine… ish,’ she said. ‘I’m just wondering why you’re so pissed off about Shirley Temple chatting up David.’
‘Because he’s very happy with Sophie, of course!’ I exclaimed, slamming the drawer shut. ‘I really can’t stand women like Jasmine. Why can’t she bog off and find her own relationship, rather than trying to mess up someone else’s? There’s just no excuse and he’s clearly not comfortable with it.’
‘Says who?’ asked Cass, her eyebrows raised. ‘He looked perfectly happy to me with the attention. Let’s face it, he’s probably used to it. Besides, he’s single, so you can untwist your knickers.’ She smiled affably and held up the keys, before popping them into a pocket of her skinny jeans. ‘Thanks for these. You’re a life-saver.’
‘Hang on.’ I lunged at her over the counter, grabbing her arm. ‘He’s not single.’
‘Ow!’ she exclaimed, rubbing her arm. ‘You grip like a lobster!’
‘Sorry.’ I hoisted myself further across the counter in an attempt to reach and stroke her arm. ‘But David’s not single,’ I repeated quietly, glancing towards the workshop. ‘He’s with Sophie.’
She batted away my hand and rolled her eyes. ‘Keep up, Forrest. Him and Sophie split up two haircuts ago.’
‘What?’
‘Yeah. My Mandy cuts her hair and got the full story – not that there was much of one. No big rows, no cheating; he just called time on it. Mandy said it’s been really difficult to cut Sophie’s hair the last couple of times, cos she’s in bits and keeps hiccoughing and putting her head in her hands. That reminds me, I meant to run something past you. You know I give her a discount because David works next door? So, now they’re not together anymore, do you think it’d be OK for me to start charging her full price?’
I stared at her, stunned that at no point in the past two months had David thought to mention to me that he and Sophie were no longer a couple. Surely I’d asked after her in that time. I was convinced I had. In fact, I was certain that he’d told me she’d changed hospitals and was now working at the Bristol Royal Infirmary. Did he really not think an add-on of: ‘Oh, and, by the way, I’ve dumped her,’ might have been pertinent to the discussion?
‘Nah, you’re right,’ said Cass, waving a hand. ‘I can’t do that to her. Definitely not while she’s still in mourning, anyway. I’ll wait till she stops hiccoughing. Bye, then. I’ll be round tomorrow for a drink at six!’
‘I can’t believe he didn’t tell me…’ I murmured as she exited, and David and Jasmine re-emerged from the workshop.
‘Esme will go through them,’ said David. ‘She’s the expert.’
‘Oh, I know,’ beamed Jasmine. ‘She is wonderful with the pricing and positioning side of things. But you connect with my art on such a personal level, David, and that’s at least as invaluable to the process as knowing who to invite and what to charge. David and I are just saying what an excellent salesperson you are, Esme,’ she continued more loudly, walking towards me. ‘I’m always so grateful to you for your help.’ She sighed lightly and then smiled up at David. ‘I have to go. But I’ll see you tomorrow evening.’ With that, she turned and headed for the door, offering him a last look over her shoulder as she exited.
‘I can take the pictures from her tomorrow night if you want to go home,’ I offered, as soon as the door had clicked shut behind her. ‘I’ve got nothing else on, other than my catch-up with Cass.’
He looked up from an intricately carved wooden photo frame he was inspecting. ‘It’s fine.’
‘I just meant if, you know, you wanted a break from it.’
‘From what?’
I retrieved the cardboard box of Douglas Muirhead’s clay sculptures from under the counter and set about removing the parcel tape from its edges. ‘I feel bad that you step in to deal with her so much of the time, even when it’s stuff I should be handling.’
‘It’s not a problem,’ he said, turning and walking to the back of the gallery. ‘Coffee?’
‘Please,’ I said, watching him go and feeling hugely dissatisfied with the exchange.
