4 September 2016 – London, England
‘You have so much crap.’ I heard his exacerbated tone ring out behind me, as I looked at the same yellow and blue splattered canvas that Sam had first set eyes on in my old uni room.
‘Well, if that’s what you want to call it,’ I snapped as I placed the canvas on top of my bed and began to unwind the bubble wrap protecting it – like it was worth being protected at all.
‘I didn’t mean your paintings are crap.’ I felt his arms wrap around my body from behind.
I guess I knew that, but somehow a day of lugging them from Nottingham to London had made them feel like baggage.
‘Are you okay, J? I know it’s a big move.’ He held me tighter as I softened into his arms. ‘One more year and then I’ll be applying for placements.’ Damn me for dating a doctor. My heart sank at the thought of all the days we’d have to spend apart between now and then. ‘Then I’ll be down to London and moving my boxes into this room quicker than you can say…’ His phone buzzed to life in his pocket; I didn’t need him to tell me it was from the hospital. I looked down at my own to see a missed call from Zoe. I’d call her later; right now I needed to make the most of Sam, before he went back to our old home. Zoe would understand. This was mine and Sam’s first long-distance stint. I knew we’d make it but it didn’t mean I had to like it.
‘Sorry about that, J.’ He stashed the offending phone back in his pocket. ‘Right, what’s next?’ He bent down to open another box as I busied myself doing the same. ‘Jess?’ Sam’s voice called from behind me, my face inches deep in the next box. ‘I know this moving thing is crap, but I find sometimes you just need to…’ I looked up to see Sam now wearing one of my old Nike running shirts, the ‘Just Do It’ slogan stretched across his muscular torso, his belly button and lower abs displayed for the messy room to see. ‘Just do it.’ Sam pointed to the shirt, smile broad, far too proud of himself. Despite my mess of emotions threatening to surface, I couldn’t help but laugh. I clambered over the boxes of marked-up junk I had moved from city to city.
‘Sam, you look ridiculous.’ I placed my cold hands onto his bare stomach, making him flinch, enjoying the feeling of the smooth skin on my hands. He bent down to snuggle his face into my hair.
‘I’m going to miss you, J.’
‘Have you finished yet?’ my dad called from outside the door. Oh God, I hoped he meant unpacking. Sam pulled his arms away from me and tugged at his shirt, unsure what my dad would find worse, him in my T-shirt or him topless in my room. He decided on the former. ‘Jessie J!’ my dad exclaimed on seeing the work left to be done. I loved his name for me, even more so because he thought I was the only Jessie J in the world. He wasn’t to know the name had been usurped by someone more famous; popular culture wasn’t his thing. ‘But looking good, Sam!’ Nor, for that matter, was fashion.
‘I was just helping Jess throw out some stuff, Dave.’ Sam shrugged off the shirt and replaced it with his plain white T, my mum appearing just in time for the show. Throwing our meal deals onto my unmade bed, I tried not to draw comparisons with Sam’s family. One day we’d start our own and our differences wouldn’t mean a thing.
‘I’d like to propose a toast.’ My dad reached into the Tesco bag to pull out a Coke and raised it. ‘To Jess and her new job. Nottingham’s loss is Art Today’s gain – and one day both of you’ – he gestured to Sam, as his permanently tanned cheeks began to blush – ‘are going to own this city.’ I was pretty sure he’d picked up the phrase from Sam and was trying it out for the first time. ‘Sam and Jess take London town.’ He spread his free hand across the air like a headline. ‘London won’t know what’s hit it!’
Chapter 14
3 August 2020 – Sydney, Australia
I breathed in the cool evening air, letting my shoulders soften as I looked across the illuminated square surrounding the gallery. Fairy lights climbed up each of the palm trees, the lunchtime busyness replaced by meandering locals and lovers with all the time in the world.
It was nearly seven p.m., I was exhausted and my kitten heels were staring to rub; still I smiled. It had been the first day in Sydney that I had actually almost enjoyed. The gallery life wasn’t for me, I knew that; it would take more than one day to change that, but at least I’d felt useful. The fact that this sensation felt so foreign only further cemented how many years I’d wasted feeling wasted. After my genius revelation (Tim said it, not me), we had spent the afternoon brainstorming and making a case for the many ways we could play with the layout of the exhibition. After swinging between hysteria and sheer delight (again, Tim, not me) we finally settled on strong and evocative tonal groupings. Leo’s work had clear and distinctive palettes, much like Picasso had his Blue and Rose Periods but without all the angst and shit-scary clowns. I had to admit her work was stunning, though I’d still make some alterations myself – a little more tension to her generously applied blocks of colour, some well-placed interruptions, the hint of figures hidden under the abstract sweeps of skies and space. If I was still painting.
I meandered away from the harbour and towards the bus stop. I’d forgotten how good it felt to add value. I had only officially been made redundant a few weeks ago, but my role and even our magazine had felt redundant many months before. It was hard to remain motivated while the rest of your team felt like they were on a sinking ship and had clearly chosen you to be the first overboard. Somewhere along the line I’d mentally surrendered to treading water before my boss had finally put me out of my misery. Today reminded me of how good it felt to care about what you did. I passed a couple wrapped around each other on the other side of the road. Brunch with Sam had been nice too.
I wandered the last stretch towards the bus stop, just in time to watch the right bus pull up. With aching legs, I clambered on board. Taking a window seat, I let my body soften and my heartbeat settle for what felt like the first time all week. Gazing outside at the sun-kissed sky spinning by and inside at the group of friends chatting on the bus beside me, I thought of the one person other than Sam I’d want to share this fleeting feeling of success with. I looked down at my phone; Zoe’s messages were still demanding to be read. I flicked them from first to last:
How’s it going?
Hey J, how’s it going?
Jessica, don’t play hard to get
Jess?
I shouldn’t have left it this long. I’d been so busy drawing a caricature of Zoe as too busy at work, too busy with Ben, that I’d convinced myself she was too busy for me. But she was my best friend, of course she’d be worried about me. I calculated the time difference – it was around eight in the morning in the UK. Zoe would be at work by now, but there was still a chance she would answer. At least the whole ‘I was waiting for a good time to call’ line might soften the blow.
‘Zoe speaking. Oh, hello there!’ She sounded overly formal. Before I could answer, I heard her rest a hand lightly on the mouthpiece, turn to a colleague and say, ‘I have to take this outside.’ A pause and then, ‘Jess?’ Her voiced sounded louder, sharper, colder, clearly now out of eavesdropping range. ‘Are you okay?’