I could just tell him the truth. I’d actually done a good job in the couple of days I’d been helping them out here and he’d said it himself: he was pretty useless without Carlos. He needed me. And I needed him: I needed a job, rent money and my temporary living situation was, well, complicated. Surely Tim would understand. But then he might tell Jamie, and Jamie would tell Sam and Sam needed to trust me right now, needed me to be me right now, just a slightly more together me.
‘I am,’ I replied, just milliseconds before Tim began forming his next question, the next chink in the flabby armour I was trying so desperately to work around me. ‘An editor.’ I nodded, trying the word on for size for the millionth time. ‘I just started out as a PA, worked my way up,’ I explained. That was always the plan after all, until I got myself stuck. ‘Don’t worry,’ I continued, a record of reassurance stuck on repeat, for whose benefit I wasn’t quite sure. ‘I’m still in touch with the PAs and although editors are well connected’ – I nodded, as if imparting this editorial nugget – ‘PAs know everyone.’ I rallied some more enthusiasm as I finally felt the tremor of the truth fade away. ‘I’ll write up the press release and get to work. Trust me, our opening night will be filled to the brim with media bods and art editors. And better still, Tuesday’s Slumber will meet them at the door.’ Tim jumped to his feet and Olivia looked like she was trying hard to jump up and down but couldn’t lift her red-soled heels from the floor.
‘Jessica, you’re a genius!’ Tim exclaimed, engulfing me in an over the top embrace. I sighed. They were exhausting. But then I smiled. Tim thought I was a genius, again. Maybe now was the time to ask for my early pay packet? I only had four days left to get myself an apartment, leaving Sam with Jamie – a place I was growing less sure he wanted to be.
‘And Hannah Sommers will be a shoo-in?’ Tim interrupted my less-than-formed thoughts.
Why? My eyes betrayed a flash of fear, mind racing from deposits to divas.
‘She’s your new boss, right?’ Tim pushed his glasses further up his crinkled nose.
‘Right.’ I matched his smile, careful not to send us back over the edge. ‘She’ll be there.’
‘Do you think I should send out personal invitations?’ Tim asked, still seeking answers.
‘No!’ I objected without a beat. ‘No.’ My voice softened. ‘Leave the publicity to me. You have to keep the mystery. “The Mystery Artist with the Mysterious Curator”.’ I painted the headline to Tim’s silent applause. He could leave Hannah to me, no need to get involved, no need to risk a mix-up. And once I’d got her alone, once her edges had been softened by a couple of champagnes, I could finally have a second chance at getting her to convince Art Today to give me the same.
Chapter 18
Having spent the rest of the day immersed in the room of slumber hues, hunched over Tim’s beloved clipboard and brainstorming copy for the press release, it was good to be outside. I hadn’t had a moment to think about deposits or apartments, but at least getting my five minutes with Sommers was looking more likely. She was bound to accept the invitation – CreateSpace was to Sydney what The White Cube was to London – undeniably one to watch. My chances of her accepting my CV were slimmer. But not impossible. Improbable but definitely not impossible. I held on to that glimmer of hope. Resting against the wall Sam had leaned upon the day before, I waited for him to arrive. My stomach sank. I had been so busy writing the press release and reaching out to PAs that I had barely given Sam a second thought. But then reality reared its ugly head. Above the worries about finding a flat and a job, Sam was engaged to be married to a woman who had changed him completely. And I was here now, out of all of the people he could possibly have bumped into. If the reason I was here was to stop him marrying into the biggest mistake of his life, I had little time to do it in.
‘Jess?’ I turned around to see him standing there, his suit slightly crumpled and his tie stowed away in his pocket. ‘Sorry I couldn’t meet you for lunch,’ he apologised. He needn’t have; he’d never had time for lunch when we were together anyway. At least this time I was rushed off my feet too, not sitting at home waiting for his call. ‘Good day?’
‘Crazy day,’ I said, but then smiled. ‘Good crazy.’ And I meant it.
‘Got to love a bit of good crazy.’ Sam laughed warmly as he began to lead the way to the car. Wait, was he talking about me? I picked up pace to walk alongside him and he put his arm around my shoulder and gave it a little squeeze, a familiar glint of cheekiness in his eyes. He was. In the past, I would have shrugged him off and jabbed his ribs in mock aggravation, knowing he’d just hold me tighter. This time his familiar embrace felt fragile, like if I moved I might never get it back.
‘Ready to go home then?’ Sam nodded towards the car. Home. To Jamie. If I was ever going to remind Sam of what he really wanted I’d need to spend some time with him alone, away from the influences that had surrounded him all day, every day, since his own new start.
‘Sure, although it’s still pretty light out. Fancy walking to the beach?’ I turned to him with what I hoped was an enticing smile. I knew he couldn’t resist the ocean. Surfing to Sam was like Malbec to me: hopelessly irresistible. It was just a shame that one of us got fit whilst the other got pissed.
‘Jamie’s home already,’ Sam replied, a hint of disappointment in his voice. ‘And she’ll worry. She just texted actually, she’s made us dinner – says you’re welcome to join us.’ Sam rested a hand on the top of the car, hesitant to open the door and get in. ‘In fact, I think she’ll like it, she loves being a host.’ Yes, I know; she’d made that part abundantly clear.
‘That’s nice of her,’ I said through gritted teeth. When was she not nice? And more to the point, when was she not home? I thought doctors were supposed to be workaholics. Jamie just seemed to lounge around in leggings. I bet she wasn’t even a doctor. I needed to get Sam by himself. Just a bit of time for us to have some fun and hang out for longer than sixty minutes (sixty-five if I piled on the mascara). I knew the one thing he couldn’t resist. Well… that could be Plan B. But his second favourite thing could work for sure.
‘Hey, Sam?’ I asked, as we got into the car. ‘I’ve been thinking.’
‘Don’t hurt yourself,’ he quipped and promptly received his overdue rib-jab.
‘I think’ – I accentuated the word in mock defiance – ‘I’d like to learn how to surf.’ I smiled, trying to look wistful as I gazed out of the window, oceanwards.
‘You’re kidding me?’ Sam shook his head. ‘I tried to get you to surf with me so many times when we were together.’ He turned the key in the ignition and started to drive. He had tried to get me to do a lot of things when we were together – read the newspaper, exercise on the weekends – surfing was one compromise I wasn’t willing to make. We knew there was a limit to the kind of changes people in love should make.
‘I just thought you wanted to see me in a wetsuit.’ I raised an eyebrow in his direction.