It was possible. Elise nourished the dark nub of resentment that Connie might want her out of the way. She had felt ashamed of her request to be painted, as if she’d exposed herself in some pathetic way – this desire of hers to be observed, reconfigured, made special. And yet, when the request was passed on to her by Connie, she immediately said yes.
She looked through the large open window towards the sea. It was a stunning California day. The sky was a bright, almost royal blue, and sea grass fringed the bottom of her vision in shades of sage and gold. She could hear waves crashing beyond, but couldn’t see them. The scene felt unreal, as if Elise was admiring something she could never truly access.
She closed her eyes and the vision turned orange, dust motes moving on the insides of her lids. That Connie had failed to remember her birthday burned once again. To not say a word, to not produce a card, to not suggest a nice lunch – to not remember – it was devastating.
‘I’m so happy you said yes to this,’ said Shara, breaking her thoughts.
Elise opened her eyes and looked at Shara. It was Shara who had said yes to this, not Elise – it had been Elise’s idea in the first place. ‘Do you often do portraits?’ she said.
‘I used to do self-portraits, but I stopped.’ Shara gave an empty smile.
‘Why did you stop?’ said Elise.
‘I might paint my eyes, now and then.’
‘Just your eyes?’
Shara busied herself with the paints, the canvas and her brushes.
*
Elise removed her shorts, T-shirt and underwear. She felt a fury coursing through her veins; she wanted Shara to see her. ‘It’s my birthday today,’ she said. ‘So I’ve come in my birthday suit.’
Shara turned back, her eyes skimming the cuttlefish edges of Elise’s shoulders, her dark pubic hair, her small breasts, her flat stomach and slight hips. ‘Happy birthday,’ she said. ‘Can you sit on the chaise longue?’
‘You want me on the chaise longue?’ said Elise.
‘Are you happy not to wear clothes?’ said Shara.
‘Do you want me in my clothes?’
A flicker of impatience passed across Shara’s face. ‘Not if you’d prefer to be nude,’ she said.
‘Fine.’
‘Can you lie sideways, on your hip, facing me?’
Elise settled onto the chaise longue, and into herself. It began to calm her, to be in this familiar situation, where there were no demands on her other than to be still. To be present but also absent, as her real self vanished into the canvas. She liked to watch Shara’s fluid movement of her arm – up to the canvas, away again, up and away – the brush making marks Elise couldn’t see. She liked Shara’s concentration, her air of respect.
The studio door opened and Matt burst in. ‘Where did you put the—’ He stopped. His eyes widened, staring at Elise’s outstretched form before he turned away to face the wall. ‘Shit. I didn’t know—’
‘I’ve asked you to knock,’ said Shara.
Matt turned to his wife, and the couple were looking at each other as if Elise wasn’t there, as if she wasn’t glowing white and naked on the sofa, like a dangerous fruit Shara had plucked from the garden, unsure of how to prepare her, how to peel and eat her. Shara moved into the space between Matt and Elise – shielding Elise, or blocking Matt? Elise couldn’t tell.
‘What are you looking for?’ said Shara.
‘You asked me to renew the house insurance. So I’m doing it.’
‘Right.’
‘But I can’t find the folder.’
‘It’s where it always is, Matt.’ Shara sighed. ‘In the study, third drawer of the filing cabinet.’ Shara’s shoulders were tensed up round her ears. The peace of the room was sluicing through the open door.
‘Fine,’ he said, and walked back through the door, closing it behind him.
Shara turned to Elise, her expression unreadable. ‘Let’s make coffee.’
‘Don’t you want to keep going?’
‘I need a coffee.’
Elise wrapped herself in a large beach towel while Shara prepared a couple of mugs of instant. Once it was ready, the two of them pushed open the back door of the studio and sat on the deck that ran round the building with steps down to the sand dunes.
‘Do you have birthday plans?’ said Shara.
‘I don’t really celebrate it.’
‘If I’d known I’d have bought you a present. You’re sure you don’t mind being here?’
‘I’m sure.’
‘Have you spoken to your folks back home?’
‘I – my dad – no. My mum’s dead.’
‘Oh, gosh. I’m sorry. Me and my big mouth.’
‘It’s fine.’
Shara sipped her coffee, the corn-coloured strands around her open face billowing in the breeze. ‘When did your mother pass?’ she said.
Elise scoffed at this phrasing. It sounded loopy, new age. But the truth was, Shara’s kindness and respect was almost unbearable, making Elise aware that her own reactions to things were constricted, artificial, not mature enough. What Elise felt in that moment was true pain, because Shara was treating her mother’s death with care and importance.
‘She died when I was nine.’
‘Oh, honey. Nine. I’m so sorry.’ Shara put her hand on Elise’s and squeezed it.
‘It’s fine,’ said Elise. She pulled the towel tighter around herself. ‘Her name was Patricia,’ she said.
‘That’s a lovely name.’
‘It’s old-fashioned,’ said Elise.
They didn’t say anything for a few minutes. Shara looked across the sand dunes. ‘And you and Connie?’ she said. ‘That going well?’
This insistence of Shara’s with these intimate questions! Elise felt dizzy. She couldn’t handle Shara’s assumption that because she felt able to ask these questions, Elise should feel able to answer them. ‘Good, thanks,’ she said. ‘And you and Matt?’
Shara sighed. ‘We’re having problems. Con’s probably told you. She’s never really liked Matt. Did she tell you I lost a baby?’
‘No,’ Elise lied, not so much to maintain the illusion of Connie’s discretion, but because she wanted to learn more from Shara, without Shara feeling that she’d been betrayed. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she said. ‘That must have been really horrible.’
Shara didn’t say anything for a while. Elise swung her legs underneath the deck, feeling the fine splinters of the wood pressing on her thighs. In the low distance, a pod of pelicans sailed through the sky, on the lookout for fish.
‘It’s the worst thing that has ever happened to me,’ said Shara. ‘It was all going fine. And then it wasn’t.’
Elise didn’t know what to say. Shara seemed to sense this, and she turned to her. ‘It is horrible,’ she said. ‘It’s a good word for it. I’d never been pregnant before. And then I was. I’d waited so long. And it was this joyous thing. And the weeks kept passing. And I mean, you worry about it – the usual things. Has it got a heartbeat, is it growing, will it be healthy? But you know that the odds it’ll be OK are usually better. But then – one day, just a normal day, all my worst fears came true at once. You don’t really understand, because you need time to understand it, and it’s difficult to live in the moments of it. I don’t really remember those weeks and months after I lost the baby very well. Every morning, every evening, just waiting to see whether you’re going to be OK that day, or a mess. Whether the pain is going to last for ever.’ She inhaled sharply. ‘That’s exactly what it is. A fucking horror.’