He disappeared and I returned to picking at the parcel tape, marvelling at the fact that Mandy the hairdresser who, as far as I knew, had never even spoken to David was more up to date with his personal life than I was. Surely, having worked with me day in, day out for two years and known me for three, he should feel able to tell me that he’d split up with his girlfriend. Just like I shouldn’t have to think twice about telling him that my ex had moved in next door, for that matter.
Our lack of deep personal exchanges had never really bothered me before, but now that I thought about it, it didn’t feel quite right that he and I were clearly failing to share even the very basics of our lives beyond the gallery. I mean, Lloyd and I rarely spent more than ten minutes at a time in each other’s company, but just that morning he had confided in me that his wife had tried to assault him with a domestic appliance.
Tiring of my lack of progress with Douglas’s box, I reached into a large earthenware pot on the counter and took out a pair of scissors, musing that, on the upside, work was still a much more pleasant and relaxed environment than home, where I was currently doomed to spending months living in fear of running into Elliot every time I ventured outside.
I stabbed the scissors into the box, running a single blade slowly down a length of tape, slitting it open with satisfying ease, before prising the cardboard flaps apart. Then, reaching inside, I carefully released each of the small, but painstakingly detailed, wildlife sculptures in turn from its bubble-wrap shroud, my mood lifting with every reveal.
However, my expression darkened and I frowned down in confusion as I unwrapped the final, and by far the largest, of the four pieces, wondering at first if Douglas had wrapped and delivered someone else’s work by mistake. But as I turned the piece over in my hands, there on the base were his engraved initials.
I shook my head and smiled. Douglas, it seemed, was a bit of a dark horse.
Chapter 7
‘So, remind me again why we’re drinking this round here, rather than in the gallery?’ asked Cass, toasting me with her Friday gin and tonic, and looking around the salon.
‘Because…’ I said, pausing to take a sip from my glass, ‘David’s staying late for Jasmine, isn’t he? And we can’t talk with them there.’
‘Ah yes, sorry, I’d forgotten. But don’t you want to keep an eye on her? You know, in case she tries to take advantage of him?’
I rolled my eyes. ‘As you well know, I was pissed off with her yesterday morning only because I didn’t realise he’d split from Sophie. Actually, I wanted to ask your advice about that,’ I continued, leaning forward in my chair. ‘Do you think I should ask him about Sophie? You know, check how he’s coping?’
‘Coping with the attractive woman throwing herself at him, you mean?’
‘Seriously, Cass, should I?’
‘No.’
‘Really?’ I pressed, dissatisfied with the abruptness of her response. ‘Only, it struck me today that maybe I should try to talk to him a little more about stuff that goes on outside work. You know, introduce a bit more personal chit-chat. Nothing intense – just what’s going on at home, who we’re hanging out with, that kind of thing. I feel bad that I never really ask him how he is. He could have all sorts of stuff to deal with that I know nothing about, and I thought mentioning Sophie might be a way of getting the ball rolling.’
‘Still, no,’ she said, shaking her head emphatically.
‘Why not?’
‘Because if he hasn’t talked to you about it, he doesn’t want to talk to you about it.’
‘But maybe he does want to talk to me about it, but thinks that I’m not interested, or don’t care. Plus, it’d be nice for me to tell him about some of the things going on in my life – especially right now. But if he doesn’t think he can reciprocate, I’ll just end up looking needy.’
‘Hate to break it to you, but that horse bolted looooong ago.’
I sighed and slumped in my chair.
‘Oh for God’s sake, I’m joking,’ she laughed. ‘But what makes you think Dave might suddenly want to open up to you, Oprah? That’s just not who he is, is it? You’ve said before that you knew that from day one.’
I didn’t reply, aware that she had a point. I’d had all sorts of preconceived ideas about what David would be like when we’d been introduced by a friend from my uni days three years earlier. At the time, I’d been managing the Bristol branch of a nationwide gallery chain and selling my own, rather angst-ridden, artwork on the side. Meanwhile, David – my friend had told me – wanted to give up his massively well-paid City job – something complicated and boring involving speculative algorithms – and open an art gallery, having developed a passion for wood-sculpting and recently completed a framing course.
