‘We do?’
‘What are your big problems right now. List them.’
‘Kit.’ I count on my finger. ‘John. Exhibition. Money.’
‘You know what? I think we can kill all those birds with one stone. Kind of.’
I give him a quizzical look. ‘How? Have you got the winning lottery ticket?’
‘Are you telling John no?’
‘Yes.’
Adam’s eyes widen. ‘You’re telling him yes?’
‘What? No. I’m going to tell him no.’
‘All right. So, what we’re going to do now is we’re going to go shopping. You need food.’
My words come out in fits and spurts and, for the next few minutes at least, we revert back to what feels like childhood arguments.
‘Kate … Kate … stop … no … listen to me,’ he says forcefully, all the while I’m shaking my head and talking over the top of him. ‘This is not a negotiation, this is a necessity. You need to eat. Let me help you with that. There’s no shame in this. None.’
I’m silent.
‘And, anyway, I’m sure I owe you for more than a few tanks of fuel,’ he says. ‘So, let’s do this and call it square, hey?’
‘I feel like an idiot.’
‘Yeah, well, that’s something I’m well versed in lately,’ he says. ‘Let me do this. Then, when we’re done there, we’re going to show Kit you’re serious about him by doing a drive-by at the hotel and you can lob that stupid ring at John’s head. Maybe you’ll hit the other side of his face.’
Whenever I’ve walked around town with a wad of cash in my pocket, I’ve been wildly nervous about being mugged. Not because anyone had watched me take that extra rent money from the cash machine, but what if they had? Maybe there’s something written on my face that says: mug me, I have money. And, if money made me feel like that, you can guarantee that bloody ring made me feel worse.
It was a neon sign above my head daring people to look into my bag. What if I lost it? What if it just slipped right out in the middle of the fruit bins at the supermarket? Maybe a sticky-fingered thief would decide against my purse and go for the small blue box instead.
‘Want me to come with you?’ Adam calls to my back as the front doors glide open.
‘Is that wise?’ I ask, disappearing inside.
Reception is bright and airy, sofas in one corner, armchairs and coffee tables in the other, I’m not entirely surprised to feel myself trembling, as if I’ve just been set to high alert. I walk towards a handful of sleek reception desks against the back wall.
‘Can I help you?’ The concierge grins as they hang up the phone.
‘I’m here for a meeting with John Harrison. Could you let him know Katharine is here for him, please and thank you?’
Minutes later, I hear the ding of the lift and the squeak of overly polished shoes on linoleum. I flash a quick look to Adam, who’s waiting outside, coffees in hand to save him trying to mount the counter and strangle him. I turn back as John approaches. He leans in for a kiss, but I take a strategic step away from him.
‘Kate.’ He flinches in pain as he attempts a smile. The corner or his mouth is red and raw. ‘It’s good to see you.’
I swing my handbag around and riffle through for the ring box, my heart flopping when I think I can’t find it. But it’s there, buried beneath a grocery receipt and box of tampons. I place it on the reception counter between us and push it towards him.
‘It’s a no from me.’
His brow creases like he can’t quite believe what he’s hearing.
‘What you did this morning was grossly unfair. We had broken up. Last we spoke, I asked you to leave me alone. Yet, here you are thinking this is going to solve all our problems. You’re right, we would need to work on them, but they run too deep for a ring to fix.’
‘Oh, Katharine.’ His shoulders slide down towards his pockets.
‘This isn’t a court case; I’ve told you that. Repeatedly. You can’t argue your way out of this. You can’t remind me of a handful of good times and think that makes a good marriage. It doesn’t. You need to listen more and talk less. And there’s every chance your stunt might have ruined something very precious this morning. So, thanks for that.’
I don’t wait for a reply I don’t want. Instead, I turn and walk away. This time, I don’t look back. Adam’s where I left him, standing by the doors, coffees stacked and frowning into his phone screen.
‘Yeah, so.’ He turns his phone screen to me. ‘I’ve definitely been sacked. Rad.’
‘Can I talk to your boss? Would that be okay?’ I ask.
‘Nah. Pretty sure decking a colleague is against company policy, no matter the circumstances.’ He wrinkles his nose. ‘Total L’Oréal moment though.’
‘Hey?’
He puckers his lips. ‘Because you’re worth it.’
Chapter 31
After clearing out his hotel room, Adam comes back to my flat. He stays long enough for me to cook a slap-up pasta dinner, one of those foolproof fresh-from-the-pack ravioli and sauce meals. He could go to Dad and Fiona’s, but he can’t stomach the idea of telling them he’s lost his job. I can definitely sympathise so, instead, we break garlic bread and drown our sorrows with a bottle of red. It hits the spot.
I’m starting to feel a touch less apocalyptic and more like myself as we natter about the week’s litany of events. I even fire off a message to Christopher. I don’t want to bombard him, I really don’t, but some things need to be said. The message rambles a bit, but I tell him again how sorry I am, that I’ve told John no, and that I would love the opportunity to speak to him when he feels ready.
Even though it feels like John has won on a technicality, with a fractured opening night and an unemployed lawyer, I’m not sure I’m ready to back down quite yet. I’ve got a lot riding on the opening night next weekend and a lot of people I need to prove wrong. I’ve come this far, why stop now?
Sitting around the dining table, Radio 1 playing in the background, Adam watches as I write a list of everything that needs to happen between now and the crack of the front door on opening night. The further I dig into my brains, the more detailed the list becomes. With the exhibition still running and everything now resting on my shoulders, I want this to be so good that people can’t ignore me or the real stars of the show: my artists.
First thing Monday morning, I start making phone calls. I check and double-check that people are still taking part in the exhibition, that those who haven’t already are still planning on dropping their art at the gallery in preparation. Even though everyone is still wildly enthusiastic about participating, I won’t feel calm until my walls are full.
The first work appears on Monday night, when someone named Teddy arrives, and I’m sure I fall over myself with gratitude at the sight of him.
More art is delivered over the next few days, culminating in the appearance of Fiona late Wednesday afternoon. I’m beyond excited to see what she’s come up with for her contribution and, as she begins to unpack her car, I find myself laughing in pure delight.