‘I’ll text you through the details,’ he says, greeting people in the background. ‘Maybe we can skip out early and grab supper then.’
‘Sure.’ I huff.
‘You okay?’ he asks, already focused on something other than me.
‘Perfectly good,’ I lie.
My balloon bursts. Not that it was unexpected, but his dismissal and distance feel like a rollercoaster that has slid to a halt at the top of an incline. I finish the call quickly and let him get back to his meeting.
Adam returns with two mugs and a packet of biscuits dangling from his mouth, which results in a crinkly, muffled, ‘You o’right?’
Leaning on the armrest, I place my chin in the palm of my hand. ‘He is who he is.’
We split some Jammie Dodgers, dunking them into coffee that’s far too fancy for an office as we chat about the weekend. Though I sense Adam is avoiding the heavy topics, especially with his carefully chosen words, I let him ramble about how he wishes we’d stayed in Sheffield the whole weekend and not done the Sunday dawn flee.
We both admit we’ve been far too caught up in our own bubbles lately. He’s missing the simple things, beers with friends, relaxing with a football match and not being in the office maybe a little more than I was, and I make him promise he’ll visit once I move.
‘Visit? I’ll be helping you move, don’t worry about that.’ He pokes his tongue out. ‘Get you out of here.’
I laugh. ‘You would.’
When he drops a hint about his own meeting, I gather my things and tuck a copy of the contract in my bag. Before I can say thank you, Adam stops me with a sharp shake of his head. No thanks needed; it’s what we do.
‘How are things in here?’ Honestly, I’m scared of the answer, but also oddly curious. ‘Not awkward at all?’
Adam smirks. ‘Besides being unfairly traumatised by the sight of your boyfriend’s penis?’
‘Besides that.’
‘It’s like a daily virtual turkey slap,’ he says with a chuckle. ‘Every time he walks past, all I can think of is a backyard hammock.’
I nearly choke on the final crumbs in my mouth. ‘Stop it.’
‘Did you tell him to sod off?’ Lainey slips from the stool by my kitchen counter and follows me to the sofa. We land with a huff and I pull my legs up under me.
‘What? No.’ I frown. ‘He said he was busy, so, you know. I should be taking that on face value because, well, he is busy.’
‘God, what is it with men right now?’ she blurts. ‘Actually, what is it with men all the bloody time?’
As I left my brother’s office, I realised how grumpy I was about John’s response. This is important to me. Opening a gallery may be the biggest thing I end up doing but, somehow, his job always comes first, even if I need to talk about something crucial. What if I was pregnant? Chances are he’d have made me wait until Friday to tell him anyway.
I called Lainey and she showed up on my doorstep with a bottle of wine in one hand, Chinese takeaway in the other, ready to rage through John’s shortcomings, which were becoming more obvious by the day. Oh, and my big news. We both screech with excitement at the rental agreement, and she helps brainstorm as I blather about designs and ideas. We segue into wedding demands which turns into more seething at John before we get back on to the gallery.
‘Are you going to?’ Lainey asks, spreading the sweating plastic containers across my coffee table. ‘Tell him to take a hike, that is.’
‘As much as I want to say that’s a difficult decision right now, I think he’s going to make it for me.’ I offer her a glass of wine and we toast this new chapter of our lives. ‘I mean, I get it. He’s busy. Adam’s forever busy, but at least he makes time if I tell him it’s important. He always has. I remember I’d barely been in London six months when my car broke down on the motorway. He skipped right out of work, bought a battery, and sorted me out before heading back to an afternoon of court. I can’t even get a coffee out of John.’
‘Yes, but that’s because he’s your brother and he loves you.’ Wine sloshes about in Lainey’s glass as she leans forward and gives me a look that says, And John doesn’t.
‘You were right, you know.’ I swap my glass out for a bowl full of rice and Szechuan chicken.
‘About what?’ she asks. ‘Also, yes, of course I was right but, please, continue.’
‘I’m just going to tell him,’ I say. ‘I’m going to tell him he can be part of this if he wants to. But, if it’s all too hard then thanks for the memories.’
‘It’s a fair approach,’ she says, one shoulder grazing the bottom of her ear. ‘It’s not, not true.’
‘It sucks though because I really did think he might be it.’ I sigh. ‘Only I could tangle myself up in knots like this.’
‘The One is out there.’
‘If I don’t go to seed first,’ I say with an empty laugh.
‘Speaking of knots, did you catch up with your new bestie while you were up north?’ Lainey asks.
‘My what now?’ I ask. ‘If you’re referring to the magnificent Mr Dunbar, that’s a big fat no. And he’s definitely not my bestie.’
She wrinkles her nose. ‘Not even for a brew?’
‘He’s so weird.’ I frown, batting some paperwork from the coffee table. ‘I called him because I did actually want to talk to him about the gallery while I was up there.’
‘And?’
‘He hung up on me.’
Lainey roots around in her bag, phone appearing quickly while muttering about what his problem might be. Google doesn’t reveal much more about him. There are articles about the opening of small shows, photos of his anxious smile staring out from the screen, records of what his work has sold for, but nothing else comes up.
Dad said he stopped showing two years ago, but that doesn’t explain him touching base with Webster, or his dogged questioning of me. There’s no big bang, no scandal to indicate the end of a career. He simply disappeared. In the end, we toss the phone aside in favour of finishing dinner. I already know that’s going to be much more satisfying than trying to work out the riddle of Christopher Dunbar.
‘He’s certainly a bit of a mystery, isn’t he?’ Lainey asks, moving to refill my glass.
I beat her to the punch and cover it with my hand. No more wine tonight.
‘It’s more than that though. I’m just so sick of coming up against people in this business who discount me because I’m female or don’t have the right connections or I’ve never held a show of my own work. It’s like a rite of passage. It feels like: no show, no skill.’ I look up from my meal. ‘Hell, Christopher thinks I’m terrible because I like classic art. You cannot honestly tell me I wasn’t qualified for the job at the gallery.’
‘You absolutely were qualified,’ Lainey says, chopsticks paused mid-air. ‘And you do have the connections. All anybody has been able to talk about this week is “Why did Katharine walk out?”, “How did she not get that job?” Sally says hello, by the way, wants to catch up when the dust settles. Frankly, I think Steve is feeling the pinch. Mind you, that little germ has been running around with that shit-eating grin he always wore after corporate meetings.’