I’d politely nodded along to David’s inspiring backstory of wealth and privilege, while trying to hide a growing cynicism regarding a loaded thirty-something who wanted to swap his suit for sandals and opt out of the rat race, having decided that he wasn’t a money-hungry bastard after all, but a creative in search of a simpler life. Although not so simple, I noted, as to involve giving up a second home in Cornwall.
To me, his gallery idea had seemed to have all the hallmarks of a passing-phase vanity project, and the man himself all the hallmarks of a complete tool. However, not wanting to appear ungrateful to a very well-intentioned friend who’d been kind enough to recommend me to David as a potential manager for his gallery, I had agreed to a meeting – during which he quickly proceeded to pull the rug out from under every negative expectation I had of him.
Because David Erskine wasn’t, it turned out, a mouthy former-corporate, existing in a moneyed bubble and unable to relate to the harsh reality of actually having to earn a living. Neither did he appear shallow, patronising, unconsidered or reckless. He had, he explained – with no hint of ego or pretence of expertise – a longstanding passion for art, and wanted to invest and work in a creative industry, in a small-scale and locally supportive way. Most importantly, he wanted to be personally involved and present day-to-day, hence the development of his framing skills, a service which he planned to locate in the gallery premises.
My immediate, and ultimately lasting, impression of him was that he was a thinker: intelligent, focused, measured and informed. OK, so he wasn’t a natural gossip – and hadn’t gone with me when I’d attempted to lighten the mood with a limerick about bankers – but a serious nature wasn’t always a bad thing, I had told myself, and besides, I wasn’t in need of a kindred spirit or cinema buddy. I simply wanted to be part of a business start-up.
Cass was right: David wasn’t someone who would be at all comfortable sharing or listening to personal angst, and the idea of pressuring him into doing so suddenly seemed both selfish and ridiculous.
‘Besides, there’s no need to tell Dave all your seedy stuff,’ said Cass, ‘when you can tell your Aunty Cass instead. Come on,’ she coaxed, ‘I’ve been dying for an update about your drink with Elliot.’
‘I updated you on the night. It was shit,’ I said miserably.
‘Three crappy little WhatsApps don’t count as an update. I need he-said-you-said level of detail. And hurry up, because Kev’s going to have the curry ready for seven.’
‘I thought you weren’t going to let him cook again after he set the oven gloves on fire.’
‘Delivered… ready… Same thing. Spit it out. What did Elliot say?’
I took another gulp of my G&T. ‘I’m not sure what else there is to tell. You already know that he didn’t tell his girlfriend about me.’
‘Yeah, but you didn’t say why not. Didn’t he explain?’
‘Not really. He just said that the conversation with her had moved on too quickly.’
‘Bollocks it did. There’s more to it than that.’
I nodded. ‘I’m pretty sure he’s embarrassed.’
‘Embarrassed of what? Of you?’ she exclaimed, with flattering incredulity.
‘Yes, of me. Of our relationship.’
‘Double bollocks,’ she scoffed. ‘But I’d love to know what the real problem is. You haven’t seen him since?’
‘No, thank God. I’m just keeping my fingers crossed that one of us moves out before that happens.’
‘Are you really, though?’ She sounded sceptical.
‘I honestly am, Cass,’ I insisted wearily, leaning an elbow on the arm of the chair and resting my chin on my hand. ‘I can’t think of anything that can be said or done to make things better, but I think it’s just about possible that things could get even worse if we run into each other again. We were both quite upset by the end of our last conversation.’
‘Have you thought about dropping him a line to clear the air?’
‘We didn’t swap numbers, and googling him and then messaging him would make me look like a stalker. And very needy.’
‘It would.’
‘So that’s that then.’
‘Maybe.’
