I flicked away from Instagram and pulled up WhatsApp to contact Zoe:
Hey, want to do something tonight? Bored at work x
I watched as my message went from one tick, to two ticks, to blue ticks. Typing…
Sorry babe, with Ben tonight x
I flicked away WhatsApp, and returned to Austin’s America and Sommers’ Sydney. London was meant to be the city of socialising, the city of success.
‘Jessica.’ Devon’s voice shook me from my thoughts. ‘We’re done. You can leave now.’
Stashing my phone, I rose to leave Devon’s office, wishing I could walk further and further away.
Chapter 25
4 September 2020 – Sydney, Australia
‘Here she comes! The famous curator,’ Sam hollered from his normal position against the wall on the other side of the paved courtyard, clapping his hands in exaggerated applause. I laughed as I strolled confidently towards him. What had once felt like a handful of pity-dates, I was pretty sure, had become the highlight of Sam’s day. A welcome relief from wedding planning, no doubt.
‘Now I know you look all fancy and all,’ Sam continued, pushing himself away from the wall and meeting me in the middle. I smiled; he had noticed. ‘But the sun is out, and you need to take me to the beach.’ He smiled broadly, slinging an arm around my shoulders and letting his weight rest on me long enough to signal just how exhausted he was.
I laughed again and looked up at his face, partially hidden behind his sunglasses, shaking my head affectionately. ‘You’re not a dog, Sam.’
‘Can I have that on record, please?’ He laughed. Oh shit, I had called him that once. In my defence, he had left me waiting at the table for half an hour while he chatted to his pretty doctor friend at the bar. He deserved it. I shook away the memory.
‘I’ll deny saying it at all costs.’ I turned towards the beach. ‘You coming, then?’
‘Gosh, it’s like I’m destined to be surrounded by bossy women!’ He raised an eyebrow as he turned to follow me. Together, we walked towards the beach until it was time to prise off my heels and let my feet sink into the fluffy white sand. I had tried my best to convince myself I was a city girl, but day by day I was falling for the ocean life. I smiled down at my bare feet. I gazed across the horizon and breathed deeply, inhaling the salt-scented air. I turned to look at Sam, who was already looking at me rather than the sea.
‘What?’ I demanded, delighted to be catching him in the act.
‘Nothing,’ he said, looking down at his own naked feet. ‘It’s just, Sydney suits you.’
I smiled. I was beginning to feel like it did. ‘I always liked that you were a bit of a free spirit,’ he said. Well, he had at the start.
‘Shame your parents didn’t,’ I said to the sand, looking up at Sam’s stunned face before my little laugh softened the blow. ‘Bet they’re chuffed you’re marrying a doctor.’ I laughed again, but we both knew I wasn’t joking.
‘Yeah.’ Sam forced an awkward laugh, not looking nearly as ‘chuffed’ as we both knew they were. ‘They always liked you though,’ he added. They had called me creative, unique – worlds away from what they knew. Jamie ticked the doctor box, but I wondered what they thought of Sam’s new location or new-found faith. But maybe he didn’t care quite as much what they thought any more.
‘Hmmm,’ I said, not entirely convinced; Sam’s parents had always been a point of tension.
‘So you’re not in a rush to see them at the wedding?’ Sam said, pressing his feet further into the sand. Oh crap, of course they’d be coming over for the wedding. But it wasn’t like I’d be there. Was it? He was joking, right? Sam walked a step ahead of me, leading the way towards the beachfront café as I searched my mind for ways to ask what he really meant. Smiling at the guy behind the kiosk, Sam ordered, ‘One bacon and avocado sandwich and…’ He turned to me to check he’d got my order right. He had. Of course he had. ‘And a crayfish salad, please.’ He smiled back at the man. I looked at him in confusion.
‘Jamie’s got me on this pre-tux diet.’ He rolled his eyes. I shrugged and accepted my sandwich, the grease seeping through the brown paper bag it was wrapped in. Sam gazed at it with desire. Walking across to the beach steps, we sat, side by side, both dressed too formally to have our bare feet in the sand.
‘I wasn’t sure whether you’d be able to make it today.’ Sam looked across to me and smiled. ‘It’s tonight, right? The opening.’
I couldn’t believe he had remembered. I knew we were living in the same house, but even when we were sleeping in the same bed, dates and times had never been his forte.
‘I was going to come,’ he continued. I sensed a ‘but’; there was always a ‘but’.
‘And we’d usually be there to support Tim. But, Jamie is getting more and more stressed about the wedding; she’s suggested we stay in and do some wedmin.’ He looked down at his crayfish salad and shook his head. ‘There was once a time when I didn’t even know the word wedmin.’ He laughed to himself. ‘It was simpler then…’ Simpler with me? ‘Anyway,’ he said, forcing the conversation forward. ‘We’ll see how it goes and maybe we’ll be able to make it later.’
Stepping back into CreateSpace, I marvelled at my footwear. Gone were the biting kitten heels of the last few weeks. In their place were a pair of glorious black courts with the kind of designer soles catfights have been fought over. The guys behind reception greeted me, looking me down from my dark straight locks to my bright red bottoms; they didn’t need to know they were second- or maybe third-hand from eBay. And naturally, I had hidden them from Jamie and Sam, not wanting them to think I was getting too comfortable, that I wasn’t preparing to live alone in one of the most expensive cities in the world.
Pacing across the entrance hall towards them, I looked up to see Tuesday’s Slumber hung proudly over the reception desk, filling the gap I had always felt was there. The artist’s thick impasto style was even more eye-catching under the bright reception lights, the dark blues of the piece dramatic against the white of the walls. Another colleague popped their head around the open-plan gallery shop and waved. I had browsed the shop once or twice, the tickle of brushes in my hand a relic from the past – like feeling the T-shirt you had once loved, now worn and outgrown.
I turned my attention away from the shop and towards the first room of the exhibition, catching a glimpse of myself in the reception’s floor-length mirrors. I had obediently brought the Tim-approved image to life, pairing a plunging yellow-gold silk blouse with a violet A-line, ankle-grazing skirt. The yellow of morning, the violet of evening, making sure I’d look right at home in either room, against either hue, of the exhibition. Sam had looked me up and down as I had headed out of the box room less than an hour before. I could have sworn I’d seen a look of nostalgic desire skim across his face. Jamie characteristically interrupted our moment: ‘Oh, Jess, you look fantastic. Doesn’t she, Sam?’ She dangled me like a carrot in front of her fiancé.